Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blood ran down his side, soaking through the fabric of his suit until the crimson pooling at his side was all he could feel. Sir Nighteye’s breath came in sharp, shallow pulls, his vision tunneling. Yet he could not look away from the boy before him.

Izuku Midoriya was alive. Alive when every certainty of the future he had seen for him had sworn otherwise. His body was battered, limbs trembling with exhaustion, but still he surged forward, the full power of One For All surging through his veins and overwhelming a desperate, monstrous Overhaul.

Nighteye had seen this battle’s end with perfect clarity. He had seen Izuku’s body lying still, his life extinguished far too soon. And yet here he was, defiant, rewriting reality and Nighteye's understanding of the world with fists that carried not just strength, but conviction.

And in that moment, Nighteye realized the first truth he had learned that day.

The future was not set in stone.

His quirk had never lied to him before. Until now.

But as the thought burned through him, he remembered something even stranger. Izuku's life, spread out in his mind like a movie, had not ended with his death. His quirk evolved far beyond any capabilities it had previously shown. It hadn't just predicted an ending, but something vaster. Something beyond death itself.

He had seen Midoriya again, but not in this world. A young man, reborn centuries into the future, charting courses through the stars as a pioneer of space navigation. His best friend walked beside him, a girl with the same face, the same warm eyes as Ochako Uraraka. Another boy matched him stride for stride, his blonde hair unruly, Katsuki Bakugo’s fire in his every movement.

And then, there she was: A girl who could have been Himiko Toga’s twin, but her hands healed, not harmed. She was a medic who used her quirk to cure blood diseases, saving lives instead of taking them. She and Ochako were inseparable, friends since childhood, laughter following them everywhere they went.

The vision ran on and on. A flood of lifetimes, almost like a broken record.

Izuku meeting Katsuki again and again. Rivals, friends, lovers.

On and on.

Ochako and Himiko, bound together across ages, their fates twining until the world tore them apart.

On and on.

Birth. Love. Death. Rebirth.
Over and over, endless and unforgiving.

The weight of hundreds of lifetimes pressed into Nighteye’s skull, threatening to split him in two. He gasped against it, his entire weakened body shaking with pain.

And then a shadow fell across him.

“Sir!” Ochako Uraraka knelt at his side, her face streaked with tears, her eyes raw with a misplaced guilt. She reached for him as if she could hold him together through will alone. As if there was any power that could save him now.

Nighteye’s breath stuttered. He had seen her in those lifetimes. Again and again. If Izuku’s thread stretched through eternity, then that meant that so too did hers, and Himiko Toga alongside them.

And if the future could be changed, then Toshinori’s fate was not set in stone. Toshinori could live.

But Nighteye knew he would not.

Even if they carried him to the hospital, even if every surgeon in the city worked through the night, his story ended here. His only chance now lay beyond this body. If it was true, if reincarnation was real... then perhaps he would have another life. Another chance. One where he would not fail Toshinori Yagi.

He had to know.

His trembling hand lifted, fingers brushing against the sleeve of her costume. “Uravity…” His voice was the gasp of a dying man. “Forgive me.”

The world shifted. His quirk surged, dragging him into her lifestream.

And then the world exploded.

He saw a battlefield, not long from now. Her body lifting thousands of clones, her stomach pierced, her strength bleeding out onto the battlefield. He saw her desperate conversation, lifetime vows spoken too late, promises uttered with trembling lips as she held Himiko Toga close as they fell through the air.

He saw Toga smile through the tears, with a joy and love so pure it cut through the blood. And then, with a look full of love and certainty, Himiko transformed into Uravity herself and poured every drop of her blood into her, the ultimate act of devotion. Her last words: “You made me so, so happy, Ochako-chan.”

And in that instant, Nighteye felt Uraraka’s soul split open. In the middle of that battlefield, she remembered. Every life. Three of them. Every promise. Every time she had loved Himiko so much the intensity could tear her heart open. Every time they had saved each other. The vows, the hiding, the separation, the desperation to find each other. The life where they almost had it all. And then, her one failure: this life, where Himiko Toga had died by her side. The guilt crashed down upon her, drowning all of her senses with grief and and regret clawing at her heart.

He saw her after, waking in the hospital, drowning in despair, the weight of three past lifetimes crushing her soul. Days and nights spent wondering about worlds where she and Himiko met as children, where she could have kept her safe. Thinking about what she could've done different, about if only she listened sooner, if only she reached out. If only, if only, if only.
He saw her live eighty years after that, surrounded by friends and love, a successful pro hero. And yet, she was always carrying a grief which was a scar etched into her very soul.

And then again. The cycle restarted. Born anew. Meeting Himiko as a child this time, almost a cruel echo of her past life's regret. Inseparable friends. Later, lovers. Memories flooding back, and with them, healing. They lived, loved and died as they pleased.

Born again. Himiko. Death.
Born again.
Himiko.
Death.

A relentless cycle that kept playing on and on and on and on.

Ochako’s heart carried it all. The vows, the guilt, the promises kept and broken, the thread of love. And in that moment, as Nighteye bore witness to her agony and her hope alike, he realized the third and final truth he would learn that day.

Some things were more important than duty.

His life had been a shrine to order, to calculation, to responsibility. But here was a girl who carried lifetimes of love, grief, wishes, and promises in her chest. A girl who hid the truth of her own heart for duty’s sake, who could not see that it had already chosen.

The weight of it shattered him.

His lungs burned. His vision dimmed. The blood would not stop pouring out of him. And still, he forced his last words out, each one a ragged, torn gasp, but carrying the truth he needed her to hear.

“Uravity… today… I learned… the future isn’t set in stone. And… to avoid… a lifetime of grief… don’t let duty… blind you from saving… the smile that matters most.”

Her eyes widened, confusion and fear flashing in them, as if she sensed there was more to that statement than she could grasp.

But he had no words left to give. The darkness pressed in. His breath faltered.

And then, with those three truths carved into his fading heart, the world went dark for Sir Nighteye.

Chapter Text

Himiko Blackwell awoke to the familiar, comforting quiet of her townhouse, her eyes fluttering open to the sketchbook on her nightstand, her most cherished possession. She had always been the ‘unruly’ one of the Blackwell household, a title she wore with a certain private pride. Was that responsible for the whispers of her being a lunatic that could never go to a ball because of her barely stable mental state? Yes, of course, but... what did it matter? They were wealthy beyond measure, her parents had passed years ago, and her brother, the Duke, adored her.

Besides, she thought with an amused smirk, all the same people that whisper behind my back absolutely piss themselves and drop to their knees whenever they see me. Indeed, everyone was the same in this little world of theirs. 

She was a Lady of leisure, and she had no intention of sticking to society’s suffocating norms if she could help it.

Marriage, for example, was an institution she had long since dismissed for herself, it simply was not in the cards for someone like her. She liked men well enough, she supposed, but her deeper, more powerful attractions had always pulled her in another direction; a secret she had discovered in herself from a very young age. If she ever were to wed a man, he would have to be someone extraordinarily special, and in a world where a woman was practically doomed to wed the first man whose hand she took in a dance, the odds of finding such a man felt impossibly slim. And as for women... well, that was a lovely, impossible dream, was it not? It was something to be confined to her mind, her secret paintings, and eventually her grave - even if a small part of her did always crave a whirlwind romance.

So, she had long given up on the idea of a grand love story for herself, and quite honestly? She was perfectly content. Her doting brother allowed her to read whatever she pleased and to pursue her art with a passion most ladies were forced to abandon. Besides, she was far happier spending her days painting and devouring every romance novel she could get her hands on rather than the alternative -  a loveless marriage to some oaf who would only ever see her as an ornament to be paraded at balls and bedded whenever he pleased. Ugh, the very idea of it disgusted her.

She did have her best friend, of course: Viscount Kai Chapman, an objectively handsome dark haired man with sharp features and an even sharper stare. The damned brute, as she called him. The pair of them and her brother, Katsuki, had been an inseparable trio since they were children, with both of the men in her life sharing a passion for the sciences; though Katsuki was much more theoretical and Kai enjoyed the experimentation aspect much more.

She had, at one point, when she was younger and more naive, considered the prospect of becoming his lady, a small spark that started blooming in her chest when she was but six and ten years old. But nowadays it just didn't feel right, there was nothing there but a deep, brotherly affection. She might have still considered it, purely for convenience, but Kai had made certain... commentary over the years that had thoroughly extinguished any fledgling spark. Just remembering his comments made her shiver, something about them just didn't sit right on her stomach.

Her art was her private rebellion, and also her most prized work. She had her public collection, of course: landscapes and still lives. However, her true work was hidden in her three prized collections: the first of which depicted scenes of raw, graphic life - a hunt, skeletons rising in a cemetery, the beautiful but graphic hatching of a cute animal... Images that were deemed far too 'manly' and 'strong' for a delicate lady's hands.

Then there were the political cartoons, her little gossip games, sharp and merciless caricatures of the lords and ladies of the ton that only Katsuki was ever allowed to see; and, even if he acted all brash about them, he adored them, and of course he would! They were hilarious.

Her final collection, her most intimate and secret one, was a series of scandalous charcoal sketches, kept under lock and key in her private chambers: women with women, mostly, sometimes with men, sometimes even with both! And always, always beautiful.

Kai had seen the ‘disturbing’ collection once, when she was 16, her budding interest for him having just started. And he’d praised it, of course, but then had added with a patronizing little smile:

“You should get this out of your system now, my lady. Most husbands would not approve of their wives having a taste for such vigorous art," she had laughed and told him she would simply have to find a man who did. “That’s almost impossible,” he’d replied, with a finality that had infuriated her, “I certainly wouldn’t allow it.” The casual, possessive certainty of it, the way he had inserted himself as the arbiter of her future, had squashed her budding interest completely. No, if there was one thing Himiko Blackwell valued above all else, it was her freedom.

He had other infuriating habits, too: he would often say his future wife would never be out of his sight, and a servant would always be present when he was away. To “provide protection” he had said, because women, after all, “couldn’t be trusted to protect themselves.” Ugh, remembering his comments never did any good, a marriage to Kai would be a beautiful, gilded cage, and Himiko would rather bleed herself to death than be shackled. And at this point, it had been years since that idea left her mind, since the spark completely died - but that didn't mean that they weren't still the best of friends, of course they were, he was like a brother to her. A brother who said the most blatantly infuriating things at times, but one she still held close to her heart.

And truly, she and Katsuki were happy, the only cloud on their horizon was the matter of an heir, which had not been a necessity before. Alas, blooming political tensions during the past months had made The Crown directly "advise" - which obviously meant demand - that their house must secure the bloodline, or, at the very least, that someone in the Blackwell family must be wed before season's end. As the Duke of Rivermoor, Katsuki knew that the duty fell to him, a fact for which she was eternally grateful, since he had never questioned her desire to remain unmarried. Quite the opposite, in fact - he had just accepted it without question! He was brash and loud, but he was always, in his own way, protective.

...And yes, Katsuki was also a fool in his own way, but she adored him for it.

She smiled, adding a final, sharp line to a caricature of a particularly pompous lord who, last week at a ball, had been flexing his possessions to the daughter of someone he owed money to, all because he was too drunk to notice. Brutes, the lot of them.

The only real issue was that Katsuki looked like he wanted to claw his eyes out whenever any of the season’s eligible ladies so much as breathed in his direction. He said that they all bored him; and it truly should not come as a surprise - the only things her brother cared for were science and her safety. She felt a pang of guilt about the fact that he had to bear the burden of marriage while she was free when he so clearly didn’t want it. Alas, the crown had sent him a shortlist of 3 eligible ladies: daughters from the lowest ranking Barons that had control over strategic lands, all the way to the highest ranking Viscounts.

Just then, a thought made it's way onto her mind: Katsuki was late for his appointment, and tardiness at these meetings was not something they could afford under their current situation. She sighed, the man would stay up until all hours of the night, his nose buried in some dense, scientific text - he really needed to improve his sleep habits.

She got up, a mischievous smile on her face. Oh, this was going to be so much fun!

She burst into his chambers without knocking, stiffling a giggle for what she knew would come next, “KATSUKI, YOU IMBECILE! YOU HAVE A MEETING WITH LADY RUSSELL IN AN HOUR! YOU MUST MAKE HASTE!”, she yelled at the lump under the covers.

A head of angry, ash-blonde hair shot up, a furious scowl already in place, “What in heaven's sake is your bloody problem, woman?” He roared back, the language as colorful as ever for this early in the morning. Charming as always, her dear brother.

“Oh shut your mouth, you adore me,” she said cheerfully, “and you know you’re grateful. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be late to all your appointments. Really, you need me.”

He just scoffed, throwing the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed, “Tch. Whatever. What are your plans today, maniac? Causing trouble?”

“Just painting in the garden, as usual,” she said with an innocent flutter of her eyelashes, “I was reading a new novel and it gave me some inspiration.” Oh, it inspired her alright.

“Right. Well, just make sure if it’s any of your bizarre shit, you hide it well," he replied, his face an expression of disgust that Himiko could so easily tell was fake.
Himiko cackled, “Oh, Katsuki, you don’t know the half of it. And trust me, you do not want to, my weirder art is guarded with my life.”
A flicker of genuine curiosity crossed his face, “You have weirder shit than your collection of social scandals?” Oh Katsuki, if only you knew.

She tried to look innocent, “Me? No? Never? Well... maybe. Meh. You’re the one who’s always red-eyed because of how utterly captivating those equations looked at two in the morning. You should really just tell the ladies, " she continued with a mocking, lazy voice, "‘My apologies, but my heart is taken by a complex and beautiful formula - the numbers had such beautiful curves. I could not possibly force myself to even think of returning your affections.’”

He just scoffed, but she saw the faintest twitch on his lips as he said it, “Damned sister I had to be stuck with, huh?” This was his love language, she knew he meant it with affection.

“In any way,” he continued, pulling on a robe, “Kai will be visiting this afternoon, after I get back from meeting this Rushwell woman and my other errands. But he’s arriving a bit early. He’ll probably bother you before I get back, as always.”

Himiko’s eyes sparkled, she'd be able to mess with Kai today!

Then, she jokingly raised her hands and groaned in exasperation. “It’s Russell, for heaven’s sake," she corrected, "at least pretend to be interested in the - need I remind you - second of but three potential prospects you have. And thank you, I always enjoy my talks with Kai. Maybe he’ll regale me with the tale of his latest romantic failure, or how he was denied materials for a bizarre experiment. That’s always enjoyable.”

“Tch, whatever,” Katsuki said as he headed for his dressing room, “just don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

Himiko just smirked and said "Sure, Your Grace," raising an annoyed grumble out of her brother. She smiled, her brother was such a softie underneath it all.

Around an hour later, Himiko was in her favorite spot in the garden - a small, secluded alcove shielded by a cascade of climbing roses and foxglove - when she heard the familiar crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. She had been in the middle of a rather scandalous sketch, inspired by the thrilling climax of the romance novel she’d finished last night, replacing the man with another woman, of course. The scene painted two beautiful women, locked in a passionate embrace, one's mouth over the other's neck.

As the steps approached, she flipped to a fresh page with a practiced, bored motion. Then she began sketching a rose just as Viscount Kai Chapman rounded the hedge.

“Hello, Kai,” she said, her voice full of a genuine, easy warmth, a full smile covering her face from ear to ear, “what brings you here so much earlier than usual? Katsuki mentioned you’d arrive before him, but this is a new record.” Well, she'd have less time to sketch, but she'd rather spend some time with her best friend; Himiko didn't like admitting it to anyone, but she always felt so, so alone.

He gave a low, formal bow, “My dear Lady Himiko.”

Himiko let out a peal of unrestrained laughter, “Really?” she said, her eyes sparkling, “Kai, we’ve known each other since we were eight, and you’re still giving me the ‘my dear lady’ treatment?” She set her sketchbook aside. “Come now, you know there’s no need for such ceremony, you’re like family.” Her friend - no, her brother - could be such a brute sometimes.

A pleased, genuine smile bloomed on his face at that comment, “Speaking of which,” he said, his own tone relaxing into their usual, familiar rhythm, “please, walk with me, Himiko.” He offered her a hand.

Strange, she thought, but she quickly shrugged it off, taking his hand to rise from her wooden chair, and then dropping it just as quickly as she stood; which caused a quickly masked pained look in Kai's eyes. Weird, he was acting differently than normal, too formal, too proper. She didn't like it.

He led her not towards the house, but instead towards a private gallery her brother had built to house their family’s art collection. That meant that, whatever he was taking her to, he had talked about it with Katsuki.

"I have something to show you," he said, his voice full of a boyish, excited pride, "I acquired it just this morning." Was it one of his weird experiment materials again? He and Himiko would sometimes bond over what a lot of people would consider morbid, but they considered beautiful. However, she had to admit, sometimes Kai did go too far. Alas, that didn't matter, as he wouldn't be taking her to the gallery if that was the case, which meant this was something else.

When they finally arrived at the gallery, displayed inside she could see a painting that wasn't there before. Woah, Himiko gasped - it was a landscape, but one of a vibrant, emotional power that she had never seen an equal to. It was a painting of a stormy sea, the waves rendered in hundreds of shades of angry teal and deep, churning indigo, crashing against a dark, jagged cliff face; it looked like death itself was raining from the skies. But then, in the distance, she noticed a single, brilliant ray of sunlight that was breaking through the storm clouds, illuminating a small patch of water in a radiant, hopeful gold. The artist had captured not just a scene, but a feeling, and it was a masterpiece of raw, untamed beauty. It was simply breathtaking, Himiko decided.

“Kai, it’s... it’s breathtaking,” she said, her voice full of a genuine awe, "where on earth did you find it?"

“A private auction,” he said, clearly delighted by her reaction, “I knew you would appreciate it. The artist is a new talent, a bit of a rogue. Unafraid of passion.” Huh, she should really meet this artist.

And so they talked for nearly an hour, their conversation easy and familiar as they dissected the painting, debating the artist’s technique and the symbolism of the storm. And it was obvious to anyone that he really did understand the way she saw art. At this thought she felt a familiar, comfortable fondness for her strange, infuriatingly traditional, but brilliant best friend. Thank the heavens he had stopped his odd, proper act from earlier - these sort of discussions are what she loves about their friendship.

“No, but seriously,” she said, turning from the painting to face him one last time, a fond and appreciative smile colouring her features, “this is beautiful. This is the kind of art I would love to spend my entire life painting. I’d be happy if I could ever create something with half this much soul.”

And as she finished turning to him, her breath caught in her throat: he was down on one knee in front of her. Oh, no. No, no, no. Bloody hell, this could not be happening. She had made herself clear for years, hadn’t she?

He took both of her hands in his, looking at her with pure pride in his eyes, "My dear Himiko,” he began, his voice a low, sincere thrum, “that is precisely the idea. The painting is yours. So that you may stare at it for the rest of your life, and never have to lift another finger on your own behalf again.”

He hasn't changed at all, has he? She thought, a shiver running through her spine at the way he spoke it with such earnest chivalry.

“Kai, what is the meaning of this–”

“Himiko Blackwell, my dear Lady,” he interrupted, his gaze intense, “from the moment I first laid eyes on you as a young woman, I knew we were meant to be. I truly believe you were fated to be mine.” Oh, god, the possessiveness, “I want to ensure you are never unsafe, that you never have to worry about the vulgarities of work ever again. Indeed, you may dedicate the rest of your life to being my beloved lady, and we can have these beautiful, easy conversations when I return from my travels with more stories to tell. I want you to discuss other's art with me, make a jest of me, and I want to take care of you, as you will care for me, for the rest of our lives. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Heavens above. Yes, she loved their conversations, but his ideals hadn’t changed an inch: never feel unsafe? She knew that meant being a prisoner under constant watch. Never have to work? that meant giving up all of her passions, and heaven forbid, what would he do if he ever found her more explicit sketches?

Besides, save her from the vulgarities of work? She was richer than him, she didn't need to work, he wouldn't be saving her from anything, he entirely couldn't. No, she couldn’t marry him... but she was terrified of losing the man that was like a brother to her. For if she did, she would be so, so alone-

Stop thinking that, you won't lose him. She thought, shaking her anxieties off.

She gently pulled her hands from his, “Kai,” she began, her own voice a soft, pained thing, “I... I am more honoured than I can possibly say, and I cherish our friendship more than almost anything in this world. But I cannot accept.” Bloody hell, please let it be alright.

He stood up, his face a mask of sad shock that was quickly, terrifyingly quickly, replaced by a cold, hard fury. 
“How dare you?” he said, his voice a low, menacing hiss. “How dare you reject me after everything I’ve done? After this gesture? After all the years I have waited, loving only you? After all the hints you have given me?”

Hints? What? If anything she had made it clear that she never, ever wanted to marry. Not in this life or the next, if there even was one.

Himiko felt her own anger rise, hot and fierce, “Loving me?” She scoffed, “If you truly loved me, you would know I have no desire to stop creating art! That I do not wish to marry, and you would respect my privacy! You’ve known me since we were children, Kai, these are not secrets I have kept from you! And what in the heavens do you mean with hints?”

“Those are the immature fantasies of a girl not yet ready for her duties!” he snapped, “You need to grow up, Himiko! An unwed lady such as yourself cannot just spend so much time talking to only one man, practically throwing herself at him, and expect him not to notice her intentions - don't act naive." What in the hell was going on? Apparently being his friend, talking to him, and comforting him after his sister died was throwing herself at him?

Kai's enraged words continued. "And because of that, I have spent my life ensuring that I can be the man a lady in a delicate position like yourself deserves." Oh, she shall show him delicate, alright-

No, calm down Himiko, don't lose your cool, or you will say something you regret, and you know how that is perceived from a "lady" such as yourself.

So, instead of screaming the vulgarities she knew would come out, she blinked slowly and took a deep breath instead. Saints, how she loathed their world sometimes.

However, the man was relentless in his tirade, his usually cold stare now blazing with a possessive, dignified fury. "And you will respect my efforts. Alas, you have but a few years left before your bloom fades and you are considered past your prime for marriage, nothing but expired goods, you had best take what is offered.”

Oh. That did it.
“And why should I?” she said, her own voice now as cold and sharp as ice, glaring at him for the first time since they were but children, “I am not afraid of your rejection, the judgment of your insipid little world, or the fact that you misinterpreted my friendship as something else. I am the Duke of Rivermoor's sister, you shall best remember that. Compared to me, you are but a powerless Viscount, a man who wishes to wield his power and shoot up at someone far above him just because he was born with a cock between his legs. Besides, what do I care if your world considers me ‘past my prime’ in a few years? At least I will be free to live as I please. In any way, short of a Prince himself asking for my hand, there is nothing to be gained for my family in any match. Now,” her voice dropped to a low, dangerous command, “if you wish to preserve the beautiful friendship that I value so highly, you will leave. This instant.”

Her language was crude, she knew, unfit for a lady, she had lost her cool. But so be it, he had deserved it. And it is not like he had never heard her speak like that before, he was one of two people in the world that she didn't wear her 'proper lady' mask around with.

The fury on his face was absolute. He raised his hand.

Oh, god. Was he going to–

Panic seized her as her eyes went wide with shock. Not again. Please, not again.

He stopped himself, his hand trembling with a barely controlled rage.

“You,” he spat, the word full of a venom she had never heard from him,  “You are a filthy, wretched woman,” he practically spat the next words out, as if they burned his tongue, “your brother shall hear of your vulgar words, so unfit for a… a lady." As if he had not heard her say vulgarities thousands of times before.

Then, he leaned in, his voice a menacing whisper. “And listen to me... I shall have you all for myself, one day. I tried being pleasant, but I did not invest all this time in you for it not to pay off.”

He spun on his heel and stormed out of the gallery, leaving her alone in the sudden, ringing silence.

The last of his words was enough to break her out of the shock that had overtaken her mind when he raised his hand.

Invest? The word echoed in her mind. Like she was livestock? A venture? This was her other brother, the boy she had held when he had cried his eyes out over the death of his little sister, the man she had gone to for comfort after her own mother had passed. 

And he had only ever seen her as what - a thing to be acquired? Were all their conversations, all their shared jokes, all his attempts to reach out to her over the years, all just part of his investment strategy?

No, no, that couldn’t be it, they had felt so genuine. So why? Why would he speak of her like that? This was the person she had trusted with her life, her jokes, her vulgar mouth which was "unfit for a lady". All sides she didn't show to anyone but him and Katsuki, and he had now weaponized all of it against her.

A single, hot, heartbroken tear traced a path down her cheek, and she finally, truly, understood that she had just lost her best friend. Her only friend. The betrayal was a sharp pain in her chest, the force of it sinking her to the floor, her body shaking with ragged sobs.
She felt alone. So, so alone. So alone a small, stupid part of her, wanted to yell, to stand up and go running after him, pleading him to take her back, just so she wouldn't feel this alone again. But she wouldn't, of course not, she could never marry a man like him. But that did not change the fact that now she had no one but her brother, and that would have to be enough, somehow. Thank the heavens that that man was even less interested in the ladies throwing themselves at him than she was in her suitors. Yes, he was being forced to marry, but mayhaps it would take long enough that she could convince him to not move out, away from her, when he finally did. As much as she felt selfish for admitting it, atleast that way he could be with her and she wouldn't be completely, utterly alone.

Katsuki Blackwell, Duke of Rivermoor, was bored.

This lady Rushwell - "It's RUSSEL, Katsuki!" He could almost hear his sister reprimand - was beautiful enough, he supposed. A perfect face with round, vacant blue eyes, like all the others. And just as mind-numbingly dull.

“Your Grace, you possess a most impressive mind,” she breathed, her hands clasped together in a perfect picture of demure admiration.

He barely suppressed a scowl, “Tell me of yourself, my lady,” he droned, the words a familiar, robotic script he could recite in his sleep. Who knows, maybe this one would actually talk about herself without it being the exact same rehearsed answers he heard every damn time. Alas, he doubted it.

The lady blushed, a pretty, perfect pink, “Oh, I am but a simple woman, your grace! I wish for nothing more than to hear of your own brilliant thoughts. I have heard you are a great man of science.”

Tch. Sycophants, the lot of them. No one ever talked back, no one ever challenged him. Since the day he was born, it had been a ceaseless chorus of 'your grace, your grace, your grace'. Always perfect, always at the top, and always, though he would never admit it to another living soul, so completely, utterly alone. His only respite was his sister and Kai, his best friend and academic partner; they, at least, spoke to him like he was a human being and not some deity descended to earth to grace them all with his presence.

Well, at least he could amuse himself: he loved to see just how far he could push the bounds of their credulity before their fake smiles faltered.
“Indeed,” he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial air, a small, amused smirk on his face, “in my most recent studies, I have come to the conclusion that the elden theories were correct and the world is, in fact, quite flat.” Heh, that's a new one.

The lady’s pretty blue eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine shock, before she schooled her features back into a look of delighted awe, “Oh! Good heavens, is that so? How utterly brilliant of you, your grace! Please, do tell me more!” Wow. This level of sucking up to him was most impressive.

He couldn’t even tell if she was a true simpleton or just a masterful liar, but either way, it passed the time.
“Yes,” he continued, warming to his ridiculous theme, “it is the primary reason ships that sail too far simply... fall off. They stray too far from the backs of the giant turtles that carry the earth, the great beasts of legend from the sea that live at the world’s edge are quite fond of them.” Heh. A turtle. He had to give himself credit, he was somehow still creative after all these times spouting nonsense.

“Oh! Fascinating, your grace!” She gushed, “to be in the presence of such a clever Duke is a blessing in itself.”
They really would agree to anything, wouldn't they? The ladies who wanted to be his Duchess, the men who wanted his favor, it was always the same; and this little game was amusing for a time, but it was still boring. And so, so lonely.

Right, that was enough of that.
“I must take my leave,” he said, standing abruptly.

“Oh! Of course, your grace! Might I expect your call upon-” He closed the door, cutting her off.

Damn it all, he only had one lady in his shortlist left, and he had to deal with her tomorrow. And, being completely honest, the chances were that she was exactly the same as the lot of them. Which means he was running out of time and had to, for the first time in his life, go to a ball. The thought itself sounded disgusting, like the most painful form of torture, but mayhaps there were ways he could spend his time to make it amusing. For instance, he could look for the most ridiculous content he could find and tell it to his sister so she could make one of her mocking paintings and they could spend the following day making a jest of all the attendees.

He smirked, that sounded like a much better plan.

But it also meant that now he couldn't go discuss Kai's latest experiment and then get disgustingly inebriated with him, and all because the crown prince needed him to be wed before the season's end to dissuate some "political tensions".

Heavens, could someone, anyone, please end me?

Lady Russel's - he hadn't bothered to learn her first name - father was waiting by the main gate as his carriage pulled up. “Your Grace! My brilliant Lord Blackwell! When might we expect you to grace our home with your presence again? Our Marga-” He closed the carriage door on him as well. Always the damn same, the lot of them.

Maybe he'd meet someone worth a damn at tonight's ball. Alas, he highly, highly, doubted it.

Ochako Underhill, daughter of Baron Underhill, smoothed down the silken folds of her gown for what felt like the thousandth time. She then clutched her gloved hands tightly until her palms stang, the nervous habit a poor substitute for a steadying breath. The grand ballroom of a luxurious estate hummed around her, a symphony of string music and the low, constant chatter of the ton. And yet, all she could hear was the frantic, panicked drumming of her own heart.

Marriage, until a few short months ago, had been a simple, comfortable idea: she would marry Izuku Milverton. Afterall, it was the most natural thing in the world, he was her dearest friend, the son of a neighboring Baron whose estate bordered her own family's, causing their lives to be intertwined since childhood. He was kind, and sweet, and one of the few men in existence who didn’t look at her with a glazed-over expression when she dared to speak of something more stimulating than the latest gossip or the insipidities of needlepoint. Besides, her father could spend hours in rapt conversation with Izuku - discussing his latest scientific readings -, and her mother adored Izuku. A life with him would have been... pleasant, comfortable, it sounded quite agreeable. And sure, she didn't feel the all-consuming passion the world spoke about, but she doubted anybody really felt that way.

Alas, "comfortable" was a luxury the Underhill family could no longer afford.

Her father's disastrous ventures into speculative investments had brought them to the very brink of ruin, and they were desperate. And in that desperation, they had struck a devil's bargain: she was now one of three ladies on a very short, very intimidating list for the hand of the Duke of Rivermoor himself, Katsuki Blackwell. 

The man was a fearsome legend, and he had a reputation: a reclusive, ill-tempered creature who, by all accounts, cared for nothing but his strange scientific pursuits and his even stranger "artistic" sister - a woman reportedly so mentally fragile she had rarely been seen in society since her debutante ball years ago. The simple thought of them brought an unbidden image to her thoughts, one of a life shackled to some beastly troll and his mental sister in a dark, drafty castle. The image filled her with a profound, suffocating dread.

This was most unfair, she was supposed to marry Izuku, not be stuck with two lunatics! And Izuku, trapped by his own family's more modest, though stable, means, had offered no protest. He had just looked at her with his kind, sad eyes, and the unspoken truth hung between them - he could not save her from this, he was powerless.

Which was why she was here, in this gilded hell, for the twelfth time in as many nights, trying to escape her fate of marrying into that horror of a family. She had smiled, curtsied, and made excruciatingly polite and vapid conversation with a parade of eligible and entirely unsuitable men. All of which were either ancient lords who smelled of mothballs and decay, or pompous young bucks who spoke only of their horses and hounds, their eyes glazing over the moment she tried to show a flicker of her true, inquisitive self. At least Izuku wanted to have a real conversation, even if she couldn't keep up with his rambling half the time.

And she was desperate, the Duke had apparently already met with the other two ladies on his list, and her own meeting - which would frankly be more of an "interrogation" on how perfect of a Lady she was - was scheduled for the morrow. Tonight was her last, desperate chance to find someone, anyone, to secure a different, less terrifying future.

As another ancient lord with rotting teeth approached her, all Ochako Underhill could think about was how utterly exhausted she was.

Chapter Text

Katsuki had said something to her, but it was barely audible beneath the noise in her own head.

Investment

Rotten goods

Alone

So, so alone

An older memory tangled in there, a shadowed face that should've represented protection pulling its hand away: Mayhaps you will behave like a proper lady now!

And so, Himiko had done the only thing she knew how to do when the noise in her head became overwhelming: she bolted when the doorway opened, and her brother's arms were waiting for her, his voice a distant rumble, his stories nothing but muffled rambles against the storm in her mind. He held her, his arms a solid, warm anchor in the churning sea of her despair and solitude, and for a moment, that was enough. The fabric of his evening coat was rough against her cheek, smelling faintly of the cool night air and something else, something that was just Katsuki that never failed to break down her walls. She buried her face in it, letting out the ragged, ugly sobs she had been holding back since she’d fled the gallery, the betrayal a raw, open wound in her chest.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through her, a command born of a fury she knew was entirely on her behalf. “Tell me what happened to you.”

She tried to speak, to put the sheer, humiliating horror of it into words, but all that came out was a broken, choked sound. She just shook her head, clinging to him tighter, the memory of Kai’s face, twisted with that cold, possessive rage, flashing in her mind.

I must not. Kai is like his brother, what if he sides with him?, she knew the simple idea of that ever happening was preposterous, but worry her it did. And even if Katsuki sided with her, it wasn't any better - it could leave her brother feeling as alone as she did.

No, she couldn't risk that. Himiko was not a fool, if she was secretly proud about something is that she was the emotionally intelligent one of their little family of three-

Two now, she bitterly corrected herself.

She was always the one most aware of her own feelings. And she knew that her dear brother, with all his disinterest in other people, was as craving of true connection as she was, neither of them wanting marriage specifically but still desperately alone. Kai, their friend acquaintance having been the only exception.

“Himiko,” he said again, his voice sharper this time, and he pulled her back just enough to look at her, his hands firm on her shoulders. He was not going to let this go until she told him, was he?

His own face was a thunderous mask, his red eyes blazing with a protective fire that was so familiar, so safe. And right now, so terrifying because she knew that once she started she wouldn't be able to stop. “Who did this to you? Was it Kai?”

She could only manage a shaky nod, the single movement seeming to break the dam. And despite her initial hesitance, the words came flooding out, a frantic, sobbing torrent. The story of the painting, the proposal, the possessive, awful things he’d said, how he’d called her an investment, a thing to be acquired, how her friendship had just been a way of throwing herself at him, how everything they had shared - everything she had trusted him with - had been a lie, a long con, and he had just weaponized all of it against her just to have her.

“An investment Katsuki, as if our entire friendship was just him looking for the best livestock," she said, eyes shining from barely unshed tears, "and he raised his hand, Katsuki.” She whispered, the words a raw, torn thing, her voice catching on a fresh sob, a distant look now showing in her eyes. “He was going to- he just stopped, but he… he looked at me, and he raised his hand, just like-”

Just like Papa.

She didn’t have to finish the thought. She saw the understanding, the shared, ugly memory flickering in his eyes, his entire body going rigid. The arms around her became bands of iron, and the air in the room seemed to crackle with the sudden, violent shift in his energy.

“I’ll kill him,” he snarled, the words a low, guttural promise. “I will bring ruin to him. I will tear down his entire house, name, and legacy, and salt the very earth where it stood. He will never touch you again. He will never breathe your name again.”

She believed him. But as she looked at him, truly looked past the volcanic fury in his eyes, she saw it. A flicker of something else. A deep, wounded pain. A hesitation that lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was there. This wasn't just some lord who had insulted her - this was Kai. Their Kai. The boy they had grown up with, the man who was supposed to be his brother. And the thought of destroying him, as deserved as it was, was a terrible one. Katsuki could say the words, but the act itself… bloody hell, it would break a part of him, too.

He seemed to make a decision then, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, the killing rage in his eyes banking into something more controlled, more patient. “I cannot go tonight,” he said, his voice still tight with barely contained violence. “I have a duty in the morning, this Miss Underhill. But after I am done with that, I will handle him. I swear it.”

Himiko felt a strange, guilty pang of relief. Katsuki was right, of course, this was a matter to be handled with a clear head, not in the dead of night. But she knew her brother. She knew he was also giving himself a reprieve, a day to process the profound betrayal before he was forced to act. He was delaying the inevitable, and she was grateful for it, for both their sakes.

He must have seen the exhaustion in her eyes, the way the fight had drained out of her, because his expression softened, just a fraction. “Speaking of infuriating people,” he began, his tone shifting, a clear, if clumsy, attempt to steer her away from the abyss.

He was so clearly trying to distract her, but Himiko doubted much would be useful against the hammering sound the betrayal from a lifelong friendship was causing in her brain.

As if seeming to notice this, he continued, “I met the most aggravating woman at the ball tonight. A complete and utter maniac.”

Despite herself, a flicker of curiosity stirred, though Himiko still felt like she was watching someone talk out of her body while her mind wasn't really there. He must really think this would somehow surprise her enough to calm her raging thoughts - she was sure it would be futile, of course.

She pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “Even more deranged than me?”

“That's a hard one," he paused and smirked, pondering it, "infinitely,” he grunted, a hint of something that might have been amusement in his voice. “A little thing, looked like an enraged chipmunk, but with the lungs of a town crier. Called me an insufferable, heartless brute to my face.”

What. The. Fuck. Okay, she had to give it to him, that she had not been expecting to hear, and it had definitely been enough to capture her attention, albeit temporarily.

A small, watery laugh escaped her lips, a weak but genuine sound, and the first hints of a mischievous smirk painted her features. “She did not! Well, everyone can see it, you are a brute, but did she actually have the gall to say it to your face?”

He glared at her, "I take it back, you are far more of a maniac than she could ever be".

"Indeed, and that's why you adore me, brother." Himiko continued, earning an annoyed grunt out of him, which in Katsuki language meant you are correct but I will not grant you the pleasure of hearing it out loud.

“In any way, she did call me that,” he confirmed, a ghost of a smirk on his own lips, “and then she blamed me for staining her gown after she knocked her own damned wine glass over."

Wow, this lady sounded intriguing, to say the least, if what Katsuki was saying was true.

"She did not!" Himiko repeated, a shocked but fascinated look in her eyes.

He grunted in affirmation. "And then," he paused for a second, looking at Himiko as if waiting to capture her reaction for his future amusement. He smirked, "she had the audacity to make me clean it.”

Only one thought could go through Himiko's mind at that moment: What. The. FUCK!

This time, the laugh that burst out of her was real, a peal of pure, disbelieving delight that momentarily chased away the darkness. The sheer absurdity of it, the image of her proud, fearsome, untouchable brother on his knees cleaning a dress for some strange, beautiful - you don't even know that - furious woman… it was a balm on her wounded soul.

“Oh, Katsuki,” she said, her voice still thick with tears, but now laced with a genuine, if fragile, amusement. “You absolute buffoon. I must meet this woman at once! If only to finally have someone that recognizes the fool the fearsome duke really is. A kindred spirit, if you may.” To an outsider, her remark might have sounded scandalous, but the teasing smile full of brotherly adoration that accompanied it made it clear that this dynamic was routine for the Blackwell siblings.

He just scoffed, but she saw it, the small, relieved flicker in his eyes that told her he had achieved his goal. He had pulled her back from the edge.

Of course that's what he was worried about, she thought fondly, tears still wet on her cheeks, but the crushing weight on her chest lessened, if only for a moment. It had been a distraction, her mind always felt like it was in three different places at once. Her brother knew that the best way to improve her mood was by getting her to focus on something intriguing enough that it could quieten all the other noise in her head.

And a woman who called her brother a brute and asked him to clean her gown, all the while in the middle of a ball? Well, that was nothing if not intriguing. It was something, a small, flickering candle in the suffocating pain of her heartbreak.

He continued, "That's where you come in," looking at Himiko with an amused smirk.

Huh? What ever does he mean?

"It seems I may have finally met my match. Which means her most important test is next," the blond man elaborated, leaving Himiko to wonder what it could be, "getting your blessing."

The most important.

Himiko's features immediately turned into shock at the remark. And then her face quickly melted into a barely disguised adoration. “Alright, Katsuki,” she whispered, “bring me your chipmunk, let's see if she really is intriguing enough to entertain the Duke of Brutes himself.”

Katsuki just grunted, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes that told her he had achieved his goal. He gave a final, stiff nod, the conversation clearly over, and turned for the door. His hand was on the cool brass of the doorknob when he stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder, and the familiar, arrogant smirk was fixed on his lips, his default armor to the world. But it was his eyes that spoke the loudest, for they held none of their usual disinterest or anger. Instead, they held a protective fire that Himiko had only ever seen directed at her before.

The smirk widened slightly.

“...but do let me know if you need anything, maniac.”

And with that, he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him. And Himiko was left alone, yes, but with the unwavering certainty that her brother would still be there. And that no matter what happened with Kai, she would not have to face it alone.

The morning light felt like the opening curtains of her ruin. It streamed through the windows of her modest bedchamber, far too bright, far too cheerful for a day that was, with almost absolute certainty, going to be the day of her doom, and Ochako Underhill was utterly, completely, and profoundly mortified.

Oh, heavens.

Oh, by God, what had she done? The memories of the previous night played in her mind on a relentless, humiliating loop: the shouting, the pointing, the wine, the sheer, unadulterated fury she had unleashed on a man who had turned out to be the very Duke she was supposed to be impressing. She had called him a brute. A pompous, insufferable, heartless brute. To his face. While intoxicated. And then she made him clean her gown.

A miserable groan escaped her lips as she buried her face in her pillow, a futile attempt to hide from the dawning horror. Her prediction last night had been entirely wrong, today was absolutely going to be worse. Last night had been a disaster born of passion and perhaps a bit too much wine; today would be the cold, sober reckoning. The official “meeting”, the interrogation. The moment her family's last hope was formally and officially extinguished because she, Ochako Underhill, could not behave like a proper lady for one single evening. 

And that was if the Duke even wanted to show himself today after what transpired last night, though maybe fate would be kind to her for once and the man would not remember it was her. After all, she wasn’t really recognizable, was she? Just a lowly baron’s daughter.

Yes, as if he would forget probably the first lady to yell at him in public. Ochako groaned, she didn’t even know why she was entertaining herself with pointless thoughts and delusions that did nothing but distract her from her upcoming reckoning.

She had barely managed to force down a piece of toast at breakfast, the food tasting like ash in her mouth, her father's and Izuku’s brilliant mind and discussion about the novel Foori- Fouri- Foot- Fromage? Transform or something akin was a distant, buzzing noise against the roaring panic in her own head.

Izuku, surprisingly, managed to distance himself from the conversation for just a second and shot her a look of profound, sympathetic terror from across the table, one that said: I am so very sorry for your impending doom, my friend. It had not been even remotely comforting.

And now, she was waiting. Her father had insisted they greet the Duke at the main gate, a gesture of respect she was certain was entirely pointless. In the best of cases the man was probably just coming to formally withdraw his interest, to inform her father that his daughter was a shrieking, uncivilized hoyden unworthy of his great name. And then he would be gone, leaving them to face the ruin she had so spectacularly brought upon them - and that was if he didn’t decide to outright ruin them himself.

She didn't even know if he would show. Maybe he had decided she wasn't even worth the effort of a formal rejection. The thought, meant to be a comfort to her growing fear of confrontation, was somehow worse.

Ochako gulped, the thought I am completely and utterly ruined, aren’t I? Being the only one that could be heard in her mind.

The sound of an approaching carriage, the crunch of wheels on the gravel drive, sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. This was it. She smoothed down the folds of her simple but respectable day gown, her gloved hands trembling slightly as she pressed them against her palms. She could do this. She could be demure, she could be polite, she could be flawless, she could apologize profusely and beg for his forgiveness - and perhaps, just perhaps, he would be merciful.

The carriage door opened. And there he was. The Duke of Rivermoor, looking just as tall and intimidating and unfairly handsome as he had the night before, and in his arms was a…

A puppy?!

Indeed, he awkwardly held a small, slightly squirming spaniel puppy in the crook of his arm.

A puppy? Is that a courting gift? Did that mean… did that mean he didn't know? Oh, a fragile, desperate hope bloomed in her chest. Maybe her stupid hope wasn’t just a delusion, it had been dark on the terrace, and she was but a humble Baron’s daughter, her face was surely not so memorable to a man such as himself.

Relief flowed through her for the first time since waking up, he didn’t know it was her. This was her chance. She could start over. She could be the perfect lady.

He strode towards them, the puppy looking utterly bewildered in the arms of such a terrifying man. He stopped before her and her father, his gaze sweeping over her with that same unnerving and somehow bored intensity. And then he saw her face. Truly saw it.

He stopped dead. And his lips began to twitch. He was trying, she could see him actively fighting it, trying to contain the laugh, the infuriatingly amused smirk that was threatening to break free, all traces of boredom gone from his face.

Oh, he remembered, he absolutely, definitely remembered. The fragile hope in her chest didn't just die; it was violently assassinated, just like her future surely would in but a moment.

“Your Grace,” her father said, bowing low, completely oblivious to the silent, mortifying drama unfolding before him. “May I present my daughter, the Lady Ochako Underhill. Ochako, this is the Duke of Rivermoor, Katsuki Blackwell.”

Then, her father paused, a curious look going over his eyes, seeming to notice the Duke’s losing fight against the smirk, before he asked, “Your grace, my daughter, are you acquainted?” 

Katsuki Blackwell’s smirk finally won the battle. It was a wide, handsome, and utterly mocking thing that made her wish the ground would swallow her whole.

“No,” he said, his voice a low, smooth purr of pure amusement, his gaze locked on Ochako’s. “I have not,” he paused, his smirk widening as he took her gloved hand, the warmth of his skin a jolt against her own clammy hand. He brought her knuckles to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers, “had the pleasure.”

Ochako could barely contain the infuriated scowl that threatened her features, be demure, be perfect, entertain him.

Oh, this man was infuriating. Utterly, completely, and absolutely infuriating.

Katsuki Blackwell was having the most entertaining morning he’d had in years. It was simply magnificent. Turns out Lady Luck was on his side, and this Underhill woman was the exact same one he was planning to contact later in the day.

Besides, just the memory of the look on her face when she’d realized he remembered her was enough to make him smirk. The perfect, comical symphony of dawning horror, impotent fury, and utter, soul-crushing mortification... It had been more rewarding than any scientific breakthrough he'd made in the last six months. This lady, this Ochako Underhill, was a chaotic, unpredictable variable, and for once in every courting session of his damned life, he found he wasn’t bored at all.

Her father, bless his oblivious, chattering heart, had insisted on leaving them to "become better acquainted," stationing a terrified-looking maid in the corner of the drawing-room as a chaperone before making a hasty retreat. The puppy, which he’d unceremoniously tried to hand to the maid, had insisted on running to Ochako’s side and was now happily chewing on the leg of her antique chair. It was quite simple perfect.

He watched Ochako sit stiffly on the edge of her seat, her hands in her lap clawing at her palms so tightly he wanted to wince, her back ramrod straight. She looked like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, one who was trying very hard not to show it. It was a good performance, he supposed, this mask of the perfect, demure lady. But it was a bore. It was the exact same as every other lady he had talked to, the only relief was seeing how she turned to the puppy whenever her fear escalated too quickly. 

After only a few minutes, he realized he missed the enraged chipmunk from the terrace.

Heh, time to see if she’s still in there, he thought with a smirk, getting ready to drastically change his tactics to make his final scheduled courting morning less of a bore.

“I trust your journey home last evening was uneventful, my lady?” he began, his voice laced with a deliberate, mocking formality that he knew would set her teeth on edge. 

She flinched, just slightly. “It was, Your Grace,” she murmured, her gaze fixed firmly on the puppy that was now wagging his tail at her. “Most pleasant.”

Oh, she was trying so hard to be the perfect lady for him. That was fine, it would only make this a more interesting challenge. 

“Pleasant,” he repeated, savoring the word, Ochako quickly freezing but for a moment before she began petting the puppy with her gloved hand. “Excellent. I was concerned you might have taken a chill, being out on the terrace for so long. The night air can be quite treacherous.”

He saw her jaw clench. Good, a reaction. “I am quite robust, Your Grace. Thank you for your concern.”

“Of course. A lady’s health is of paramount importance,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his own chair. “Especially a lady with such passionate spirits. One must be careful not to overexert oneself with… conversation.”

Her head snapped up then, and for the first time since he'd arrived, she met his gaze. And there it was. That beautiful, furious fire, blazing in the depths of her warm brown eyes. Finally, this was going to be fun.

“My spirits are perfectly well-tempered, Your Grace,” she said, her voice still quiet, but now laced with the thinnest, most delicious layer of ice. She was trying so very hard not to snap.

“Are they?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “My apologies, I must have misjudged the situation entirely last night. I was under the impression you were quite distressed.”

The furious blush was back, flooding her cheeks with color. She took a deep, steadying breath and reached one hand out to pet the puppy, clearly fighting for control. “Last night was an anomaly, Your Grace. I am not one to follow such behaviour.”

“An anomaly,” he mused. “A fascinating term, like a star deviating from its course. Tell me, Lady Ochako, are you prone to such astronomical anomalies?”

She gritted her teeth, barely. Just enough for him to see it, but it was shoved down yet again. “No, Your Grace.” She said, now frantically - but somehow still sweetly - petting the spaniel.

Well, he was struggling to get her to show that side again, her being intoxicated the previous night probably didn’t help her case. Thankfully, Katsuki knew he still had a secret weapon, one that was part of his plans for the day after he solved the Underhill matter anyways. It just so turned out that this woman was the same one he had met the previous night.

Katsuki wasn’t a fool, much as his sister loved to point it out: he knew about his and Himiko’s reputation to the outside world, and he was specifically well versed in how other women were terrified of the “mental Lady Blackwell”, as they called her. Whenever anything about her slipped his mouth during any talk with a lady, they would immediately cower. And well, his plans for the day included getting Himiko to grant her blessing for last night’s woman who just so happened to be Ochako. How wonderful, two birds with one stone.

Time for the final push, then. “Excellent. Then I am sure you and my sister shall get on famously. You will adore her, I am quite certain of it.”

The comment landed as expected. He watched as she paled slightly, the genuine, panicked terror from the night before returning to her eyes. Perfect, now to reel her back in. He leaned forward, a conspiratorial smirk on his lips.

“She is quite spirited, as I’m sure you’re aware,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. “She has a rather sharp tongue. And she's quite fond of calling me an insufferable brute, in fact. Makes a terrible jest of my voice when she thinks I am not listening, I do believe she’d take quite a liking to you.”

And there it was, the perfect reaction he was looking for. Not her fire, not yet, but a deep, mortified blush flooded her cheeks, forcing her to look down at her lap to hide the embarrassed little smile that was fighting for control of her lips.

He had her, and it was hilarious. He had found the crack in her suffocating, proper armor. Maybe it wasn’t the same look from the night before, but it was still quite entertaining. He found, to his own surprise, that he quite liked it.

Yes, he could definitely work with this, and even if he wasn’t able to fully crack through her at first, he was certain that if anyone could, it’d be Himiko. If that went well, then this was going to be so much more interesting than marrying a sycophant.

The Underhill family’s study was a sanctuary, one of the few places in the world where Izuku Milverton felt he could truly breathe. He leaned forward in his chair, the scent of old paper a familiar comfort, completely lost in the conversation. Mr. Underhill, bless his heart, was one of the only men of his station who saw past Izuku’s modest parentage and simply saw a fellow mind, a compatriot in the thrilling, endless war against ignorance.

“But the elegance of it is simply staggering, my lord,” Izuku rambled, his hands gesturing excitedly, practically a blur. “Monsieur Fourier’s new analytical theory… the idea that any function, no matter how complex, can be decomposed into a sum of complex sines and cosines! It simplifies the analysis of linear systems to a degree I had scarcely thought possible! It's not just a transformation, the impact it could have is simply astonishing to think about!"

Mr. Underhill chuckled, a warm, booming sound. “My boy, your passion is infectious, but my mind turns to knots at the very thought! You must explain this property of the e to the iw again, it is a staggering concept, that it calls into question the very nature of-”

The study door opened, and the conversation died in Izuku’s throat. It was Ochako, his dear, sweet Ochako, looking flushed, flustered, and barely keeping her frustration in -  and was that a puppy in her arms? Behind her, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the very light in the room, was the terrifying but handsome - objectively, of course - Duke of Rivermoor.

Oh, heavens. Oh, heavens above, it is him. The legend, the brute, the fearsome recluse who, by all accounts, ate men like Izuku for breakfast, and who was also a world renowned man of science. Izuku felt himself shrink in his chair, trying to become one with the upholstery, his entire body screaming at him to be silent, to be invisible, to not draw the attention of the predator who had just entered their quiet, scholarly den - clashing with the part of his mind that wanted nothing more than to discuss theories with the blond.

He watched as the Duke offered a stiff, formal bow to Mr. Underhill, his movements precise and economical, wasting not an ounce of energy. His eyes, a startling, furious red, swept the room with a look of profound, soul-withering boredom that made Izuku’s blood run cold.

“My lord Underhill,” the Duke grunted, his voice a low rumble. “Your daughter.”

And that was it. A perfect delivery. He turned to leave, and Izuku felt a wave of profound relief wash over him. He had survived.

Oh, thank the heavens.

But then Mr. Underhill, bless his good-natured soul, decided to fill the silence.

“Your Grace!” he said cheerfully, “A pleasure! Young Milverton was just explaining this new French theory - Fourier Transform, I believe. A fascinating subject, is it not?”

The Duke stopped. He didn’t turn fully, just angled his head slightly, and those piercing red eyes fixed on Izuku for the first time. The relief in Izuku’s chest was instantly replaced by a white-hot, paralyzing terror.

He’s looking at me. He’s looking at me and I am nothing but a bug to him, a provincial Baron’s son talking of things far beyond his station, oh heavens, I must apologize, I must leave-

However, despite everything, a traitorous part of Izuku yearned to hear what the man had to say on it, to see if such a widely recognized genius like Katsuki Blackwell agreed with him.

The Duke didn’t sneer, didn’t dismiss them. A flicker of something, a spark of genuine - if annoyed - interest crossed his face. “Fourier is a useful tool for engineers,” the Duke stated, not as an opinion, but as an undeniable fact, “but as a pure mathematical concept, it is an ugly, brutish approximation. It lacks the elegance of Laplace’s work. It is a hammer where Laplace provides a scalpel.”

The statement was so arrogant, so absolute, and yet… so insightful.

The terror in Izuku’s mind was suddenly at war with the burning curiosity of the scholar. This was his chance, his one and only chance in his entire, provincial life to speak to a mind as wonderful as this one, a man who didn’t just read the theories but challenged them, a man who funded the very institutions Izuku could only dream of visiting. Cowardice now would be a regret he would carry to his grave.

His voice, when it came out, was a weak, trembling thing, but it was there. “B-but Your Grace,” he stammered, hating how small he sounded, “is it not the very purpose of the transform to simplify? The property that any complex exponential that enters a linear system yields a predictable, scaled output allows us to analyze any system’s response by simply understanding its reaction to those basic components! Add to that the fact that he proposes the possibility of approximation for any function with a sum of complex exponentials to streamline analysis of system responses, and the potential is quite honestly marvelous. Isn't that simplification the very definition of elegance?”

He was getting very excited and he knew it, but once he got in his element nothing could really stop him-

Nothing but the realization hitting him, the realization that he had done it. He had challenged the Duke of Rivermoor. He was surely doomed.

The Duke turned fully then, and fixed him with a stare so intense it felt as though he were trying to dissect Izuku's very soul. There was a long, terrible silence, and then the Duke scoffed, a sharp, dismissive sound.

Oh no, what have I done? Izuku's anxiety was quickly shooting up, his arms beginning to tremble all the way down to his fingertips.

“Elegance is not about simplicity, Milverton,” he said, and the fact that he had somehow already learned Izuku’s name sent another jolt of panic through him. “It is about universality. Fourier’s work is constrained, it requires absolute convergence. Laplace’s transform is more general, more powerful. It can handle functions that Fourier’s cannot even touch.”

Oh this man, his mind was simply brilliant. Izuku knew that deep down, he wished that one day his own abilities could match someone like Katsuki Blackwell... which is why he had to learn more about how this wonderful mind functioned.

And just like that, the fear was gone, completely and utterly incinerated by the sheer, exhilarating thrill of the conversation. Izuku shot back, his mind alight, his earlier anxieties forgotten, "But for stable systems, for the problems we face in the physical world, Fourier is more than sufficient! It is the more practical, the more directly applicable tool! The universality of Laplace is a theoretical beauty, I grant you, but Fourier is the workhorse, the foundation upon which we can actually build!"

The world had shrunk to the space between himself and the Duke, a super-heated bubble of pure intellect where everything else simply ceased to matter. He barely registered Mr. Underhill’s occasional, amazed interjections, or the still, silent, and terrified figure of Ochako standing by the door. He was simply alive, in a way he had never been before. He was fighting with a titan, parrying complex theories with hesitant counter-arguments that grew bolder with every passing moment, his mind pushed to its absolute limit and finding - to his astonishment - that it could hold its own.

He saw the Duke grit his teeth when Izuku pointed out a flaw in one of his arguments, but it wasn't the anger of a nobleman being contradicted. It was the pure, frustrated fury of a competitor who had met his match. It was the most profound compliment Izuku had ever received in his life, even if a part of him believed that there's no way he was actually matching the Duke.

The bubble burst when Izuku, in the heat of their debate, finally posed the one question he knew neither of them could answer, a knot he simply could not untangle. “But then how,” he asked with a curious frown, the passion giving way to genuine, pleading curiosity, “how can either method truly account for a non-linear system? Once you introduce that chaos, both transforms become… inadequate. We have no tools for such a thing.”

Mayhaps a man as knowledgeable and powerful as Katsuki Blackwell had more insights and knowledge of new theories than him?

The Duke was silent. He stared at Izuku, and for the first time, the annoyance in his expression was completely gone, replaced by a look of pure, frustrated concentration. He opened his mouth, then closed it, a low growl of frustration rumbling in his chest. “We don’t,” he finally admitted, and the admission seemed to cost him a great deal, “it’s the wall we cannot yet breach. A system that cannot be simplified.”

And in that moment of shared, baffled silence, the intense, hyper-focused world the two of them had built shattered like glass. The sound of the grand clock ticking on the mantelpiece suddenly seemed deafening. The scent of beeswax and old paper rushed back into his senses. And the full, crushing weight of what he had just done came crashing down on him like a physical blow.

He had just spent the better part of an hour arguing, contradicting, and debating with the Duke of Rivermoor as if he were a fellow student in a common room. He had forgotten himself completely, had forgotten his station, had forgotten the very real danger this man represented. He was doomed, his father would be horrified, Mr. Underhill was probably appalled, and Ochako… he didn't even dare look at Ochako.

He felt a hot, mortified blush creep up his neck, and he quickly looked down at his own shoes, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Y-your Grace,” he stammered, his voice once again a pathetic, trembling thing, “my sincerest apologies, I- I was presumptuous, I overstepped my-”

“Underhill,” the Duke’s voice cut through his panicked apology, sharp and decisive. He wasn’t even looking at Izuku anymore. He had turned his full, intimidating attention to Ochako’s father, who looked as though he’d just heard the proof of life itself.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Mr. Underhill replied, looking slightly dazed.

“I require your daughter’s presence at my estate. I wish for her to meet my sister. Now.” The Duke ordered with absolute, confident authority.

Oh no, Ochako going to meet the infamous Lady Himiko Blackwell? But the Duke was about to leave, is this somehow my fault?! Izuku thought, remembering how terrified his friend had been at the prospect of coming face to face with the mental sister.

A small, strangled sound escaped from the direction of the doorway. “What?! Right now-”

It was Ochako. Her voice was a horrified squeak, her hand flying to her mouth as if to snatch the impertinent words back from the air. Her eyes were wide with a fresh wave of panic, a look so utterly terrified it was almost comical, her cheeks red with a mortified blush. Izuku watched as the Duke glanced in her direction, not with anger, but with a low, huffing sound of pure amusement that he barely tried to conceal.

Oh, this was a nightmare. This was a complete and utter nightmare.

Mr. Underhill, star-struck, was already stammering his ascent, completely oblivious to his daughter’s silent implosion. “Of-of course, Your Grace! An honor! She would be delighted, absolutely delighted!”

The Duke gave a curt nod of satisfaction, his business apparently concluded. He turned, and Izuku flinched, expecting him to storm out of the room as abruptly as he had conducted his entire visit.

But he didn't. He stopped, and his piercing red eyes landed directly on Izuku. And then, the most terrifying thing of all happened. The Duke of Rivermoor smirked. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was a sharp, predatory thing, the look of a collector who had just found a rare and fascinatingly combative new specimen.

Izuku gulped to swallow his nerves down.

“You’re coming too,” he said, the words not an invitation, but a command.

“What?!” The word ripped out of Izuku’s own throat, a shocked, involuntary yelp that was even less dignified than Ochako’s. The blood drained from his face as he realized what he’d just done. He had just bellowed at a Duke. Twice. The panic was a cold, constricting band around his chest.

“A-apologies!” He stammered, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. “Apologies, Your Grace! I spoke out of turn, I meant no disrespect, I would not presume-”

“Tch,” the Duke grunted, cutting him off. The smirk on his face had only widened, his eyes glinting with a truly infuriating amusement at the sight of the both of them in such a state. “Just get your things, Milverton. We’re leaving.”

And despite the overwhelming fear clawing at his insides, deep down, Izuku Milverton was also excited at the chance to learn more about the man's mind - and to possibly, one day, match it.

Chapter Text

The carriage ride was a symphony of silent, repressed panic, and Katsuki was enjoying it immensely. He sat opposite them, the ludicrously small puppy now asleep in his lap, and watched the silent drama unfold. Ochako Underhill was staring resolutely out the window, her expression a mask of pure, polite terror, as if she were convinced he was driving her to the gallows instead of his own damned house. Milverton, on the other hand, was staring at his own shoes with an intensity that suggested they held the secrets to all of Fourier’s theories. Every time the carriage jolted, they would both flinch. It was magnificent.

He had to admit, he hadn’t planned this. Not exactly. His entire morning had been derailed by a crying sister, a mortifying memory of being bossed around by a chipmunk, and finally, a sudden, unexpected academic brawl in a provincial Baron’s study. And yet, this impromptu change of plans felt right. Efficient. He needed Himiko’s approval for the chipmunk, and he needed - no, he wanted - to continue his debate with the bookworm. This accomplished both. Two birds, one stone. His time was a precious commodity, after all.

Upon arriving at the estate, he barked orders at a servant to lead Milverton to his study and to wait for him there, a command which made the poor man look as though he were being led to his own execution. Good. Then, feeling the terrified gaze of Miss Underhill on his back, he turned to her, a sharp, predatory smirk fixed on his face. “Come along, my lady,” he’d said, thoroughly enjoying the way she flinched. “It is time for your final test.”

He strode from the drawing-room, the latch clicking shut behind him, leaving her with Himiko. The echo of Himiko's polite, dangerous voice followed him for a moment, quipping some jest about equations to him that he barely heard.

Heh, may the gods have mercy on that chipmunk's soul. A flicker of something that was almost pity, almost, pricked at him, but he stamped it out. It was a test. Either the girl would crumble into a boring, sycophantic mess and Himiko would dismiss her before teatime - problem solved, he'd go back to finding someone to court - or she would show some of that fire from the terrace and actually prove herself as interesting as Katsuki thought she was. Either outcome was efficient and, either way, it was no longer his concern. He had a far more fascinating puzzle to attend to, one with an infuriatingly brilliant mind currently pacing a hole in his study floor.

He found Milverton standing in the center of his study, looking utterly lost and terrified amidst the towering shelves of books and scientific instruments. However that scientific excitement, that fire, was still hidden in there. The man looked up as Katsuki entered, his eyes wide with a familiar, panicked terror. Katsuki felt a flash of that same profound annoyance from the Underhill study. He had just witnessed this man’s brilliant, combative mind, and now he was retreating back into this pathetic, simpering shell of titles and propriety. He would not allow it.

“Y-your Grace,” Milverton stammered, bowing again. “I- I await your command.”

Katsuki just stared at him for a long, hard moment, letting the silence hang in the air. He saw the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously. He had to give round face this much, her fire hadn’t been so easily extinguished. He knew, instinctively, that teasing and prodding wouldn’t work here. To have Milverton go from being the first person to finally challenge him to this… it was frankly infuriating.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Katsuki snarled, the words a low, guttural command that made Milverton physically recoil, a small, terrified squeak escaping his lips.

“A-apologies, Y-your Grace!” the man stammered, his face draining of all color. “I did not mean to–”

“Tch,” Katsuki grunted, cutting him off. He strode over to his desk, grabbed a thick, leather-bound notebook, and shoved it unceremoniously into Milverton’s trembling hands. “Shut it with that. With the apologies, with the ‘Your Grace.’ I did not bring you here for pleasantries.” He jabbed a finger at the notebook, “Here. Read this. Use your energy and that infuriatingly brilliant mind of yours to let me know what you truly think of it. The flaws, the weaknesses. Tear it apart if you must. But do not lie to me, and do not bore me.”

He watched, a flicker of satisfaction curling in his gut, as the terror in Milverton’s eyes was instantly, completely vaporized, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated curiosity. The man’s trembling hands steadied as he clutched the notebook, his gaze dropping to the cover. He opened it, his eyes scanning the first page of complex equations and theoretical frameworks, and then he looked up, a look of pure, breathless awe on his face. 

The fear was gone. The timid Baron’s son was gone. And in his place was the genius from the study, his eyes shining with a brilliant, intellectual light that was utterly captivating. Seeing his face light up with excitement was endearing, even if he would never say it aloud.

Yes, Katsuki thought, a genuine, if small, smirk touching his lips. This was much better.

The doors of the drawing-room clicked shut behind her, the sound a final, definitive note of doom, and Ochako Underhill was left alone with the madwoman. The silence that followed was immense, heavy, broken only by the frantic, panicked drumming of her own heart and the distant ticking of a grand clock on the mantelpiece. She just stood there, a few feet from the entrance, feeling hopelessly small and out of place in the vast, sunlit room. Every surface gleamed with a level of polish she had only ever read about in books, the sunlight catching on gilded furniture and casting long, judgmental shadows from towering bookshelves.

And in the center of it all, on a chaise lounge of deep green velvet, sat the source of all her terror.

But she wasn't what Ochako had expected at all. The rumors had painted a picture of a wild-eyed, fragile creature, a trembling doll kept under lock and key. The woman before her was anything but. Lady Himiko Blackwell was poised, her posture perfect, a sketchbook resting in her lap as if it were an extension of herself. She had a cascade of honey-blonde hair pinned up in a deceptively simple style, and her eyes, an arresting shade of gold, were not vacant or mad, but sharp, intelligent, and currently sizing Ochako up with an expression of profound, soul-withering boredom. This was not a fragile woman; this was a queen on her throne, and Ochako had just been presented as some sort of provincial curiosity. She felt like a common field mouse being clinically observed by a very elegant, very golden-eyed, and very well-fed cat.

Finally, the queen spoke. “Miss Underhill,” she said, her voice a smooth, melodic thing that held not a trace of madness, just a cool, polite distance that was somehow more terrifying. “My brother has told me a great deal about you.”

Ochako felt a hot blush creep up her neck, oh goodness, what had he told her? That she was an intoxicated low-life lady who screamed at Dukes on terraces? She curtsied, her knees feeling rather weak, the movement clumsy under that intense, assessing gaze. “Lady Blackwell,” she managed, her own voice a pathetic little squeak. “It is an honor.”

“Is it?” Lady Himiko asked, a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in polite inquiry, and Ochako knew, with a sinking certainty, that this woman did not suffer fools, and that she had just been caught being one. “Please, sit. Katsuki, you may leave us. I am sure you have some very important… equations… to attend to.”

The Duke just grunted and closed the doors, the latch clicking shut with another gut-wrenching finality. They were truly alone now. The room, which had seemed so vast, suddenly felt suffocating. Lady Himiko didn’t speak again. She just watched her, her golden eyes unblinking, and Ochako felt like a butterfly pinned to a board: her every flaw, every fear, every clumsy stitch on her simple gown laid bare for inspection.

Oh, she could feel the silence stretching. She had to say something, anything, apologize, compliment the room, compliment the weather, just fill the terrible, awful silence-

“So,” Lady Himiko began again, her voice cutting cleanly through Ochako’s spiraling panic. She deliberately set her sketchbook aside, giving Ochako her full, undivided, and terrifying attention. “You are the woman who called my brother an insufferable, heartless brute.”

Ochako’s blood ran cold. He had told her. Of course he had told her, in exact, excruciating detail. She opened her mouth to apologize, to explain, to quite possibly beg for mercy, but Lady Himiko just held up a slender, elegant hand, a small, almost imperceptible smile finally touching her lips.

“And then,” she continued, her eyes now sparkling with a wicked and utterly baffling light, “you made him clean your gown for you.”

The words hung in the air, not as an accusation, but as a statement of pure, disbelieving delight. The smile on Lady Himiko’s face widened, transforming from a sharp smirk into something utterly radiant. And then she laughed. It wasn’t the cackle of a madwoman. It was a clear, unrestrained peal of joyous laughter that filled the entire stuffy room, a beautiful, brilliant sound that shattered the tension into a thousand pieces. It was the most beautiful, disarming sound Ochako had ever heard.

And her smile. Oh, Saints above, her smile. Ochako had seen many smiles in her lifetime: polite smiles, cruel smiles, loving smiles - but none quite like this. It was a dazzling, unrestrained thing, alight with a genuine joy so pure it stole the very air from Ochako’s lungs. It was the smile of a woman who was completely, totally free in that moment. And in a dizzying rush, Ochako knew two things with absolute certainty: that it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen, and that she yearned, with a sudden, aching desperation, to one day possess a smile even half as liberated.

She just stood there for a moment, profoundly speechless, the sound of that beautiful, unexpected laughter still echoing in the room. The terror that had been a cold, hard knot in her stomach for the past twelve hours seemed to just dissolve, leaving her feeling dizzy and strangely light-headed. She blinked, watching as Lady Himiko wiped a small tear of mirth from the corner of her eye, and the whole situation felt so completely surreal that she wondered if she hadn't perhaps fainted in the carriage and this was all some bizarre, feverish dream.

“Oh, please, do sit down, Miss Underhill, before you fall over,” Lady Himiko said, gesturing to the settee opposite her, her voice still laced with a rich, throaty amusement. “And a servant will bring us some tea. You look as though you could certainly use some.”

Ochako sank onto the plush cushions, her legs suddenly feeling as though they were made of jelly. She watched as Lady Himiko calmly summoned a servant, her movements all grace and easy confidence - Ochako couldn’t help but feel terribly clumsy and provincial in comparison.

She smoothed down her simple dress, digging her gloves nails in her palms, her mind racing. What was she supposed to say now? Did one apologize for being the source of such profound amusement? Oh, heavens, she was going to make a fool of herself all over again.

As if sensing her panic, Lady Himiko leaned forward, a conspiratorial glint in her honeyed eyes. “Truly, you must tell me everything. I have not seen my brother so intrigued, since he discovered that paper on planetary motion last year. He is a man who thrives on being infuriated, but no one has ever managed it with quite so much passion, it seems.”

“Oh,” Ochako mumbled, a fresh wave of heat rising to her cheeks, the mortification returning with a vengeance. “My lady, I must offer my profound apologies, I was quite beside myself, the entire fortnight has been a trial and I allowed my temper to get the best of me, it was most unladylike-”

“Unladylike?” Lady Himiko interrupted, her tone a perfect blend of dry wit and genuine curiosity. “My dear Miss Underhill, I believe it was the most sensible thing a lady could do. Tell me, was he being particularly pompous?”

The question was so direct, so gleefully impertinent, that Ochako couldn’t help but let out a small, surprised laugh of her own. “He was… stating that he was above everyone else at the ball, my lady.”

“Oh, he does that,” Himiko said with a dismissive wave of her hand that felt thrillingly casual. “It is one of his most tedious habits. It’s because he usually is, you see, and no one has ever had the courage to tell him it makes him sound like a complete and utter ass.”

Ochako’s eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle another giggle. The woman had just called her own brother, a Duke, an ass, as easily as if she were commenting on the weather. She was so free. So utterly, completely unrestrained in a way Ochako couldn’t even begin to imagine being. The envy she felt was a sharp, sudden pang, and it was tangled up with a profound, confusing admiration. Her freedom was, she thought with a dizzying rush, achingly beautiful, leaving her wishing that she could be like that.

The tea arrived then, a welcome interruption that gave Ochako a moment to collect her thoughts. To break the silence, and to steer the conversation as far away as possible from her own transgressions as possible, she nervously brought up the one other thing she had witnessed that morning. “They were having such an intense discussion before, your brother and my friend Mr. Milverton. About some new theory, I believe? Something transform?”

Himiko’s eyes sparkled with amusement over the rim of her teacup. “Oh, that dreadful business. I’ve heard Katsuki rambling about it. Foyer, I think it’s called?”

Ochako frowned, trying to recall the word Izuku had used with such passion. “No, I… I believe it was Fromage?”

The corner of Himiko’s lip twitched, and she had to use her cup to hide the laugh that threatened to spill out. A warm, knowing smile bloomed on her face. “My dear,” she said, her voice a soft, teasing purr. “Fromage is French for cheese.”

The blush that flooded Ochako’s cheeks was so hot she was certain her skin was about to catch fire. Oh, Saints above. She had just revealed herself to be a complete and utter simpleton. “Oh,” she mumbled, staring intently into her teacup as if it held the secrets to the universe. “I- I do not speak French.”

“I do,” Himiko replied, her voice soft and surprisingly close. Ochako looked up to find Himiko leaning forward slightly, her golden eyes dancing with a playful, disarming light. “Ma chérie.”

The French words were a soft caress, and Ochako’s breath hitched in her throat. The blush on her cheeks deepened, the heat no longer just from embarrassment, but from an unexpected, confusing flutter in her chest, a warmth spreading through her that had absolutely nothing to do with the tea.

She had never been looked at like that before, with such open, teasing, and yet somehow appreciative amusement. It was terrifyingly wonderful, and she had no idea what to do with it. She just sat there, her heart hammering a strange, frantic rhythm against her ribs, her teacup trembling slightly in its saucer. Her mind, usually so orderly, was a complete and utter jumble. She was supposed to be demure, she was supposed to be proper, she was supposed to be impressing the Duke’s sister, and instead she was blushing like a schoolgirl over a French endearment and the disarming glint in a beautiful woman’s eyes. This was a disaster. This was a complete and utter disaster.

Himiko seemed entirely unbothered by the effect she was having. She just leaned back against the chaise lounge, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, her golden eyes still fixed on Ochako over the rim of the cup, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She seemed to be enjoying Ochako’s flustered state immensely, which was, for some infuriating reason, even more flustering.

“You know,” Himiko began again, her tone light and casual as she set her cup down, completely shattering the tense silence. “If you are to wed my brute of a brother, you will be a Blackwell soon enough. And I must confess, it will be terribly, dreadfully boring to stand on such ceremony all the time.” She tilted her head, her expression one of genuine, if slightly mischievous, sincerity. “I would much rather call you Ochako.”

The suggestion was so unexpected, so shockingly improper, that Ochako’s mind went completely blank for a moment. Call her by her given name? Just like that? The familiarity of it felt scandalous, a breach of every rule of etiquette she had ever learned. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“Of- of course,” she stammered, the words coming out on autopilot, the perfect, polite response of a well-bred lady. “Whatever you wish, my lady Blackwell.”

Himiko let out another one of her bright, unrestrained giggles, a sound that enraptured Ochako all over again. The woman was a constant, delightful, and terrifying source of surprise. “Oh, that’s just adorable,” Himiko said, her eyes sparkling. “But no. That is precisely what I mean. Just Himiko.”

Ochako just stared at her. Just Himiko. The Duke of Rivermoor’s infamous sister. Himiko.

The name felt strange on her tongue even thinking it. It was a level of intimacy she had only ever shared with Izuku, with her own family. To be offered it so freely, so easily, it felt like being handed a precious, fragile piece of porcelain she was terrified of dropping. But as she looked at Himiko’s open, expectant face, she knew that to refuse would be a greater insult than any breach of etiquette.

“Himiko,” she tried, the name coming out as a soft, hesitant whisper. It didn’t feel quite real. But the brilliant, pleased smile it earned her from the woman opposite her made another one of those strange, warm flutters bloom in her chest. She found, to her own surprise, a genuine smile of her own touching her lips.

That smile, that small, shared moment of breaking the rules, seemed to shift something fundamental in the room. The air felt lighter, the conversation easier, the vast, intimidating drawing-room now feeling less like a queen’s court and more like just a room. Himiko seemed to notice it too, her posture relaxing even further as she settled back into the cushions of her chaise lounge, a look of genuine, easy warmth replacing her earlier mischievous amusement.

“There now,” she said with a satisfied sigh. “That’s much better, isn’t it? I do believe I would go completely mad if I had to listen to one more ‘my lady Blackwell’ today. My brother insists on it with the staff, you see. He thinks it maintains a proper distance. I think it’s just dreadfully dull.”

Ochako found herself nodding, a real, genuine agreement, before she could even think to stop herself. The feeling of being able to be, well, herself, even a little, was intoxicating. Feeling a surge of uncharacteristic bravery, she decided to venture an opinion of her own. “The balls are much the same. Dreadfully dull, I mean,” she confessed, the words tumbling out before she could properly vet them for propriety. “All the lords, they speak only of their horses, or their hounds, or the price of corn. And if you dare to mention a book, or a new idea, their eyes just glaze over.”

“Glaze over indeed!” Himiko echoed, a delighted grin spreading across her face, “that is the perfect word for it! It is like watching a fish die, is it not? You can see the last flicker of coherent thought just vanish behind their eyes.” She leaned forward again, her own voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “My brother is forced to attend dreadful affairs, though not balls, and he recounts the most absurd conversations to me. Last week, Lord Lambert cornered him by the punch bowl. And Katsuki, purely to amuse himself, mentioned that I had been enjoying Kant’s new critique on practical reason. He said the man looked at him with such profound, uncomprehending horror, you would have thought he’d confessed our family dabbled in witchcraft.”

Ochako couldn’t help it. A real, genuine, and surprisingly loud laugh burst out of her, a sound of pure, unadulterated amusement she hadn't made in weeks. She had spent the entire fortnight trying to force herself to listen to those exact kinds of men, to find some redeeming quality in their vapid, endless chatter. And here was Himiko, the Duke’s sister, mocking them with a wit so sharp and merciless it was breathtaking. The relief, the sheer, liberating joy of finally, finally having someone else see the world as she did, was overwhelming.

The unrestrained sound was abruptly cut short by a low, disgruntled growl from the floor.

The puppy, who had been contentedly sleeping at her feet, had been startled awake by her sudden outburst. He blinked his big, sleepy eyes up at her, his tiny body trembling with a theatrical sense of indignation, and let out another grumbly little noise. The sight was so utterly ridiculous that a snort of laughter escaped from Himiko. And that - the combination of the growling puppy and the laughing lady - was what finally jolted Ochako back to her senses.

A familiar, cold wave of self-consciousness washed over her, dousing the warmth of the moment completely. Oh, heavens, that was too loud. Too unladylike. She had forgotten herself again, so completely that she had startled the animal. The smile vanished from her face, replaced by a look of panicked mortification. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning with a fresh, hot blush. She risked a glance at Himiko, expecting to see a look of polite disapproval, a subtle sign that she had once again proven herself to be a disruptive, provincial lady scarcely worth her title.

But Himiko wasn't disapproving. She was just watching her, a strange, thoughtful expression on her face, a soft, almost tender giggle escaping her own lips at the sight of Ochako's sudden embarrassment.

The giggle only made Ochako’s blush deepen. Oh, she was making a complete fool of herself. On one hand here was Himiko, giving Ochako one of the most enjoyable talks she has had in her life. And on the other there was her: every time she spoke her mind, every time she let her guard down, she ended up blushing and stammering. She must be the most tedious, awkward company. Himiko was probably just being polite, trying to endure the conversation until she could dismiss her. The thought sent a fresh pang of disappointment through her.

“My apologies, Himiko,” Ochako stammered, her voice a mortified whisper, her gaze dropping back to her lap. “I- I did not mean to be so loud. Or so flustered. I’m quite certain I am boring you to tears.”

“Boring me?” Himiko’s voice was full of a genuine, baffled amusement that made Ochako risk a glance upwards. The woman was leaning forward again, that infuriatingly charming, knowing smile playing on her lips, her honeyed eyes practically dancing. “Ochako, my dear, I have spent a good part of the last five years having tea with the dullest, most predictable women in all of England. Women who could be amazingly interesting but would rather waste their time over proprieties or talking about Lady Upton's hair.”

She gestured vaguely, as if shooing away the very memory of them. “Having a conversation with a woman who has a genuine, passionate laugh, who isn't afraid of showing her beliefs, who isn't afraid to blush when she feels something real... believe me,” her gaze met Ochako’s, and it was warm, and sincere, and utterly captivating, “this is the most fun I have had in a very, very long time.”

The sincerity in her voice was undeniable, and it acted like a balm on Ochako’s frayed nerves. The hot blush on her cheeks didn’t vanish, but it cooled from a fire of pure mortification to a soft, warm glow. She wasn't being judged. She was being enjoyed. The idea was so novel, so completely foreign, that she didn't quite know what to do with it. A small, hesitant smile returned to her own face.

Taking a deep breath, Ochako decided to be brave, to lean into the strange, wonderful comfort she was feeling. "It is just," she confessed, the words a soft, honest tumble, "the lords at the balls… they make you feel as though having an opinion different than what they expect is a character flaw. As if your mind is an unsightly appendage that ought to be kept hidden, like a deformed limb, while all their talk is bragging about how they have the fattest pig in town!"

The moment the words were out, she winced. Oh, that was too much. Too dramatic. Too her. The mortification began to bubble up again, a familiar, unwelcome taste in the back of her throat. Here it is, she thought, bracing herself, the moment she realizes I am actually the weird one of the two and decides I am not worth her or her brother's time.

But Himiko didn't recoil. She didn't look shocked, or appalled, or even politely disapproving. Instead, a gleam of pure, unadulterated delight lit up her eyes. She placed her teacup back on its saucer with a delicate, deliberate click - as if trying to make the moment more dramatic -, leaned back, and looked at Ochako as if she were the most fascinating creature she had ever discovered.

“An unsightly appendage,” Himiko repeated, savoring the words as if they were a fine wine. “What a perfect, vicious, and utterly correct way to describe it.” The smile that spread across her face was radiant. “And the fattest pig? Oh, my dear, you give them far too much credit. A fat pig is at least useful. It can be cured, smoked, and served at a feast. The minds of most lords I have heard of are not fit to be served to the hounds.”

A breath Ochako hadn't even realized she was holding escaped her in a whoosh. The validation was so absolute, so immediate and wickedly gleeful, that it washed away all of her mortification in a single, cleansing wave. Himiko didn’t think she was strange. She thought she was right. She hadn’t just agreed with her; she had taken her frustrated, clumsy metaphor and sharpened it into a merciless, glittering stiletto. For the first time, Ochako felt seen. Truly and completely seen, in a way that was both thrilling and terrifyingly new.

“It is exhausting,” Ochako found herself admitting, the words now a soft, honest confession rather than a frustrated outburst. “Having to pretend. Having to bite your tongue until it bleeds, just to be considered agreeable.”

“Exhausting is a mild word for it. It’s soul-rotting,” Himiko replied, her voice losing its teasing edge and taking on a quiet intensity. “It’s why I do not leave this house unless I am forced to. I find it far more satisfying to funnel my frustrations elsewhere.” She gave a vague, noncommittal gesture towards the sketchbook that now lay on a nearby table, not inviting Ochako to look, but simply acknowledging its existence as a part of her own private world.

Ochako looked from Himiko’s impossibly open, honest face to the simple, closed sketchbook, and she understood, instinctively, that she was being granted a glimpse into something deeply personal, even if she couldn’t see the pages themselves. This woman, this supposed lunatic, wasn’t mad. She was a survivor. She had found a way to stay whole in a world determined to break her into a thousand polite, agreeable pieces. She had carved out her own freedom, right here in this drawing-room, a freedom that felt more real and more powerful than that of any lord bragging about his lands or his titles.

The conversation flowed after that, easy and unrestrained, unlike any Ochako had ever had with another lady of the ton. "...And that is why," Himiko was saying, a wicked glint in her eye, lowering her fist in her armrest dramatically, "I am firmly of the opinion that Lord Mineton's poetry is so dreadfully dull, it could be used as a sedative for hysterical horses."

Another one of those loud, glorious laughs burst out of Ochako before she could stop it, her mind not even bothering to worry about it anymore. The afternoon had melted away like that, in a series of these small, scandalous, and wonderfully true statements that made Ochako feel as though she had finally found someone who spoke her own secret language.

When the grand clock on the mantelpiece chimed the late afternoon hour, the sound was a jarring intrusion. Ochako jolted, her eyes wide with disbelief. Heavens, had it truly been that long? She had completely, utterly lost track of time. A sudden, sharp pang of disappointment went through her. She was supposed to leave. But she found, to her profound surprise, that she didn’t want to. Not at all. She could have stayed right there, in that sunlit room, for hours more, and been perfectly content.

She rose from the settee, the movement feeling stiff and reluctant. “I- I must take my leave,” she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. “I have taken up far too much of your time, Lady Himiko.”

As she offered a final, formal curtsy, a whirlwind of confusing thoughts spun through her mind. She thought of the woman before her, so beautiful, so intelligent, so wickedly funny and wonderfully, beautifully free. A question, a genuine, baffling puzzle, presented itself to her.

Why on earth was a woman like Himiko Blackwell unmarried?

Did men truly mind her being so “improper”? So alive? If they were so easily frightened off by a sharp wit and a brilliant mind, then they were bigger fools than she had ever imagined. To have the privilege of her company, to be the recipient of that dazzling, genuine smile, and to write her off as a ‘lunatic’ simply because she refused to be a bore… the injustice of it made Ochako’s blood boil.

A silly, impossible thought drifted through her mind, as clear and certain as any she had ever had. If she had been born a gentleman, she was quite certain she would have been utterly captivated by the lady in front of her. She would not have been intimidated by Himiko’s brilliance - she would have been enthralled by it. And she certainly wouldn’t have tried to snuff out that beautiful, fiery spirit to make her a more ‘agreeable’ wife. She would have wanted nothing more than to see it burn even brighter.

A small blush covered her cheeks as she shook her head slightly, a small, dismissive gesture to clear the strange, pointless fancy. What a ridiculous notion.

Katsuki Blackwell was not a man given to patience. He tapped an irritable rhythm on the arm of his leather chair, the sound a sharp, percussive counterpoint to the scratching of a quill pen on parchment. He had left Milverton to his task well over an hour ago, fully expecting the man to perhaps offer a few timid, overly polite suggestions after a day or two of fretful study. He had not expected this.

He had not expected the man to drag a chair over to the desk, pull out his own paper and ink, where the fuck did he pull that from? And immediately descend into a state of such profound, monk-like concentration that Katsuki was fairly certain the manor could have burned down around them without him noticing.

It was fascinating. And infuriating. And something else entirely, something he didn't have a name for yet, that coiled warm and strange in his gut whenever he looked at the sheer, unadulterated focus on Milverton's face.

Every so often, the man would slip into a quiet, frantic mumble, a stream-of-consciousness torrent of equations and theoretical objections. At first, Katsuki had dismissed it as the mad ramblings of a scholar too deep in his work, the kind of incomprehensible noise that the chipmunk and her father had likely learned to tune out years ago.

But Katsuki listened. He focused, his own mind sharp and analytical, catching snippets, "no, the n-dimensional vector space is wrong, it has to be a tensor field to account for the-", and realized it wasn't just noise. It was the sound of a brilliant mind forging a path through a complex problem in real-time. It was the most interesting thing he had heard all day.

Katsuki had to concede that this man's mind was truly fascinating.

He found himself leaning forward, no longer impatient, but utterly engrossed, trying to follow the disjointed, lightning-fast leaps of logic. He was watching a raw, unfiltered intelligence at work, not a performance for a Duke, but a genuine, passionate battle with an idea. And then it happened. Milverton’s quill would pause, he’d stare into the middle distance, and then a sharp, triumphant glint would light up his green eyes as he found the solution he was looking for, immediately followed by a furious new line of scribbled equations. And Katsuki admitted it, if only to himself: that glint, that sudden, brilliant flash of pure, unadulterated intellectual victory on the man's face, was addictive.

Finally, with a long, drawn-out sigh that seemed to drain all the energy from his body, Milverton set down his quill. He looked up, his eyes slightly unfocused, as if returning from a great distance. He blinked a few times, and the full, crushing realization of where he was, and who he was with, seemed to come crashing back down on him. A familiar, panicked blush began to creep up his neck. The genius was gone, and the terrified Baron's son was back. Katsuki felt a flash of profound, inexplicable disappointment.

Tch. To have such a fire inside of him and still retreat to this, it’s quickly getting old.

“Your Grace,” he began, his voice hoarse from disuse. “I-I have finished my preliminary assessment.”

Katsuki just grunted, gesturing with his head towards the notebook. “And?”

“The core theory,” Izuku said, his voice gaining a sliver of its earlier confidence as he turned to the subject matter, “is breathtaking. Truly. The application of geometry and signal principles to solve these mechanics is a leap of intuition I have never encountered. It is- it is the work of a true genius, Your Grace.”

The praise, so genuine, so specific and earned, landed differently than the usual fawning nonsense. This wasn't a sycophant flattering a title. This was an expert admiring the work. It felt good. Too good. Katsuki just scowled to cover the strange, pleased warmth spreading in his chest. This man could be infuriating, “I am aware of my own genius, Milverton. Get to the flaws.”

“The proposed experimental methods on animals, Your Grace,” Izuku began, his voice still trembling, but then his eyes dropped to the open notebook, and a new captivating spark seemed to possess him. He swallowed, and when he spoke again, the fear was gone, replaced by the cold, hard certainty of a scholar, “they are a catastrophe.”

Before Katsuki could even respond, Izuku’s finger was stabbing at a specific diagram on the page, his other hand already flipping forward several pages. “They are not just needlessly cruel, though they are certainly that,” he said, the words now a low, intense rush, the scholar in him fully taking control, “they are scientifically unsound. Look here, this entire procedure for neurological mapping: he doesn’t account for stress-induced contamination! The data would be worthless, a complete and utter waste!”

He looked up, his eyes now shining with that familiar, brilliant fire that Katsuki was beginning to crave - getting him out of that pleasant mask and into this look was quickly becoming one of the blond's favourite activities. “A far more elegant, more effective, and more humane approach would be to study the effects of specific sound frequencies on suspended water particles. It would isolate the variable of vibration, providing clean, repeatable data without the- the barbarism.”

Fuck. Izuku Milverton, this bookworm, had given him exactly what he needed.

Katsuki just stared at him. Barbarism. The word echoed in his mind, clean and final. Contaminated results, worthless data. It wasn't just a moral failing - it was a scientific one. Kai hadn't just been cruel, he had been a butcher, a charlatan. And Milverton the bookworm, Izuku, with his quiet, fierce logic, had just handed him the blade to ruin Kai if he so wished.

And honestly? Good, the fucker would deserve it. When he finally confronted his so-called brother, it wouldn't be a messy, emotional brawl. It would be a clinical, merciless execution.

Let alone the fact that now Katsuki had a new, utterly fascinating scientific partner and rival. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel so utterly alone anymore.

“Good,” he grunted, the single word a universe of approval. “That is what I required.”

He stood, the conversation clearly over. He watched as Milverton began to gather his papers, the earlier adrenaline draining away, leaving him looking tired and once again painfully aware of his own station. And Katsuki knew, with absolute certainty, that his own satisfaction wasn't just about the ammunition he now had against Kai, about the cover he would have against his own loneliness once he confronted his long-life friend. It was about the last hour. It was about listening to that brilliant, chaotic ramble and understanding every word. It was about the fierce, quiet intensity of the work, the thrill of finally, finally having an equal across the desk from him, finally having someone that could truly challenge and even match him.

He told himself it was simply the satisfaction of having his intellect truly recognized, but deep down, in a place he wasn’t yet ready to look, he knew it was the memory of the look on Izuku's face - the flushed cheeks from exertion, the slightly messy hair from running his hands through it in frustration, the pure, unadulterated excitement that made his entire being seem to light up from within - a look he already found he wanted to see again. And again.

The words, "I must take my leave," landed in the comfortable quiet of the drawing-room with the unwelcome finality of a closing door. Himiko felt a sharp, genuine pang of disappointment. The afternoon had flown. She had spent the last few hours in the company of a woman who was not just a pleasant conversationalist, but a genuine, surprising delight, and the thought of returning to the solitary silence of her own company now felt... well, lonely. She had grown accustomed to Ochako's presence, to the warm, genuine sound of her laugh, to the way her brown eyes lit up with that beautiful, fiery intelligence when she forgot to be proper.

“Must you?” Himiko found herself asking, the words more sincere than she had intended, “The afternoon is not yet over, and..." she smirked mischievously, clasping her gloved hands together dramatically, "I haven’t even had the chance to show you my more scandalous caricatures.”

A beautiful, flustered blush immediately bloomed on Ochako’s cheeks, and Himiko had to suppress a pleased little smile. Oh, it was so terribly easy to make her blush, and for some wicked reason, she found she rather enjoyed being the one to cause it.

“I- I wouldn’t want to impose, Himiko. You have been most gracious.”

As if a lady such as you could impose. The alternative - loneliness - was much worse, in any way.

Before Himiko could protest further, the drawing-room doors swung open, and her brother strode in, his usual thunderous expression in place, the spaniel puppy excitedly rushing over to greet him - the sheer contradiction of both looks creating a widly amusing image.

But Katsuki wasn’t alone. Trailing a few steps behind him, looking like a nervous lamb being led into a lion’s den, was a young man with a wild mess of dark green hair and wide, terrified eyes the color of a summer forest. He clutched a stack of papers to his chest as if they were a shield. Himiko’s eyes took in his freckled cheeks, his earnest, intelligent face, and the way he seemed to be actively trying to shrink into himself to avoid taking up space, and a single, unbidden thought went through her mind.

Oh. He’s absolutely adorable. Seriously, Katsuki? You bring two of them and both had to be so endearing?

“Himiko,” Katsuki grunted, his gaze flicking between her and a now very tense-looking Ochako, clearly trying to gauge the outcome of their meeting. “I trust you have not terrorized Miss Underhill too severely.”

Himiko let a slow, deliberate smile spread across her face, her gaze lingering on the still blushing Ochako. The girl was somehow even prettier when flustered. “On the contrary, brother,” she replied, her voice a purr, “we have had a most illuminating conversation.”

She watched as Ochako's eyes finally found the nervous man in the doorway, a look of pure, relieved recognition flooding her features.

"Izuku!" Ochako exclaimed, her voice full of a genuine, easy warmth that made Himiko feel a strange, unfamiliar pang of something. Envy? No, that wasn't quite right. It was a curiosity. An interest in the kind of man who could elicit such unguarded affection from the beautiful - stop it - fiery woman beside her.

The young man - Izuku, apparently - visibly startled at the sound of his name, his wide green eyes darting from Katsuki, to Himiko, and finally landing on Ochako with a look of profound relief.

“Ah, y-yes, Ochako, here I am!” he stammered, offering an adorably clumsy, flustered bow in Himiko’s general direction without actually meeting her eyes. “My lady Blackwell, an honor.”

By God. It had been a dreadfully long time since Himiko had seen two people so beautifully, hopelessly flustered in the same room.

On one hand, there was the most captivating woman she had ever laid eyes on, a creature of hidden fire and delightful sincerity.

A kindred spirit, if I ever saw one, she thought, a sudden, fierce rush of affection for Ochako surprising her.

And on the other, there was this man, this brilliant scholar her brother had apparently discovered, who looked like a startled fawn and blushed almost as prettily as Ochako did.

A strange, unfamiliar, and frankly quite amusing thought bubbled up in her mind. Her brute of a brother, who showed interest in absolutely no one, had somehow managed to find two of the most intriguing, flustered, and genuinely interesting people in all of England on the very same day. What were the odds?

Katsuki just scoffed at the display, clearly unimpressed by the pleasantries. “Milverton,” he grunted, and the man immediately snapped to attention, his gaze fixing on Katsuki with a look of pure, reverent terror, “see Miss Underhill and her… creature… to her carriage. I will meet you in the main hall shortly.”

“O-of course, Your Grace!” Izuku squeaked, practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to comply.

Ochako offered Himiko a final, hesitant curtsy, her eyes full of a warmth that made something in Himiko’s own chest feel lighter. “Thank you again, Himiko. For, well, for everything.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Ochako,” Himiko replied, her voice soft and full of sincerity.

She watched them leave, the sweet, terrified scholar and her beautiful, fiery friend - a strange, mismatched pair. And then the room suddenly felt very quiet, very empty in their absence, and Himiko was alarmingly finding that she was already missing the other woman's presence.

The silence stretched for a moment after they were gone before Katsuki finally broke it, his voice a low, impatient rumble.

“Well?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, every inch the impatient Duke awaiting a verdict. “What is your judgment?”

Himiko let the silence hang in the air for a moment longer, a small, deliberate act of rebellion. She turned away from the now-empty doorway and walked over to the window, gazing out at the manicured perfection of her garden, the afternoon sun casting long, lazy shadows across the lawn. She could feel her brother’s impatience radiating off him in palpable waves, a familiar, restless energy that usually amused her. But today, she found she wanted to savor the moment, to hold onto the lingering warmth of the afternoon’s conversation before letting the harsh realities of duty and marriage contracts come crashing back in.

“She is lovely, isn’t she?” Himiko said finally, her voice a soft, honest, thoughtful murmur, not looking at him. “A bit of a mess, all flushed cheeks and flustered apologies, but lovely all the same. She has a good heart. And a surprisingly sharp mind, once you can get her to stop being terrified of duty and optics.”

“I am not looking for a ‘lovely’ wife, Himiko,” Katsuki grunted from behind her, his voice laced with his usual, bristling impatience. “I am looking for someone who will not bore me to death before the first heir is produced. Is she interesting, or is she another sycophant in a prettier package?”

Himiko turned then, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. Oh, Katsuki, you absolute fool. You are already so thoroughly captivated, and you don’t even realize it. It was clear in the way his eyes shone since he and Milverton came back, probably had been that way since he saw Ochako in the morning, even if Himiko herself hadn't been there to confirm it. The memory of his giddy, almost proud recounting of the scene on the terrace was still fresh in her mind. He wasn't bored, he hadn't been for a single second since that chipmunk had started yelling at him.

Captivating indeed. That makes two of us. Wait, why did she even think that?

“She is the furthest thing from a sycophant I have ever met,” she said, her smile widening as she saw a flicker of genuine, pleased satisfaction in her brother’s eyes. “She is a bonfire, Katsuki. Bright, and warm, and gloriously, wonderfully alive. Most of the time she keeps it banked, hidden away under layers of propriety and fear, but it is there. And it is magnificent.” She tilted her head, her expression turning serious, her gaze direct. “You must be careful with her. A spirit like that, it is a precious thing. The world will try to stamp it out. You must not be one of the ones who tries.” For, Himiko knew, it would be a tragedy if a soul as wonderful as Ochako's were to be snuffed out by their cruel world.

He just scoffed, but she saw the flicker of understanding, of grudging agreement, in his eyes. He wouldn’t. He, who despised the soul-crushing boredom of their world more than anyone, would never intentionally snuff out a flame like that. After all, it was the very reason he had been drawn to her in the first place.

“So she has your blessing, then,” he stated, the words not a question, but a confirmation.

“She does,” Himiko confirmed, “wholeheartedly.”

A new thought occurred to her, a piece of the day’s puzzle that was just as intriguing as the brunette, “And what of her friend? The brilliant Mr. Milverton? I must confess, I did not expect you to bring back two strays from your morning excursion.”

A strange, almost imperceptible shift happened in her brother’s demeanor. The tense, coiled energy of the Duke seemed to loosen, just for a moment, and a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name flashed in his eyes before being ruthlessly suppressed. Odd.

“The bookworm, Izuku, is not a stray,” Katsuki grunted, turning to stare moodily out the window himself. “He is a true intellectual rival, the first I have ever encountered.” He paused, and a rare, small, and completely genuine smile touched his lips, so fleeting Himiko almost thought she had imagined it. “He tore my theoretical framework to shreds. It was infuriating.”

Calling him by his name?  He must truly respect his mind. And who is he to be calling someone else a bookworm, Mister stay up all night reading scientific papers? Himiko pondered amusingly.

Himiko just watched him, a slow, dawning understanding blooming in her mind. Her poor, lonely, brilliant brother. He had spent his entire life in an intellectual echo chamber, starving for a mind that could not just follow his, but challenge it, meet it head-on. And he had found it, not in some university in Cambridge or a royal society in London, but in a quiet, terrified man from a provincial barony.

She wanted to tease him. Oh, how she ached to make some sharp, merciless jest about the way his eyes had softened when he’d said the man’s name. But she held her tongue. She could see the storm still brewing beneath his carefully controlled surface, the thought of the inevitable confrontation with Kai a dark, ugly thundercloud on the horizon.

She watched him stare out the window, his shoulders tense, his reflection in the glass a mask of controlled fury. She thought of the trembling, fiery woman who had just left her drawing-room. She thought of the terrified, brilliant man her brother now called by his given name. Ochako and Izuku. A woman to secure the title, a man to secure his mind. And all of it, this entire frantic, whirlwind of a day, was happening now. The day after Kai.

Oh, you poor, terrified fool, she thought, a wave of profound, aching sympathy washing over her. Katsuki wasn't mounting an attack, he was building a defense before he went to war.

Most people would think that Katsuki would have no fear of confronting his life-long friend, but Himiko wasn't most people, she actually knew Katsuki.

He was terrified. Not of the fight itself, but of the loss. Of the gaping wound that would be left in their lives once Kai was finally, necessarily, cut out of it. And she would not add to his burden, not today.

“Well then,” she said, her voice soft, full of a quiet, unwavering support. “It seems it has been a most productive day for the House of Blackwell.”

He just grunted in response, his gaze still fixed on the setting sun. But she saw his shoulders relax, just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of her understanding, of her unspoken offer of solidarity. They stood there in a comfortable, shared silence for a long moment, two siblings braced against a coming storm. The memory of a fiery, beautiful chipmunk and a brilliant, terrified scholar a small, welcome warmth against the encroaching chill.

Chapter Text

The morning sun was a crisp, clean thing, cutting sharp lines across the oak of his desk, but Katsuki Blackwell barely noticed. The world outside his study had ceased to exist for the better part of an hour, shrunk down to the pages spread before him, a chaotic and utterly captivating mess of frantic, spidery script. Milverton’s preliminary assessment, delivered by a messenger not even an hour ago. Katsuki was already on his third reading, a rare, private smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

How in the bloody hell did the bookworm get this done in a single night? Heh. Impressive. Sad, but utterly admirable all the same.

The first page had been exactly what he’d expected, a slab of stiff, formal nonsense that made him want to claw his eyes out. He could practically hear the boy’s terrified stammer in every line.

Your Grace,

I must begin by extending my most humble gratitude for the extraordinary privilege of being permitted to review your theoretical work. The trust you have placed in me is an honor I feel most keenly, and I hope my meager observations may prove to be of some small service to a mind as formidable as your own…

Katsuki had scoffed aloud, fingers drumming an irritable rhythm against the desk. Tch. Get on with it, bookworm.

But then, on the second page, the sycophant had vanished, and the brilliant, infuriating creature from the study had exploded onto the parchment.

Regarding the framework itself, a work of staggering genius, I must confess, the assumption regarding resonance frequency gave me pause. It is elegant, yes, but I fear it does not fully capture the instability at high amplitudes. Surely a harmonic series must be considered? Without it, the coefficients collapse under boundary stress. A minor point, of course, but one that unravels the later proofs…

And on it went, a breathless, sprawling torrent of intellectual combat. The boy’s mind was a storm, passion and logic tumbling faster than his quill could keep up. Counterexamples scrawled in margins, entire paragraphs struck through, rewritten with furious urgency. It was presumptuous. It was messy. It was the most interesting thing Katsuki had read all damned year.

A crooked diagram sprawled across one margin, lines uneven, blotches smudging the corner. Next to it, in smaller hand:

Forgive the poor sketch. I cannot seem to keep my hand steady when excited.

Katsuki had snorted, half amused, half infuriated. Idiot.

Then, at the bottom of a particularly dense page, another afterthought:

A further note - wait, no, that’s sloppy. Harmonics are obvious, and too heavy-handed. A simple modulation matrix with non-linear scaling would suffice. Cleaner. More elegant. My apologies, I cannot abide sending flawed work, and the thought came only just now. (Also forgive the ink blot above; clusmy clumsy hand, late hour.)

Katsuki barked a laugh before he could stop himself. The audacity of it. The boy couldn’t even finish a letter without fighting himself and scribbling apologies like a guilty schoolboy. His mind was relentless, a beautiful, chaotic engine that refused to stop turning.

Hah. Clever bastard.

His quill was already uncapped, the inkwell open, his counterattack forming sharp and impatient in his head, not the detached dismissal of a duke, but something closer to… fondness. He was just dipping the nib when a sharp, formal rap at the study door shattered the rare, perfect quiet.

“Enter,” Katsuki snarled, the word a clipped, irritable command. The rare good mood was already evaporating, replaced by a familiar, simmering annoyance at the intrusion. He set his quill down with a sharp click, his eyes narrowed at the door.

Himiko's favourite steward, Jin Baker, entered, his expression a mask of perfect, deferential terror. “Your Grace,” he began, bowing low, “there is someone here to see you.” Then, his usual nervous tic, almost irrelevant noise at this point, manifested, “No there is not!”, and was followed up by clasping a hand over his own mouth and muttering “A-apologies, Your Grace, it is Viscount Chapman”.

Jin's usual antics felt like background noise compared to the bomb he had dropped on Katsuki.

The name landed in the quiet of the study like a drop of poison. The last vestiges of warmth in Katsuki’s chest froze, then shattered into something cold and hard; it was time to finally have the confrontation he had secretly dreaded. The air in the room seemed to chill, the morning sun suddenly feeling thin and fragile.

His first thought was not about himself, but about Himiko.

He glanced instinctively towards the window that overlooked the gardens, a sliver of relief cutting through the sudden, white-hot fury. Himiko was out there, in her secluded alcove, lost in her own world of charcoal and paper. Good. She would not have to see this. She would not have to be anywhere near him.

Katsuki didn't know what he would do if he had to witness Himiko breaking, or worse, barely holding on with her usual mask of detachment, in front of Kai. And he didn't want to be cursed with that knowledge.

It is time, then. His shoulders tightened at the thought of the betrayal by the man who had once been his family; and most of all, the deep terrified fear of being left alone. However, he could not allow his feelings to get in the way of protecting his mad sister; if he had to completely detach himself during this conversation, then so be it.

“Show him in,” Katsuki said, his voice a low, flat thing that held no emotion at all. He rose from his desk, not to greet his guest, but to move to the center of the room, turning the study into his own strategic battlefield. The perfect facade.

He stood before the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, a Lord on his own territory, waiting. He let the silence stretch after Jin had gone, a quiet, deliberate act of war against what he had believed were his own forces.

Kai Chapman strode in a moment later, all polished boots and false, easy confidence. He was smiling, that same familiar, charming smile he’d worn a hundred times in this very room, a smile that now looked utterly grotesque to Katsuki, a mask hiding something rotten.

Katsuki's rage was simmering, a force barely contained. Do not blow up yet, recall what the bookworm said and destroy his pride. A great thing about being friends for so long, he knew exactly what would hurt Kai, and it was his ego. Kai had used their shared experiences to try and shatter Himiko until he could rebuild her in his image, so it was fair game for Katsuki to use his knowledge to hurt the cruel excuse for a scientist right where it would damage him the most.

 “Katsuki, my good man,” he began, his voice a smooth, familiar rhythm. “I was hoping to catch you before you were buried in your duties, I have a fascinating new text on-”

Was he really trying to talk about science to soften him up before his conversation with Himiko came up? Katsuki could now see with startling clarity the enormous weakness and cowardice hidden beneath Kai's charming mask. It sickened him, and it was pathetic.

“Your work is barbaric,” Katsuki cut in, his voice as cold and clean as a surgeon’s blade. He didn’t raise it. He didn’t need to. He watched with a grim, detached satisfaction as Kai’s charming smile faltered, a flicker of genuine confusion, of unease, in his eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” Kai asked, his tone stiffening, the attempted warmth gone. “What is the meaning of this?”

The Duke of Rivermoor took a deep breath before remembering words muttered by a man with green hair, brilliant, shining eyes and an even more brilliant mind.

“I took another look at your theoretical framework last night,” Katsuki lied, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. “The proposed experimental methods. And I found them to be not just cruel, but scientifically unsound, to be quite fair - a complete and utter embarrassment.”

The color drained from Kai’s face. The charming mask was gone now, replaced by a look of pinched, ugly fury. “My work is revolutionary! You of all people know that!”

“I know that your procedure for neurological mapping doesn’t account for stress-induced contamination,” Katsuki shot back, his voice still low, still lethal. He was wielding another man’s genius as his own to attain victory against his oldest friend, and the irony of it was a sharp, cold pleasure. “The data you have been collecting for years? It is worthless. A total waste. There are far more elegant approaches to yield real valuable and repeatable data without all the monstrosities.”

He then took a deep breath, using Kai's shock as a respite to prepare to say the hardest words yet, words that made him feel nauseous but he knew, with absolute certainty, to be completely true. “And your contributions as a scientific partner are even more worthless. Our partnership is done for, you shan't use my name again, and will never claim my work. Find another back to ride.”

Kai’s mouth twisted, his pride struck where it hurt, “Another back to ride? As if this was a unilateral partnership? You stand there, pretending, when you of all people, Katsuki, need a partner, a friend. Everyone knows it. Even you, behind all your rage and arrogance, even you must feel it: how alone you are. And I was the one who was always there, the one who promised you’d never be left behind, and you dare drop what we have just like that?.”

The words landed sharper than Katsuki expected, like a blade slipped between his ribs. He had forgotten for a second that Kai also knew him like the back of his hand. And for a moment he felt it, the ache of truth in it, the reminder of how hollow the house had felt these past years since their mother and worthless excuse of a father had passed. Chapman's last words damaged him so that they triggered a memory in the Duke's brain.

They were in the woods, barely ten, Kai’s father teaching them to hunt. The man’s booming laugh, proud and sure, rattled the trees, Kai’s first priority had always been to make Viscount Chapman proud.

Katsuki had been brash, competitive, on a quest for absolute victory and furious he couldn’t string the bow perfectly on his first try. Meanwhile Kai was trembling with excitement, wide-eyed at the thought of killing a hare, something sharp and cruel under all that sweetness. His small hands fumbled with the knife, cutting his palm open clumsily, his father’s proud gaze faltering for just an instant. Kai’s face had crumpled, desperate not to disappoint. And Katsuki, angry competitive brat that he was, had felt it, the sting of that shame, and he’d stepped forward. “Here, fool,” he’d muttered, tying a rag around Kai’s hand, steadying his grip until he got it right. Kai had looked at him, eyes wet with relief, and thrust the small pocket knife into Katsuki’s palm. “Just like you helped me, I promise I shall never let you be alone!”

Katsuki blinked, stunned at the force of the memory of a once devoted boy. Alas, all that was left was the man before him: ugly, sneering, rotten through; and perhaps that rot had always been there, expanding, and Katsuki had just been too much of a sentimental fool to ever notice it.

The thought of his own perceived failure did nothing but enrage him, further motivating him into making up for the fact by shattering Chapman's pride.

He forced himself to smirk, sharp and cruel. “Alone? Tch. I found better alternatives, Kai. A new partner who tore through your flaws in seconds. And here’s the best part - and I know you, as the freak obsessed with titles that you are, will adore this - it’s a baron’s son. With no Oxford gilding, no family prestige, and no tutors. The most marvelous part? He’s still more brilliant than you’ll ever be, impressing me more within but a single conversation than you had in years. Imagine that, the golden Oxford boy, pride of the Chapman family, undone by a green haired, muttering disaster bookworm with ink-stained fingers.”

He saw the mask slip completely then. Cornered, his genius questioned, his methods exposed as not just cruel but sloppy, Kai’s polished veneer cracked, revealing the raw, possessive ugliness beneath, the kind he only showed when his ego was in danger and he couldn't keep up his self-righteous facade. “This is far too much to simply be critique about my field-proven prestige as a scientist.” His venomous gaze darkened even more so then, “This is about Himiko, isn’t it?” he sneered, his voice a wounded, venomous hiss. “You’re letting that little chit’s ridiculous fantasies cloud your judgment. She needs a firm hand, Katsuki. Someone to guide her, to cure her of these unladylike notions.”

Just then Katsuki vividly remembered Himiko's pained, tearful expression as she recounted the events of her conversation with Chapman to him, her body shaking as years of trust shattered in front of his very eyes.

Katsuki stopped pacing. He went very, very still. “Cure her?” he repeated, the words a soft, dangerous whisper.

“Of course,” Kai spat, emboldened by what he mistook for consideration. “She is a woman, after all. Delicate, prone to hysterical flights of fancy. She needs a strong hand, a husband who is willing to do what must be done, to protect her from herself. All this talk of freedom, this art, it’s a sickness. A sickness I can and shall cure, once she is mine.”

That was it. The final, unforgivable line. Katsuki closed the distance between them in two long, silent strides, explosive, almost murderous rage threatening to spill out of every pore in his body; his movement so sudden, so violent, that Kai actually flinched back, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes. Katsuki leaned in, his voice dropping to a near-silent rumble, a promise of absolute annihilation.

“A man who sees love as an investment,” he whispered, the words dripping with a cold, absolute contempt, “and a woman as a possession to be cured, as if she was another one of his trashy experiments, will never know a day of genuine affection in his life. If you don’t grow up, we both know you’ll die old, alone, and without ever finding love.”

Katsuki knew this would not end well if their spat kept going; therefore, he mustered every ounce of self control he managed to find inside his body.

“Get out,” Katsuki snarled, his voice no longer a whisper, but a low, guttural roar that vibrated with barely contained violence. “Get out of my house. Now.”

“Katsuki, you are being unreasonable-”

“The only reason I am not calling you out at dawn to answer for that insult,” Katsuki bit out, his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white, “the only reason I am not challenging you to a duel in which we both know your life would be forfeit before you could even raise your pistol, is for the memory of the boy you once were, and for the misguided affection my sister once held for you. That is the only mercy you will receive from me. Do you understand?”

“T-this isn't ove-”

He saw the answer in Kai’s terrified, hate-filled eyes. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping again, but now it was the menacing hiss of a lit fuse.

“Oh you better pray to any gods that might hear you that it is. Listen to me very carefully, Chapman. You will not speak my sister’s name. You will not look at her. You will not breathe the same air as her if you can help it. You will burn any letter she ever wrote you, and you will erase her from your memory.” He poked a hard finger into Kai’s chest. “Because if I ever, ever hear that you have so much as glanced in her direction again, I will forget my mercy. I will forget the boy you were. I will salt the very earth of the Chapman name, and I will put you in the ground myself.” Then, his voice dropped, repeating, “Am I understood?”

He held the stare for a moment longer, watching as the fury in Kai’s - Chapman's - eyes was replaced by a dawning, terrified understanding of his own complete and utter defeat. Then, Katsuki stepped back, his chest heaving with the force of his rage, his expression a mask of cold, ducal contempt. “Now get out of my sight.”

He didn't need to watch Chapman leave, and the dark haired man couldn't have left his chambers soon enough; the Duke's rage barely dissipated and still threatened to consume him whole.

Thus, Katsuki just turned and walked back to his desk, the silence of the study settling around him once more, heavy and final. He stood there for a long time, his gaze unfocused. On the corner of his desk, tucked away in a small, ornate box, was a small, polished knife, a stupid, childish thing Kai had offered him before he became a monster. A token of a brotherhood and a promise that was now, officially, dead.

His hand hovered over the box for a moment, a flicker of some old, vestigial ache in his chest. But no, Chapman did not deserve his grief, he would not shed tears for such a monstrous man.

This is my burden to carry, my failure. After all, if I had not failed to notice sooner, I would have saved Himiko from such immense heartbreak.

Determined, his gaze shifted, landing on the messy, brilliant, and utterly captivating packet of papers from Izuku Milverton. Remembering the entrancing theories the timid but fierce man had proposed was enough to force his mind into a distraction. He pushed the box with the knife aside, and picked up the letter instead. He picked up his quill, his mind already sharp, already focused, the past already discarded. Or, well, as much as he could to shut up the noise from drowning him any further.

The reply began: brisk, incisive, and uncharacteristically engaged.

Mr Milverton,

There is no need for such pleasantries when we discuss scientific work. As for your points, I truly am of the belief that resonan-

His fingers came to a halt as another knock on his study's door jolted him out of his theorizing brain.

A servant's voice could be heard behind the doorway “Your Grace, there are multiple Lords awaiting your presence to discuss their debt to you, sir!”

Ugh, Katsuki's fingers twitched in desperation before he reluctantly put the pen down and stood up, his duty calling, but his mind was already itching to continue his conversation with Izuku. I hope these jesters are quick about their business, I have far more important matters to attend to.

The fortnight passed in a blur of whispers. Everywhere Ochako went, she could feel the weight of eyes on her back, the sly tilts of heads, the not-so-subtle coughs behind fans. Of course they all knew. The courtship was official gossip now, the kind that slipped into every drawing room and across every ballroom floor. The Baron’s daughter and the Duke of Rivermoor, suggested by His Majesty himself. Ridiculous. Terrifying.

A part of Ochako still felt as though she might wake up at any moment, back in her own bed, the entire, ludicrous series of events: the shouting, the wine, the puppy, the Duke, the brilliant laughter of his sister; nothing more than a bizarre, anxiety-fueled fantasy. The thought of possibly seeing the duke for the third time since then still made her face flush with mortification; while the thought of talking to Himiko again, for the first time since they met, filled her with an entire different kind of nervousness. She wanted to fall back into that relaxed and true state they had achieved during their talk, wanted to feel that freedom and be the tiniest bit like the blonde again. She yearned to see that smile again and maybe learn to have one as bright herself - ridiculous, completely ridiculous - ; and yet, terrifying, because what if it had all been a one time thing? This feeling was a confusing, contradictory mess, and it infuriated her, as, unlike most complex feelings she would normally repress, this was one she had never had to deal with. The constant nervousness brought upon by these two blondes was completely exhausting.

And yet-

And yet, as the morning sun cut through her modest little bedchamber, Ochako found herself fussing with the pale ribbon at her wrist as though she were a girl of ten and six preparing for her very first call. She smoothed it flat, tugged it tight, loosened it, retied it altogether, wishing not that she could look flawless, she could never look perfect, but atleast… pleasant. Foolish. Completely foolish.

It wasn’t as though she was going to see the Duke himself. No, His Grace was away on some unexpected business that morning, but instead of cancelling their appointment he still suggested the brunette go so she could bond with his sister. Ochako knew it; had repeated it to herself half a dozen times already: He is not there, he will not be there, there is no need to exaggerate this. And still her hands trembled just enough that she had to stop and press them against the little vanity table to steady them - her usual nervous habit causing her knuckles to go white at the grip that was perfectly positioned in the faint marks at the table.

Because it wasn’t him she was dressing for.

Her reflection in the glass stared back at her: flushed cheeks, hair that refused to stay smoothed no matter how many times she brushed it, eyes too bright, too eager. She bit her lip and forced herself to sit, to breathe, to think. It was ridiculous to feel this way over tea. Tea, with another lady, nothing more. She told herself that twice, three times, until the words grew thin and brittle.

There is absolutely no reason to feel this nervous, it's just another lady, one that enjoyed your last talk just as much as you did, and who could be a great sister in law. Calm down, it'll be fine. It was envy, it was fear, it had to be; for there was nothing else in her vocabulary that could comfortably fit. She was trying very hard to stop thinking about what would happen if she became part of that family. Trying to stop feeling like they would notice that she didn't fit in with them, that they'd realize that her smile and beauty would never shine as bright as Himiko's, that her strength would never match up to Katsuki's.

Her fingers toyed with the ribbon one last time. There, neat, simple. Respectable. And yet she couldn’t help the little flutter in her chest at the thought: a quiet drawing-room, sunshine on polished wood, and Lady Himiko Blackwell across from her, smiling that mischievous smile that made her feel lighter, the two of them enjoying another conversation that felt just as wonderfully free as their first had been.

Ochako shook her head, hard, as though she could knock the warmth out of her own cheeks. “Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered, and rose, trying to knock the pointless thoughts out of her mind.

It was only tea.

It was only Himiko.

The carriage rattled to a stop, and soon enough Ochako found herself being ushered through the familiar corridors of the Blackwell estate, her heartbeat keeping time with her steps. The steward led her past the wide windows and sunlit halls, out into the garden where the air felt fresher, freer, a stark contrast to the heavy air of expectation she’d been drowning in for weeks.

Jin Baker, who apparently was Himiko’s favorite steward if half his commentary was anything to go by, was the one leading her out. He shuffled along at his usual half-bow, muttering under his breath as though he were in a private argument with himself. “Straight path, left hedge, no, no, that’s wrong, yes it is, no it isn’t - ah, forgive me, my lady.” Ochako blinked at him, startled, but Jin only gave a sheepish grin and kept walking.

Odd. But also nice.

What surprised her was how often he glanced back toward the alcove, as though eager to deliver her safely. When he finally bowed and gestured toward it, he said, almost proudly, “Lady Himiko’s favorite place. She says she can be as weird as she wants to without a care in the world.” The words were delivered with the affection of a friend, not the stiff distance of a servant. And Ochako realized, in that moment, that Himiko must treat him as such, steward or not. The thought made her chest ache strangely.

And there she was.

Lady Himiko Blackwell sat curled gracefully in a wrought-iron chair, a sketchbook balanced across her lap, a charcoal smudge on her fingertip where she’d tucked her hair behind her ear without noticing, a blood red dress falling across her figure. Beside her on the table lay a romance novel, half-open, as if she’d been devouring it until some sudden inspiration had stolen her away to her sketches. A small vase of roses, picked fresh, perfumed the little alcove with their delicate sweetness.

Ochako’s steps faltered. The sight was absurd, to think a woman could look so utterly at ease, so unburdened, as though the world itself were hers to command. Himiko’s posture was elegant, but not stiff, her whole body bent toward the paper like a secret being coaxed into existence. Sunlight caught on the pale gold of her hair, and for a moment Ochako could only stand there, caught in the warmth of it.

“Lady Ochako,” Himiko said suddenly, her voice amused, without lifting her eyes from her page. “Are you planning to linger at the edge of the hedge all morning, or will you join me?”

Ochako’s cheeks flared, she hadn’t even realized she’d stopped moving. She forced her feet forward, curtsying quickly once she reached the table. “My lady,” she murmured, her voice betraying her nerves, “thank you for receiving me.”

At that, Himiko finally looked up, and her smile bloomed wide, mischievous, genuine; and it was every bit as bright as she remembered. “Ochako, please. None of this ‘my lady’ nonsense. You’re here for tea, not for an execution.” She waved at the empty chair across from her, where a servant was already setting a delicate china cup and saucer.

Ochako obeyed, perching a little too stiffly on the chair, her hands clasped in her lap. Her gaze avoided the golden eyes in front of her, afraid to stare again and scare her off. Instead, it darted, unable to resist, to the sketchbook. “You were drawing?”

Himiko hummed, “Mm. A poor imitation of the roses, I’m afraid.” She then turned the book so Ochako could see a swirl of dark petals rendered in rough, confident strokes. Even unfinished, the bloom seemed alive, as though it might shift on the page at any moment.

Oh. She was extremely good at it, was she not? Was there anything this infuriating woman could not do?

Ochako leaned closer, awe softening her features. “It’s beautiful.”

That earned her another bright, unrestrained laugh. “Spoken like someone who hasn’t seen my more scandalous collections, they can be quite morbid, or so I've been told - I personally think the people that say that are a complete bore. Nevertheless, thank you. You’ll find I spend more time with charcoal than with most people.”

Ochako hesitated, seeing the romance book, noticing Himiko's openness to her, and wanting to fix the contradiction making rounds in her mind. “Those folk sound like a bore indeed, especially if your talented sketch is anything to go by.” That seemed to get a small smile out of the other woman, almost seeming as if she wanted to tell her something.

Then Ochako paused, taking a deep breath and gathering her strength to ask the question she truly meant to “I- I have a question though. Do you… do you never feel lonely? Do you truly never wish to marry?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it, and she clapped her hands together tightly in her lap as if she might trap the words there, too late.

For a flicker of a second, Himiko's eyes filled with pain, as if Ochako had struck a chord. Oh no.

But just as quickly it was gone, as if a mask slipped right through the powerful lady's features.

Despite it all, Himiko didn’t look offended. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, eyes half-lidded in thought. “Lonely? Sometimes.” She paused. “But marriage isn’t the cure they say it is. They teach us to build our own cages, Ochako, and then praise us for how prettily we sit inside them. I’ve no wish for such a fate.” 

She leaned forward then, her golden eyes narrowing with that mischievous glint that always came before she made a jest. “Let me tell you something, Ochako. People think I am improper, but I know every rule they claim I trample. My parents made certain of it, they molded me.”

She continued with a mocking voice then, presumably of her deceased father, “Don't laugh that loud, it's unsightly.”

Himiko stopped for one second.

Then, as if making fun of his memory, she laughed out loud, “Oh, if only he could see me now, he'd get another heart attack.” This was followed up with another giggle.

Before Ochako could even process the sheer absurdity of it all, Himiko continued.

“Posture drilled into me until my back ached, waltzes until my feet bled, all the polite silences and demure smiles the daughter of a Duke is meant to have. I learned them all, and I hated every one. Well, most of them, there were some cute ones.” A sharp little grin that looked stunning despite the situation. “Which means, of course, I can do it all. Every curtsy, every step of every dance. But only if I choose, or need. And, thankfully, I rarely do.”

Her grin softened then, almost sheepish, and still every bit as beauti - get a hold of yourself -. “The truth is, for all my scorn, I am still a hopeless romantic. I devour these novels as though they were scripture. From the most tooth rotting ones, to the more… interesting kind”. That last part was uttered with a mischievous smirk, taking Ochako a second to process the meaning before her face exploded into a volcanic blush at the thought of Himiko reading that, the other woman giggling uncontrollably at her reaction.

“Oh Ochako, you're too easy.” Ochako glared at her, but between her blush and lack of anger she probably just looked like a - 

“An enraged chipmunk, Katsuki was right.”

That just made her blush harder. What? Both of them think that?

But Himiko decided to spare her from herself. She tapped the half-open book on the table, “In any way, I am such a hopeless romantic, that sometimes… sometimes I even let myself believe the pretty lies inside them. That soulmates are real. That perhaps they are even born near each other, again and again, until they find one another.”

Ochako giggled, the sound surprising even herself. “That is a silly theory.”

“Mayhaps,” Himiko said, smiling at her with a warmth that made Ochako’s laughter stumble in her throat. “But it is a nice thought, is it not?”

“But that doesn't mean I want to marry.” Himiko continued, her fast mood and tone changes continuing to surprise Ochako and making her feel like she was in an emotional ride. A beautiful emotional ride, but one nonetheless.

The woman Ochako was beginning to admire gestured lightly to the sketchbook, to the open novel. “This, this freedom, is worth more than all the gilded prisons in England. I belong to no man, and I like it that way.”

No man’s. She is no one's, and that is her wish. Ochako swallowed hard, her heart giving a strange, painful flutter at the words. It was due to jealousy, of course. Freedom. She envied it, admired it, feared it all at once. She smoothed the ribbon at her wrist to keep her hands steady, but she could not stop herself from murmuring, “It must be wonderful, to feel that free.”

Himiko’s golden eyes sparkled, amused and sharp. “It is indeed.”

Ochako then looked down at the floor longingly despite herself, thinking of a life, hungering for it, where she could be just as free, able to express her feelings and talk just how she wanted, not having to worry about the pressure of pulling her family under. She started gripping her hands against themselves, for there was no item she could press them against; wishing something could get her the roar out of her head.

As if reading her mind, Himiko paused to ponder and then continued, the sound of her voice snapping Ochako's eyes upward, towards her golden gaze, “I don't usually tend to show this to many people. However I truly do believe that my brother is enraptured by you.” That comment caused Ochako to reflexively blush, and Himiko immediately continued, worsening it. “And I truly do believe you and I are kindred spirits, Ochako”

Huh? She was pretty sure the blush on her face was the color of Himiko's dress at this point, the combination of both comments a sensory overload.

“Kindred spirits? Whatever do you mean?”

Himiko, however, instead of making a jest of her blush, seemed to realize how blunt she had been and blushed a bit herself. Cute. The small role reversal filled Ochako with a small amount of satisfaction.

The blonde looked sideways, “I- I just mean that… I believe you are more similar to me, and more free, than you give yourself credit for.”

Oh. That is what she had meant. That simple comment filled Ochako with both warmth and utter disbelief, because there was absolutely no way it was true.

“Himiko, you flatter me bu-”

“Let me finish, Ochako, I never got to the point.” She then turned again to look at Ochako, who had to suppress an apology to avoid interrupting her again. “Those two are the reasons I want to show you some of my prized art, what people call morbid, if you wish to see it, of course?”

Ochako, of course, felt a small amount of nervousness about seeing art described as that, remembering the rumours of “The mental Lady Blackwell”. However, the flattery caused by that proposal, coupled with Himiko trusting her by showing her something truly private and the faith the blonde had in her, were more than enough to crush that nervousness. The outward signs, atleast.

She smiled at the other woman, “I'd love to, Himiko. Please, lead the way.”

Himiko pushed open the narrow door, and Ochako’s breath caught in her throat.

The little chamber was overflowing. Charcoal sprawled across every spare scrap of paper, sketches tacked crooked along the walls, canvases stacked in the corners like a barricade of fevered visions. At first glance it was chaos, violent and unsettling: figures collapsing mid-duel, dark stains heavy with implied blood, faces twisted in feral laughter.

It was frankly… terrifying. Skilled, yes, that was undeniable. But the contents, drawn with such ability, made her gut tug with the start of nausea.

But then she saw the other half.

A body falling in battle… and a comrade sketched in the corner of the page, fragile and still stretching upward. A woman dancing barefoot in a graveyard… yet the skirts of her dress were drawn like waves, alive, defiant. A skeletal horse half-faded into shadow… but in the same lines, a foal nuzzling its mother.

Ochako’s pulse quickened. It was not just morbidity, it was contrast. Death and life inked into one another, inseparable, coexisting. The message was terrifying, and yet strangely beautiful.

It's about life's beauty continuing again and again, rising back up, no matter how cruel it can be, isn't it? It all made sense now - the way folk spoke of the manic Himiko, her reputation. Even if these drawings were hidden, she could understand why Himiko's way of seeing the world could be so terrifying for people who didn't understand - she felt it herself, for a second. Nevertheless, she now also noticed the sheer beauty of that perspective in life underneath the surface.

It seemed like she was too expressive and took too long to answer, as Himiko had been uncharacteristically quiet and still. Remembering her earlier vulnerability, Ochako panicked.

Oh no.

She turned to face her.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Himiko’s voice cut in. Her arms folded, chin tilted up in mock-brazen challenge, but Ochako saw it: the little tightness in her shoulders, the faint hesitation. She was bracing for rejection.

Ochako swallowed. “It’s… frightening,” she admitted. Then, with more certainty, “But there’s something beautiful in it too. The way life keeps showing up in the middle of all that darkness. Like it refuses to stop. I’ve never seen anything like it. It even makes the darkness itself look somewhat beautiful, as it's that contrast that makes the joy of life truly shine.”

For a heartbeat, silence, Ochako's frantic, anxious beating of her own heart was the only sound that filled her ears, a thousand apologies already formulating in her mind.

Then Himiko’s face split into an incandescent grin, the tension gone like it had never existed, the biggest, brightest, and most beautiful smile Ochako had seen from her yet. “See? I knew it. You understand. Kindred spirits!” She clapped charcoal-streaked gloved hands together, heedless of the smudges.

Then, abruptly, wickedly, she leaned in, golden eyes glinting. “Careful, Ochako. You might just be as mad as I am. Two lunatics together. Imagine the scandal. Add Katsuki to the mix and the house of Blackwell would officially be a madhouse.”

The suddenness of it knocked a startled laugh out of Ochako, too loud, too raw, and she didn't even attempt the reflexive urge to stamp a hand over her mouth. “Himiko!”

“Ah, there it is,” Himiko crowed, pointing at her as though she’d won a prize. “The other lunatic cackles at last, I had missed that sight, it felt lonely in here, you know?”

Ochako groaned into her hands, her cheeks on fire, but she was laughing too, helplessly.

“Honestly though,” the brunette began, taking a breath to steady herself, “I wish I had half the skill as you to express myself so freely, I cannot even do a simple sketch!”

Himiko let her giggle sputter out before softening, eyes warm. “I want to teach you, then. Drawing, I mean. You clearly see something most don’t, and I'd be honoured to witness what you could eventually bring to life. Would you let me?”

Ochako froze, ribbon twisting in her fingers, her heart a chaotic drum. It seemed like Himiko had the secret power to say exactly what she needed, no matter how uncomfortable the idea would usually make her. “I- I’d like that very much,” she whispered.

And as Himiko’s smile curved bright and certain, and Ochako's nerves about doing an awful job with her drawing bloomed, Ochako realized that it wasn't a one time thing. She really did have the best of times with Himiko, both of them being able to be unapologetically themselves, away from all the chaos and rules of their lives. If she were to wed the Duke, Himiko would make the best sister-in-law, and that meant being able to be closer to her; to finally having a lady who was a true friend in her life, and she would need nothing more to be truly content. She realized, terrified, that she was starting to get warmed up to the idea of following through with this marriage.

Ochako sat at the little table Himiko had swept clear, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it might echo off the windows. I am going to make a mess, aren't I? A sheet of thick paper waited, and a stick of charcoal rolled lazy circles near the edge as though daring her to touch it. She swallowed.

“Here.” Himiko nudged the charcoal toward her, the faintest brush of her fingertip against Ochako’s. Warm. “Just hold it. Don’t think.”

Ochako pinched it delicately between two fingers, stiff as a child trying to hold a teacup for the first time. Her knuckles ached instantly.

A laugh, low and soft, brushed against her ear, close enough that the tiny hairs at her nape stirred. “Ochako. You look as though it’s a pistol. Relax.”

“I am relaxed!” she said, voice strangled, grip tightening like a vise.

“No, you’re not.”

The words came with Himiko leaning down, her perfume, floral, smelling of pomegranates and something sharp, washing over Ochako like a net. The sudden, unexpected smell making her hand shake and causing her grip to falter, carving an unsteady line over her drawing.

Why in the heavens is she so close? How am I supposed to concentrate?

“All fingers Ochako,” Himiko whispered, her lips so close Ochako swore she could feel the warmth of her breath. 

Seriously, how am I supposed to focus-

As Himiko finished her statement, fingers slid over Ochako's, long, slender, and surprisingly soft and gentle. One by one, Himiko coaxed her rigid grip loose, unfurling her until all five fingers were across the charcoal, her own hand resting over them.

“You will not be able to draw properly unless you use all five of them.”

Ochako couldn't even think at this point, she just exhaled sharply, trying to channel all the overwhelming sensations into the paper. It was utterly ridiculous, how one simple touch was enough to simultaneously relax her senses and send them into an overwhelmed state of panic.

And yet Himiko was right, it really did improve her steadiness, albeit slightly. 

“There.” Himiko hummed, satisfaction rich in her tone. “Better already.”

Ochako forced her gaze to the paper, though every nerve in her body screamed of warmth and pomegranates and closeness. “I- I don’t know what to draw.”

“Roses.” Himiko gestured toward the vase, her sleeve grazing Ochako’s arm, her hip brushing the back of her chair as she leaned in; the contact was enough to send a shiver across her spine. “They’re forgiving, but messy, and we have one in front of us to model. Look closely: at the shadows, the curve of the petals, the way they unfold.”

Ochako tried, she truly did. But the rose blurred, her vision tunneling to the heat along her arm, the rhythm of Himiko’s breath against her temple, the scrape of charcoal already smudging her gloves.

I give up. I cannot for the life of me focus on this. Does she even realize what she's doing?

She made a mark. Wrong. Another, worse. She could feel her wrist locking again, the familiar feeling of disappointment at herself starting to bloom.

“Mm, no.” Himiko’s body pressed closer as she reached around, her arm sending a jolt against Ochako’s shoulder. She tapped the crook of Ochako’s elbow with a fingertip light as air. “Loosen here. And breathe, you’re strangling the poor flower.”

She was quite sure her face couldn't be any warmer.

Ochako let out a strangled laugh, trembling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” Himiko’s voice brushed her ear, feather-soft and merciless. “Apologize to the poor rose you're butchering.”

She was close. Too close.

Ochako turned her head, just a fraction, and there she was: Himiko’s face inches away, eyes wicked and bright, a smudge of charcoal high on her cheekbone, lips curved in a perfect smile. Light caught in her hair, making the golden in it shine even more so. The sight hit Ochako so hard she nearly forgot to breathe.

Do not turn around - noted.

She snapped her gaze back to the page, cheeks burning so hot they had to be visible. She was wrong. Her face could get even warmer.

Then Himiko guided her hand again, her fingers firm over Ochako’s, dragging the charcoal in a single sweeping arc. The sound rasped in Ochako’s ears, rough and steady. Every movement vibrated through her wrist, her arm, her chest, her pulse.

“Perfect,” Himiko murmured, “like that. Do you feel it? The curve, the weight?”

Ochako nodded, too breathless to speak. Her whole world had collapsed into this: the rasp of charcoal, the warmth of Himiko’s body pressed to her side, the dizzying scent of pomegranates and paper and skin, the rise and fall of breath that wasn’t hers.

Another curve, another petal. Each stroke steadier, freer, Himiko’s hand never leaving hers. To be quite honest, Himiko was guiding everything. But how could she not? For Ochako, the paper blurred; she could barely see it because of the pounding in her temples.

And then, impossibly, it was there. A rose. Uneven, clumsy, but undeniably theirs.

Ochako stared at it, heart hammering, overwhelmed to the point of nausea and giddy joy all at once. It was too much: Himiko’s touch, her voice, her perfume.

But at the same time, she felt like she stupidly wanted more.

Her first rose bloomed on the page, and Himiko leaned in, studying the shaky bloom on the page with mock gravity, then let out a low laugh that melted into something softer. “There. Your first rose.”

Ochako’s cheeks flamed. “Ours, surely,” she blurted, glancing at the smudge of charcoal still blackening Himiko’s fingertips where they rested against the page. “You did most of it, in any way.”

But Himiko shook her head, golden hair shifting with the motion, a small smile tugging at her lips. “No. It’s yours. I only steadied your hand. The lines are yours, Ochako.”

The words landed with the intended effect. Ochako stared at the little rose, uneven but still recognizable, and for the first time in as far as she could remember, pride swelled inside her chest. She smiled, helpless, too wide, impossible to hide, without a care in the world.

She doesn't remember the last time she had felt so happy-

What am I doing?

And then, just as quickly, she crushed her smile. Foolish. Utterly foolish. Blushing over another lady’s praise as though you were a schoolgirl. What would people say, if they saw you like this? She is generous, she is kind, that is all. A friend, possibly her future sister-in-law. Nothing more. Stop this before you make a mockery of yourself.

Ochako forced her hands still in her lap, pressing her palms hard together until the sting grounded her, as she tended to do. And so, she schooled her face into something tamer, safer.

“It is… very pleasant,” she said at last, careful, as though even her joy must be leashed.

Though that did nothing to stop the happiness in her heart, and she did not think the warmth in her cheeks would disappear any time soon.

Izuku Milverton, as always, was not in his own home. He sat hunched at the little desk in the Underhill drawing-room, the letter trembling slightly in his hands from how fast he’d devoured every line. The Duke of Rivermoor’s script was neat, spare, impatient. But the words. Oh Heavens, THE WORDS!

He read the opening again, just to be certain it was truly there:

Your argument’s sound. Your inference is sloppy. Fix it, preferably within the week, and then we can discuss further.

Izuku’s throat tightened. A Duke - no, not just any Duke, that Duke - had written that to him. To him.

Two weeks ago, he’d nearly tripped over his own shoes in that study, babbling about resonance and harmonics, certain he’d made an utter fool of himself. And then, and he would never forget it, the Duke had fixed him with that blazing, terrifying stare and said: “That brilliant mind of yours.”

Izuku had replayed it in his head a hundred times since. Brilliant. Him.

Now there was proof in ink: the Duke had read his frantic scrawlings, even responded point for point, sharp and exact, but not dismissive, almost encouraging. Izuku pressed the paper to his chest, grinning helplessly. Grumpy, yes; blunt too, every sentence a slap. But hidden between them, a strange kind of generosity had blossomed. And they undeniably had an academic spark, their ongoing, non-stop letters for the past couple of weeks a testament to that.

Izuku admired him, more than he’d admit aloud. Admired him, even while the very thought of those sharp eyes still made his stomach swoop with nerves and fear; after all, the man was terrifying.

He smoothed the pages out again, eyes darting to the bottom as if the words might change if he blinked:

“Your modulation approach is elegant. Do pursue it further, use those bookworm skills of yours and get back to me within the week.”

His breath caught. Elegant. From him, the man who was famous for his knowledge. Izuku bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud like an idiot.

The door opened just then, and Ochako swept in, cheeks pink, eyes shining. He blinked at her, startled. His closest friend looked as though she’d swallowed sunshine. A faint smear of charcoal streaked across the side of her hand.

“...Ochako?” he wondered.

She glanced at him, startled out of her reverie, and tried to tuck her hand behind her skirts, far too late. The glow didn’t dim.

Izuku stared, wonder rising in his chest. Whatever had happened at the Blackwells that afternoon, it had left her alight.

Before he could ask, a sharp rap at the door cut across the room. Ochako's father appeared, a crimson-sealed envelope trembling faintly in his hand.

“A letter,” Mr. Underhill said, his voice thick with awe, “from His Majesty Toshinori Yarrow.”

Izuku’s stomach plummeted. The royal crest. The King?! Oh heavens, what could His Majesty possibly want with the likes of us?

Ochako leaned forward as her father broke the seal, her brightness faltering into a tight-lipped stare. He unfolded the parchment and read aloud:

“To celebrate the courtship of the Duke of Rivermoor, Lady Ochako Underhill, and their families are cordially summoned to attend the Royal Gala. Their dance shall open the evening’s festivities, before the eyes of the court and crown. Each family is allowed to invite one additional guest."

He then looked up at Izuku and continued, "I assume that would be you, Izuku.”

Silence.

What?!

Ochako’s face drained of color. Her hands twisted into her skirts, nails digging hard. “A dance,” she whispered, horror-struck. “With the Duke. Before everyone. We're not even engaged yet!”

Izuku’s own pulse roared in his ears. The King. He would have to stand in that glittering hall, bow before the monarch, speak, breathe, not faint dead away. This was terrible. There was no way he, a lowly baron's son, would survive this.

Ochako’s voice rose, frantic now: “I cannot, I don’t- Izuku, I cannot dance like that! I do not possess the skill!”

And all Izuku could think was: I cannot meet the King.

Yes, he had always admired Toshinori, the war hero who had saved the kingdom from countless conflicts, while still being admired as an unusually kind man. But this, actually standing before him?! He was not prepared.

Both friends stood frozen with terror, the sealed letter heavy between them.

The house was quiet, too quiet. The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of Himiko’s bedchamber, painting long, lazy stripes of gold across the floorboards. But the light felt thin, the silence heavy with an absence that was becoming alarmingly familiar. Ochako had been gone for less than 3 hours, and already the grand, echoing stillness of the manor felt less like a sanctuary and more like an empty cage. She should really go talk to Jin later.

Alone again.

Ugh, this is the opposite of fun!

She had no idea why Ochako leaving left her feeling so bored. It was miserable, and she hated the fact that it was miserable! For heavens sake, they had just met, could Himiko really not spend more than 8 hours, in total, before becoming a complete and total mess?!

Himiko sat before her vanity, not looking at her own reflection, but at the reflection of the room behind her. Empty. She picked up a silver-backed brush, her movements slow, automatic, pulling it through a tangle of golden hair without really feeling it. The easy warmth, the shared laughter, the sheer, intoxicating feeling of someone understanding her art...it had all vanished the moment Ochako’s carriage had pulled away, leaving behind the same quiet, hollow ache that had been a constant companion since the day Kai had pulled his stunt.

She set the brush down with a soft click and opened a pristine, untouched sketchbook on her lap. Her usual books wouldn't work for this.

This, of course, wouldn't fit in the caricatures of the lot, so that sketchbook was immediately discarded.

As for her more explicit sketchbook... that was for romance novels or fantasies, not something real, and she felt that what she had in mind deserved its own space.

Those old sketchbooks were for a Himiko who was bored and alone, and today she had been anything but. 

Her fingers found a stick of charcoal, the familiar dusty texture a small comfort, though they felt quite empty compared to earlier that day - heavens above I need to control myself -. Unlike other times, however, she didn't draw a fantasy. She didn't sketch a dramatic scene from one of her novels, or a sexually explicit, impossible fantasy.

She drew a memory.

The image came to her unbidden, as clear as if it were happening right in front of her. Ochako’s face, tilted just so, as she stared down at her first clumsy, beautiful rose. The shy, fierce pride fighting with the mortification, her face still painted in that pretty red. The way her mouth fought a smile, the corners trembling with an emotion so pure and genuine it made Himiko’s own breath catch in her throat - she would be surprised if Ochako hadn't noticed how big of a fool Himiko had been making of herself, just staring at her breathlessly -. The bright eyes full of pride as the beautiful woman looked down at her first ever drawing.

Alongside it all, a memory ran in her mind: of Ochako calling it theirs before Himiko quickly corrected her, heart beating a frantic drum and not wanting it to be obvious for the world to see.

Himiko's charcoal moved, quick and sure, trying to capture the impossible. The curve of that stubborn, lovely mouth. The flush of pride on those warm cheeks. The light in those endlessly expressive brown eyes.

Oh heavens Himiko Blackwell, you just met her, don't be such a pathetic loser.

Of course after admitting that her dreams of women were fantasy scenarios at best, she would be immediately drawn to the first one that actually understood her, despite knowing how utterly impossible such a thing was. Of fucking course! Ridiculous, to waste feelings on another woman, when there was no hope for it, not in their world.

Fucking damn it, Himiko. Good fucking job. Great! Now she was starting to sound like the brute of her brother too!

She stopped, her hand hovering over the page. It felt more dangerous, somehow, more daring to draw this real, fragile joy than it ever had to sketch her most scandalous, forbidden scenes. Those fantasies were safe, contained within the lockbox of her own mind. But Ochako, this wonderfully, terrifyingly real woman… to capture her on paper felt like a claim. Like a confession. It felt like stealing a piece of that sunshine for herself, to keep in the dark. Like the only thing she would be able to ever have. The brunette wasn't for the old lockbox, she was the start of something new. Himiko closed the sketchbook and slid it into a hidden drawer at the bottom of her armoire, a new book, just for her.

Damn it all, if this was going to happen, atleast she'd have something. Even if it was just foolish drawings about events that she was totally misreading and nothing more.

She sat there for a long moment, the quiet settling around her again. She thought of Ochako’s blush, her laugh, her fierce, secret intelligence. She thought of this beautiful, impossible woman who was, by all accounts, about to become her brother’s wife. The Duchess of Rivermoor. It should have been a victory, a perfect solution. She would have Ochako here, always. As long as Katsuki doesn't get tired of me and moves away when they marry, of course. A friend, a sister, a confidante. It should have been enough.

But the ache in her chest told her a different, more treacherous story.

With a sudden, decisive movement, she rose and went to her writing desk. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, the crisp vellum cool beneath her fingers. Her quill scratched in the silence, the words coming quickly, simply, before she could think better of them, before she could allow the inevitable pain to poison the impulse.

My Dearest Ochako,

The roses were only the beginning. There are so many things I wish to teach you, so many ways to be free; and none of them involve talking to lordlings with rotting teeth! The world has taught you that your duties are your only worth, but I see the beautiful woman in you, and she is far more interesting. Come back soon, and we will make her happy.

Himiko Blackwell

Why did she start to fall so fast for this woman? This was torture. It wasn't fair, most people took longer!

She sealed the note with a drop of plain wax before she could second-guess herself, before she could think about the quiet, agonizing future of unrequited love she was likely setting herself up for. She knew, with a calm, heartbreaking certainty, that if this lovely woman became the first person her brother ever truly chose, she would have to live with that pain. She would stand by and watch, and smile, and be the perfect sister-in-law.

She would do it. Because the alternative: seeing that beautiful, fiery spirit snuffed out by the world, seeing Ochako trapped in a cage of propriety forever; was simply unthinkable. She would live with the ache, if it meant keeping Ochako free and as happy as she had been during those two brief meetings.

Chapter Text

Katsuki Blackwell had a dozen pages of theory open in front of him, equations sprawled across the page like a battlefield, but his attention kept snagging on the idiot across from him.

What the fuck is wrong with him today?

Izuku Milverton’s quill had been tapping, tapping, tapping. Too fast, too shallow, the strokes jittering with mistakes he’d never make on a good day. Katsuki let it slide for five minutes, then ten.

Then, the man fumbled the same calculation three times in a row.

Ugh, that is it, I cannot stand this for a moment more.

So Katsuki slammed his own quill down hard enough to blot the paper.

“Oi. Bookworm. What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re useless like this. Spit it out.”

Izuku startled, shoulders jerking, eyes wide like a kid caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. Then the truth tumbled out, fast and low: “The gala, Your Grace. His Majesty Toshinori Yarrow- I… I cannot possibly… to meet him, to stand before him-”

Katsuki clicked his tongue. Tch. Stupid. Foolish reason for not continuing his brilliant theory, and even more foolish that Katsuki was going to help fix this.

Though a part of him remembered the once scared little boy who had felt that same fear at the prospect of meeting the celebrated king he had so admired.

“That’s it? Toshinori?” He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, letting the name hang there. “He’s a great man. When my old man turned to rot, Toshinori made sure I didn’t go down with him. Sent tutors, kept the estate upright, made sure I had something worth sharpening my teeth on. The whole kingdom calls him a hero, but he-” Katsuki cut himself off with a rough exhale. No need to expand so much. “Point is, he’s not gonna tear your head off. You’ll be fine.”

Izuku just stared at him, mouth parted, quill forgotten, looking so damned grateful Katsuki had to bite back the urge to snarl. That warmth in his chest was annoying as hell.

“You… you admire him,” Izuku said softly.

“Of course I fucking do.” Him and half this stupid kingdom did.

Izuku ducked his head, cheeks pink, and then he started to ramble, trying to chase a thread of theory: resonance boundaries, amplitude shifts. Normally Katsuki would’ve been on him instantly, smirk sharp, already framing the counter. But something was off.

Damned bookworm was going to be the death of him.

The green haired man's words were scattered. The quill tap out of rhythm.

And worse, the shine in his eyes, the one Katsuki had memorized, the one that burned like a bloody torch whenever the bastard lost himself in an idea; that shine was gone. Distant.

Katsuki hated it.

That stupid bookworm. The way he lit up, staring at Katsuki like every word was worth the world, that look was addictive, infuriating, and suddenly Katsuki realized he wanted it back. Wanted it even if they weren’t tearing apart equations while the man in front of him shone.

“Oi.” His voice cut through the boy’s fog like a blade. “Eyes here. You keep drifting like that at the gala, you’ll trip over your own damn shoes. Clear it. Toshinori likes smart people, and if your damn bookworm brain has anything redeemable about it it’s that.”

Izuku blinked - and then it was there again, that blaze, that unfiltered light snapping back into his eyes, the same glow he had when he tore through a theory like it was oxygen. Good, he better.

It was the same look Katsuki had long since admitted he found addictive, due to the "science".

Katsuki’s breath caught, sharp and low. He realized it wasn’t just the science he liked. It was the look itself.

Tch.

He turned his head away, the faintest heat curling at his ears at the realization of what he had just thought.

Katsuki shifted in his chair, pretending to study the page in front of him, but his eyes kept dragging back to the boy across the desk. That damned glow. It still wasn't gone, sparking in Izuku’s stupidly earnest gaze, the shine that made him look like he’d swallowed a star.

And Katsuki realized something unpleasant, something dangerous: more than the look, what was truly addictive, what he really liked was dragging that look out of him. Liked knowing that he was the reason Milverton stopped gnawing himself to pieces and lit up instead.

Hell. This had to be hell.

Izuku’s quill wobbled as he asked, hesitant but curious, “Do you - do you really know His Majesty that well?”

Katsuki scoffed, instantly defensive. “Of fucking course I do. I’m the Duke of Rivermoor, you think I’m some peasant who’s never been in the same room as the King?”

But Izuku’s mouth pressed small, the glow dimming, just a touch.

Fuck.

The shine dipped away and Katsuki’s stomach twisted like someone had kicked him.

He hated it. Absolutely fucking hated it. He hadn’t meant to knock the fire out of him.

And he despised the fact that his mind was now screaming at him to fix things, to bring that spark back.

“...Tch.” He let his arms drop, dragging a hand down his face before the words tumbled out rough, unpracticed. “When I said Toshinori helped me, I wasn’t exaggerating. My father-” Katsuki’s jaw locked, the words sticking. He forced them out anyway. “-that man was a piece of shit. When he wasn’t drunk, he was cruel. To Himiko. To our Mama. To anyone stupid enough to be near him. Toshinori... he saw it. He didn’t say it outright, but he did what he could. Got us out of the house more, pushed tutors into the manor, gave me somewhere to point my rage instead of turning it inward.”

The words scraped his throat raw. This damned bookworm. Making him speak about things he loathed remembering.

He wasn’t supposed to say any of this. He never said it. But Izuku was watching him, wide-eyed, quiet, every scrap of his attention pinned to Katsuki like he was worth listening to, like every syllable mattered.

Making him feel like maybe he wasn't so fucking alone.

And then-

Warmth.

A hand, tentative, trembling just slightly, settled against his forearm. Izuku’s hand.

Katsuki froze. His whole body locked, shoulders jerking taut, breath slamming to a halt in his lungs. He should’ve snarled, should’ve shaken him off, should’ve ripped his arm back and barked some scathing remark about boundaries. But he didn’t.

Because the heat of it, the honest, desperate intent in that simple touch, slid past his armor and straight into his chest.

His pulse went wild, thundering. He was almost sure Izuku could feel it right on his forearm. It quaked against his ribs, heat surging up his neck, across his face, until he could hear nothing but the blood rushing in his ears.

And the absolute worst part of it all? Izuku wasn’t looking at him like a servant to a lord, not like a supplicant groveling to a Duke. He was looking at him like-

Like a person, like a partner. He was seeing Katsuki, not the Duke of Rivermoor, and wasn't pulling away.

Those green eyes, too wide, too clear, were shining again. That glow was back, not from theory, not from equations, but from him.

Katsuki’s breath caught, ragged, and his mind spiraled, traitorous. Fuck. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t- shit. I like it. I like it too much. What the hell are you doing to me, bookworm?

Every instinct screamed to pull away, but he couldn’t move. His arm stayed beneath Izuku’s hand, skin burning where they touched, body caught between the urge to shove and the terrifying, dizzy want to lean into it.

A thousand words warred in his throat. He wanted to tell him to stop. Wanted to tell him not to. Wanted to yell at him in anger for making him feel this way, telling him to get out of his townhouse.

Wanted to admit how much he wanted to feel this again and agai- no, never. He couldn’t.

Say something, idiot. Anything. You’re sitting here like a damned statue.

But the only thing that came was silence. Silence and the unbearable awareness of how close Izuku was, how small his fingers looked against Katsuki’s arm, how steady they made the storm inside him feel.

It was wrong. It was dangerous. But it felt - by the Saints, it felt good.

He realized, with a jolt of horror, that he didn’t just like the shine in Izuku’s eyes. He didn't just like their talks of theories and nature. He liked the closeness, the intimacy.

And that realization made him feel like he was being torn apart from the inside.

Fuck.

Heat clawed at his throat, his ears burning, the back of his neck prickling. His chest felt like it might split open with the force of everything he couldn’t say.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

Katsuki turned his head away sharply, jaw clenched so tight it ached, eyes squeezing shut as though that might banish the treacherous thoughts.

Tch.

But he didn’t shake the hand off. Not yet.

His breath stuttered out, harsh and uneven, and he hated himself for how badly he wanted to keep that warmth right where it was.

Izuku’s fingers lingered only a moment longer before he startled at himself, face blooming red, and pulled back as though burned. He fumbled for words, gaze dropping to the desk.

Try as he may, Katsuki could not stop the surge of anger that rose inside him at the loss of contact.

“A-apologies, Your Grace-”

Katsuki’s stomach twisted, hot and sharp. Really? After everything? After he touched me, after he steadied me, after I told him more than I’ve told anyone in years, he goes back to that stupid title? After he looked at me like I wasn’t fucking alone?

The words tore out of him before he could think, rough and jagged. “Oh, fuck off-”

He immediately saw Izuku's face fall. Again.

Fucking damn it this fool of a bookworm. Katsuki couldn't stand him.

He had meant to say more, to snarl at him to stop with the honorifics, to tell him to just use his damned name like a normal person, to bring joy back onto his face. But the knock at the door cracked the moment clean in half.

“Your Grace,” a servant’s voice called through the wood, “Lord Upton awaits you, he says it is most urgent and has been waiting for hours. Please, my lord, you must make haste!"

Katsuki’s fists clenched at his sides, fury flashing white. Of course. Of course the world would barge in now, when he’d finally wrestled the bookworm back from his nerves, when that glow was back in his eyes.

He stood so abruptly his chair scraped harsh across the floor. “Tch.” His glare stayed pinned on the desk a moment longer, on the ink blotches and the scatter of equations and the damned boy with his too-bright, but now hurt, gaze.

“Stay here. Keep working if you’ve got a brain left, or walk it off in the garden. I don’t care. Just don’t expect me to apologize if Himiko eats you alive.”

And then he was gone, stride clipped, jaw tight, every step carrying the bitter frustration of leaving behind the only conversation he’d wanted to finish.

Izuku’s quill was still lying across the desk, forgotten, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit back down. His hand hovered uselessly in the air where it had just been resting on the Duke’s arm. He could still feel it, for God’s sake, the hard line of muscle under his sleeve, the faint, steady thrum of his pulse-

What was I thinking, touching him like that?

Foolish.

And then the words. The rough bark of them, like a blade slashed across his chest.

Oh, fuck off-

Izuku swallowed, hard, throat working around the memory. He knew exactly what it meant. He had overstepped. A baron’s son putting his hands on a Duke, the Duke, and then staring at him like some wide-eyed fool? Of course the man had snapped. Of course he had.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Katsuki had even, Heavens above, he had even shared something, bared something real, and Izuku had ruined it by grasping at him like a child grabbing at candy. And then he’d been dismissed, tossed aside with a curse.

Izuku pressed both hands flat to the edge of the desk, bowing his head, breath ragged. Air. I need air.

Because if he sat here, staring at equations, he’d see nothing but the moment he’d touched him. Nothing but the warmth of it. Nothing but the look on the Duke’s face right before he said those words. And he’d get nothing done, nothing at all.

He fled. Quill left, paper scattered, equations abandoned, he fled.

The garden was cooler, blessedly open, though his heart was still hammering like he’d sprinted. He gulped air greedily, eyes darting around the hedge paths, the roses, the carved stone benches, anywhere to anchor himself. He could almost pretend the whole mess hadn’t happened-

Until a soft voice called out.

“Oh, what have we here?”

He spun.

Lady Himiko Blackwell was there, standing at the end of the path as though she’d been conjured straight from rumor. Sunlight spilled over her hair like molten gold, the red of her gown a slash of color against the greenery. She looked directly at him, and lit up.

Lit up. As though he of all people was something worth seeing.

Some fear started taking hold of him, his hands sweating, he took a deep breath to steady his heart.

Remember, Ochako said she wasn't as bad as the rumours made her out to be, and you know the same was true with Katsuki, the kind man who you scared off.

A faint flush touched her cheeks, and she started forward, skirts whispering against the gravel. Her walk almost as elegant as her powerful brother.

Izuku’s stomach plummeted. Oh heavens. Oh, she’s pretty. Too pretty. This family - this family must have some miraculous command of genetics, every one of them could stop time just by breathing-

And she was walking toward him.

Getting closer.

“Oh, heavens above,” Izuku whispered under his breath, already starting to sweat.

This isn’t Ochako, this isn’t my friend I’ve known since we were children, this is a strange woman, approaching me. A woman approaching him, the bookworm.

His ears burned. He could feel the blush crawling up his face like wildfire.

And then she giggled. A soft, delighted sound, as though his awkwardness was the most amusing thing she’d seen all week.

Izuku remembered Katsuki’s parting words: don’t expect me to apologize if Himiko eats you alive.

His pulse spiked violently.

Oh no. Heaven’s sake, she’s going to eat me alive.

She stopped a few paces away, golden eyes gleaming, the faint blush still lingering on her cheeks.
“Well, well,” she said, voice rich with amusement, “Katsuki’s little comet has broken orbit. What brings you into my garden, Mr. Milverton? Did my brother frighten you out of his study?”

Izuku’s mouth went dry. Comet? What on earth was he supposed to say to that?
“I- n-no well, y-yes-” His voice cracked. He coughed, tried again. “I just… needed air.”

She tilted her head, as though cataloguing him like one of her sketches. “Air. Or escape?”

Izuku wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Her smile made it worse, because by the Saints, she’s pretty. The kind of pretty that made his stomach swoop alarmingly, a glittering, dangerous kind that was even more terrifying than her brother’s brutal stare. However, it was but a deluge compared to the storm that the Duke caused on him.

Her brother.

And goodness gracious, why did that thought send another, worse flush surging up his neck?

Stop it. This is a woman, standing here, teasing you. You are not supposed to think of her brother right now.

“Neither,” he blurted, the word too loud, too fast. He coughed again. “I- um- I was working, and my brain felt… tangled.” A pause, followed by him swallowing as though the ground would swallow him whole, “...so I thought a walk would help untangle it.”

Himiko laughed, a soft sound, and stepped closer still. She gestured at his hand, at the smudge of ink still staining his fingers. “Ah, yes. Ink-stained and starry-eyed. I should have guessed. You have the look of a man who’d scribble half the universe into a margin if someone let you.”

Izuku’s knees nearly buckled. “W-whatever do you mean, m-my lady?”

She leaned forward conspiratorially, golden eyes wicked. “Your marginalia, Mr. Milverton. The Duke left one of your notes lying about the other day. By the heavens, has anyone ever told you your little half-sentences are indecently exciting?”

Izuku’s soul departed his body. Indecently EXCITING?

F-flirting? She was flirting with him?!

And lady luck must scorn him, for no other woman in the entire kingdom of England would ever drop a commentary like that!

His entire face must have gone scarlet. He squeaked something that was meant to be a laugh, but came out a strangled whimper.

Inside his skull, panic was erupting. Flirting? With me? A woman as radiant as this? No, inconceivable- gracious me, she’s pretty. So very pretty.

And then, just as quickly, his treacherous brain supplied the thought: but her brother is far more enthralling, objectively of course.

Oh no.

Because he remembered that moment in the study, the heat of a pulse under his hand, the fire of those red eyes when they locked on his. Katsuki had been terrifying, yes, but also entrancing. Every time Izuku managed to impress him, to keep up with him, it was like standing too close to lightning. Every time the man called him brilliant and deemed him worthy to stand at his side, it was like breathing in after a lifetime of holding his breath.

Ochako was right: the Blackwells must have been carved by some absurd divine hand. Himiko’s eyes shone like honey when she teased, when she laughed. And yet, somehow, somehow, it still didn’t quite hold him like the blaze of Katsuki’s.

Izuku choked on his own thoughts, his blush worsening. Stop comparing them! This is a woman flirting with you, this is the kind of thing you should be utterly incapable of surviving on its own!

He tried to form a sentence. Any sentence. “I- I’m u-uh… th-thank you?”

Himiko giggled again, delighted by his floundering. She leaned back just enough to let him breathe, then spun on her heel to pluck a rose from the nearest bush. She twirled it between her fingers like a prop, head tilted. “My brother was right. You combust at the smallest spark. Adorable.”

Then, Jin Baker, running from one side to the other, decided to throw a quick quip as he passed “Himiko, be careful, this man passes out from flattery!”

Himiko giggled even further, her eyes shining, his face warming up impossibly more.

Izuku whimpered. She’s going to eat me alive. Just like Katsuki said. Oh for goodness sake, I should have stayed in the study, at least the equations don’t stare at me like this.

And yet, part of him couldn’t look away.

Her gaze lingered on him as she toyed with the rose, golden eyes glinting with amusement. They shone when she looked at him, warm and mischievous. Beautiful, yes, but nothing like the blaze in his eyes. Katsuki’s fire was sharper, brighter, like a furnace that burned him alive whenever it landed on him.

Stop it!

Izuku squeezed his hands behind his back, desperate to still them. Her hair caught the light, a cascade of brilliant gold that nearly stole his breath. Almost as - no. No. He would not finish that thought. He would not compare it to the rough, striking shock of yellow hair and red eyes that haunted his vision every time he closed his eyes.

And then her cheeks colored, faint but visible, as though even she wasn’t immune to the little game she was playing. A blush. Izuku’s stomach twisted violently, because suddenly, absurdly, he remembered the faint stain of color he’d caught on Katsuki’s cheek in the study earlier that day. A flash of warmth he wasn’t meant to see.

He shut his eyes, hard. Oh heavens, I need out. I need a distraction. These two are going to kill me.

His pulse thundered. The worst part, the worst, most humiliating part, was that it should only have been her undoing him, this golden-eyed, sharp-mouthed storm of a woman. But his damned brain, his treacherous, overworked brain, couldn’t stop conjuring her brother alongside her, bringing up comparisons for every little detail.

And despite his mind that the Duke unexplainably found brilliant, there was no theory, no elegant matrix, no equation in the world that could explain that.

Ochako’s shoes crunched softly over the gravel, but her mind was too loud to notice. She had managed to clean her only other not yet broken from usage favourite gown - aside from the yellow one that had been nearly ruined all those weeks ago - for this occasion. It was her favourite one, pink, and she still thought herself foolish for once again fretting so much over her own appearance.

For all of the previous night and all of this morning she had tried, really tried, to banish the memory of Himiko’s hand over hers, the glide of charcoal guided by slender fingers, the warm breath brushing her ear as she whispered, all fingers, Ochako. And yet it lingered, as vivid as if she were still sitting at that little table.

The heat of her body pressed close, the dizzying scent of pomegranates, the rasp of charcoal against paper; it haunted her. She had smiled, she had beamed, like a child given her first sweet. Utterly foolish. And still, when she shut her eyes at night, that uneven rose swam before her and her cheeks burned all over again.

She had barely survived a sketch, a drawing, for heaven’s sake! How in the world was she supposed to survive a dance?

A dance meant hands, closeness, movement, far more intimacy than a sheet of paper between them. And she was going to ask for it, herself, deliberately. She twisted her ribbon again and again as she walked, nerves clawing up her spine, her hand occasionally stopping to claw at her own palms until they almost drew blood.

Himiko had said she only did such things if she wished to. She had already given Ochako her time once. And Ochako, shamefully, remembered how little she had concentrated, how her thoughts had tangled hopelessly around warmth and scent and her, not the lesson. What if I ruin it again? What if she laughs? What if she refuses?

And worse of all, she knew that this time Himiko would not be able to just do the drawing for her and rescue her. She would have to be the one that danced in front of the king himself. With the Duke. No one would grant her mercy. Himiko wouldn’t be able to sweep in and save her again like her knight in shining - 

Where did that thought come from?

She shook the thought out of her head and continued her walk.

Her breath came quicker as the manor’s alcove drew into view. She steeled herself, heart hammering with dread and, if she dared admit it, something far too close to hope.

And then she froze.

There they were: Himiko, gorgeous as always, leaning in, golden hair slipping forward, a faint blush high on her cheeks. That same glint in her eyes, sharp and amused, the wicked little smirk she had worn when Ochako blushed during the lesson. It was there again. Though, Ochako noted, softer, less blazing.

And Izuku, poor Izuku, was red, volcanic, his gaze darting helplessly to the ground, stammering something Ochako could not make out.

Her stomach gave a sharp, inexplicable twist.

The sight clawed at her. That smile - Himiko’s teasing, amused, wicked little curve - Ochako had thought it was hers. Reserved for her, born from the flush she could never seem to control whenever Himiko leaned too close, whenever her hand steadied hers, whenever her voice brushed her ear. She had thought that glow in golden eyes belonged to the strange little world they had carved in charcoal and drawings of roses.

But no. Here it was again. For Izuku.

Her chest ached with a sharp, strong twist of jealousy. Of course it was him. Before all this nonsense with Dukes and courtships, she had always thought it would be Izuku, that he would wed her. It was natural. He was kind, familiar, a safe constant. Surely that was what twisted in her now, surely that was all it was: old expectations cracking under the weight of change, for not being able to have Izuku anymore.

It has to be that. It cannot be anything else.

And of course it would be just that. A man she admired and yearned to be like as much as Izuku: smart, kind, loyal, sweet; was bound to eventually be noticed by a gorgeous lady.

And a lady as wonderful, beautifully unburdened as Himiko, Ochako was sure with more certainty than she had felt for most things in her life, would be able to have anyone she so wished wrapped around her finger.

It was inevitable.

Then, as the jarring intensity of her feelings struck her, she stopped.

Why am I even thinking this?

No. Himiko had said it herself. No man’s. No one’s. She belonged only to herself, and Ochako admired her for it. She envied it. She feared it. She loved that Himiko was free. That freedom was radiant, terrifying, and untouchable. She had to respect it. And yet the words echoed in her mind, no one’s, like a brand, scorching her ribs

And then-

Himiko laughed, quick and sharp, tossing her hair back, sunlight catching it like fire.

That same laugh Himiko made for Ochako's blush. It was irrational. It was absurd. But a childish, unavoidable part of Ochako had truly believed it was theirs. The sight struck through Ochako like a blade made of ice, burning, impossible to ignore.

And it was as if all her previous nervousness had vanished in an instant. For at that moment she wished nothing more than to immediately stop that.

Her feet carried her forward before she could think, skirts swishing too quickly against her ankles.

Izuku’s head snapped up, relief flooding his features the moment her footsteps reached him. Poor boy, cornered as always.

But Himiko - Himiko lit up. As though the moon itself had been handed to her, her eyes widening, her smile blooming brighter, sharper, sweeter. A blush rose, faint at first, then deeper, unmistakable. And Himiko's glow was undeniably brighter for her than when she was talking to Izuku.

At that glow, Ochako’s stupid, traitorous heart fluttered. She crushed it down, but not before a small, smug thought whispered through the crack:

Good.

Himiko tilted her head, golden eyes glinting with open delight. “To what,” she asked, voice light as silk, “do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Ochako, before she could think better of it, slipped a step closer, sliding right into the narrow space between Himiko and Izuku. A movement far too natural, far too pointed, as though her body itself had decided on that exact position.

Her chin lifted, her voice steady in a way her heart was not. “I came to ask if you would teach me to dance. For the gala.”

Himiko arched a brow, lips curling. “Ah, that. I shall also go, much as I wish I could avoid it. A royal summons is a chain even I cannot shake.” Her musical sigh was laced with mischief more than bitterness.

Ochako’s shoulders eased, just a little. At least she would not face that night alone.

But then, like a splash of cold water: her own memory. You fool. She said she doesn’t do such things unless she wishes so it.

Ochako’s chest tightened. All at once the haze that had driven her forward faltered, splintered into something softer. She bit her lip, her gaze flickering down, then back up, quieter now. “Only… only if you want to, of course. You said so yourself. I do not wish to pressure you.”

For a moment Himiko only stared at her, the faint blush on her cheeks deepening.

Then her smile curved; bright, certain, and almost devastating in its warmth. “I said I do not do it unless I want to,” she answered. Her voice dipped, slow, deliberate. “And I would be honored to dance with you, Ochako.”

Oh.

The name on her tongue made Ochako’s pulse stumble.

Izuku cleared his throat, red-faced and visibly floundering. “W-well then, I, ah, won’t get in the way of… of lessons. I only came out for some air. I should g-go back. To- to the study. Since Katsuki will be b-back. Soon.”

His words tumbled over themselves, and then he all but fled down the path.

Ochako felt a shameful little flicker of satisfaction in her chest as she watched him retreat, a smug glow she immediately tried to disguise as relief on his behalf. He looked alarmed, you did him a favor. That is all. It isn’t about you. It isn’t about her.

But the thought rang hollow. And then Himiko moved, her skirts whispering as she turned fully toward her, golden eyes catching hers with a look that seemed to see far too much of Ochako. She extended a hand, palm up, fingers steady.

“Come,” she said, voice bright with delight. “Let me lead the way.” Ochako’s stomach swooped. Nerves and excitement tangled, clashing, building until her heart felt ready to break free of her chest. She placed her trembling hand into Himiko’s waiting one.

The music room was smaller than she’d imagined, pale walls and a single mirror that made the light soft, forgiving, as if the house itself had decided to be kind for once. Curtains half-drawn. A hush that pressed velvet around the edges of sound. No paper between them this time. No table. Nothing to hide behind but her own pointless thoughts; no excuse to look at anything but her.

Himiko crossed the floor like the room belonged to her - which, of course, it did - and stopped just in front of Ochako, close enough that the pomegranate trace of her perfume Ochako had so missed reached first, then the warmth, then the steady way she looked at her like a sight she wanted to paint and a poem she wanted to memorize at the same time. And the brunette’s gaze followed her for every second, because how could it not.

Oh bloody hell. What in the world is wrong with me?!

However, before she could linger on it, it was as if the heavens themselves decided to part and show her some respite, as the following words of the woman who now haunted her every waking thought completely emptied Ochako’s head.

“Dancing works if you choose to do it,” Himiko said, voice low, amused, infuriatingly gentle. “If you realize that being ridiculous is fine because your partner is choosing to look ridiculous with you, and you trust each other.” A beat, golden eyes bright as coins and full of something Ochako couldn’t decipher but that she could not get enough of. “That being said, would you honour me with a dance, my lady?”

Oh. Oh heavens. That-
Himiko never called her that. Himiko had teased it out of her the first afternoon, had made her drop the title like a useless ribbon and breathe like a person, not a rule. But the way she said it now, not stiff, not distant, but rather like a game they were both in on, it did things to her. Heat rapidly skipped up through her entire body and up her throat.

Absurd, utterly absurd, to react to a single little phrase like that, baffling and impossible to hide.

“Yes,” Ochako heard herself say, small and certain at once.

Himiko’s smile tilted, pleased, and she lifted her left hand, palm open. Ochako reached back, then immediately betrayed herself with nerves; she hooked two fingers, the other three digging into her own palm the way they did when panic scratched under her skin, a tiny crescent-moon ache already forming there. Of course, of course, you can’t even hold her damned hand, you’re doing it wrong and she’ll notice and-

“All five,” Himiko murmured, soft as breath. “I can’t hold you if you won’t give me all of you.” One by one, she uncurled Ochako’s grip, patient, unhurried, pressing each fingertip down until their hands fit, palm to palm. Every finger that touched hers seemed to steady her, just a bit, though whichever remained free still clawed at her covered palm.

Eventually, her entire hand was wrapped in Himiko’s. The contact was scandalously plain, natural. No lace, no etiquette, no polite distance. Just the warm press of another person, and the absurd truth of how good it felt, even with Ochako’s gloves trying - and failing - to dull the sensation.

Ochako exhaled like she’d been drowning. It helps, she realized, startled. Just like with the charcoal, it really helps. Himiko forcing her to fully hold her hand and not have the ability to claw at herself did more to calm Ochako, to give her a sense of control, than thousands of mechanisms she had tried before. Warmth slid through her arm, unwound the tight place at her wrist she hadn’t realized was locked. 

There, finally: that stupid bird in her chest stopped flapping quite so hard.

And if this was so wonderful, she could not help but dare imagine how wonderfully ecstatic this would feel if she could ever remove her gloves.

Himiko smiled. She saw the change, naturally, and then stepped into the rest of the hold, her other hand rising to hover over the back of Ochako’s shoulder blade, as if asking for permission. The simple act conjuring a slight blush on her round cheeks.

As if you would ever need to ask. Bloody hell, she needed to control herself.

The wonderful woman’s lips curled and she finally settled her right hand at the back of Ochako’s shoulder blade. The contact lit a row of nerves she hadn’t known existed; her whole body went very aware of itself, of the slope of her ribs under her bodice, of the thin, neat line where silk met skin.

Ochako’s left hand landed, unsure, at Himiko’s upper arm, and promptly forgot it was meant to be an arm at all, because there was muscle there, fine and hidden under silk, and heat, and - oh dear God, skin, soft. Not bare, obviously, not indecent, but near enough that she could feel the shape of a body through fabric.

“Here,” Himiko said, the pads of two fingers ghosting along the side of Ochako’s ribs, “lift a little, bring your chin up, and breathe.”

And Ochako did, because her body seemed to like being told what to do by this voice, and the air came easier.

They stood there, arranged now, the architecture of them made by four points: palm in palm, shoulder blade under a steady hand, upper arm beneath trembling fingers, and one mesmerizing line of sight Ochako could not hold without wanting to fall.

Himiko was very near, so near her gaze felt like it was seeing right through Ochako. At that overwhelming sensation, Ochako’s gaze dropped for half a heartbeat, discovering a tiny freckle at the base of her throat before she dragged her eyes up, terrified. The mirror caught them then, two women where there should have been a lesson, and instead there was… something else, something that made the little hairs at the back of Ochako’s neck rise. Himiko's thumb drew a lazy circle over the back of her hand, the light put a thin halo along the curve of the blonde's cheek. And she knew that if she looked too long, she would be lost entirely.

Stop staring, she screamed at herself. It's just a dance. If she didn't stop, it would only be a matter of time until she wouldn't be able to pretend how her gaze was drawn to Himiko, and the other woman would inevitably realize how weird Ochako was being about everything.

And so she forced herself to breathe and focus on her position.

Another one, deeper this time.

Good, she thought, a frantic little lie. She could do this. The thought was just enough to keep her knees from buckling as she met that entrancing - stop it - gaze again.

“Good,” the woman she so admired said - damned right - satisfaction threading warm through the single word, and her thumb traced: thoughtless, devastating, a quiet circle over the back of Ochako’s hand.

“Good girl.”

Her head emptied like someone had knocked the inkpot clean over every page inside it. Blank. White. Gone.

Ochako’s breath snagged, her chest rising too high, too fast. A merciless heat stormed through her, scorching her skin until it burned a deeper shade of red than Himiko's dress. Mortifying, humiliating. Her body didn't obey her: her hand twitched in Himiko's, useless. Her knees, oh bloody hell, her knees actually considered it, a slow, treacherous buckle as if they’d decided fainting at Lady Blackwell’s feet was a reasonable course of action. She tightened every muscle she had just to remain upright, praying to any saint that might still be listening.

The room blurred, softening to nothing but the sound of her own ragged breath against Himiko’s steady, inviting tempo. Her head screamed to do something, anything, but nothing came. She tried to force her body to drag air into her lungs, as her mind was no longer her own. It was caught, trapped by the hammering mantra replaying in her skull, drowning out everything else: Good girl.

She was fairly sure she might die of it. And absolutely assured that she looked like a ridiculous mess.

Himiko went on, almost conversational, as if she were simply remarking on the weather and not rearranging Ochako’s insides. “This is not one of those cages of our own making. We dance like this because we choose it. We look as we please.” A brief, conspirator’s glance. “And if we look ridiculous, let us be ridiculous together.”

Ochako’s mouth twitched. It's like the woman possessed some magic to read her mind. Heavens help her, she wanted to smile so much her cheeks wound up hurt. And then the grin died because Himiko looked up fully, eyes catching hers; an inviting gleam present in her eyes.

And with it, came one simple whisper that landed like a touch across her skin, “Ready?”

Ochako had to swallow to keep the nerves, the everything, in.

And she nodded, tiny, because if she moved more she might tip forward into that freckle and never be seen again. 

Then Himiko started marking their tempo, counting with each movement "One. Two. Three."

Ochako’s breath hitched before her feet even moved. The syllables slid from Himiko’s lips like silk, low and steady, and suddenly her entire body was expected to follow. Her pulse was still hammering, absurd and wild, and now her slippers had to keep time with her heart? Inconceivable.

The first step forward sent her straight into the warmth at her back, Himiko’s palm firm against her shoulder blade, guiding, steadying, claiming. The pressure wasn’t forceful, it didn’t need to be. It was enough to tell her that she wouldn’t let her fall. That heat burned straight through silk and threads, spreading into her ribs.

It was too much.

Everything was too much.

Her hand tightened in Himiko’s without permission, the nervous twitch at her palm strangled out of existence by sheer need. And then the craziest, most wonderful thing happened.

Himiko squeezed back.

Ochako’s slipper skimmed across the floor in the next beat, smooth where she had expected to stumble. Himiko had dragged her into rhythm without her even noticing. The air smelled of polish and faint roses, but beneath it, was something sharper, something alive. Something else that Ochako didn’t dare wonder what exactly it was lest she go mad.

“Breathe,” Himiko murmured, thumb circling once, twice, over the back of her hand as if she were coaxing a nervous colt. But her voice was an octave higher, and for a second Ochako wasn’t sure if she was talking to her, or to herself. And that thought made everything so much worse.

Ochako’s chest jolted. She sucked in air so fast it almost hurt, but it was air, it was something that wasn’t just Himiko, Himiko, Himiko. Futile, as the room still narrowed to that voice, that hand, that nearness pressing at her from every angle.

She could feel the shift of Himiko’s body against her as they moved. The heat of her body radiated forward, steady, unshaken, while Ochako could feel a tremor running down her thighs, threatening to fold her.

Himiko whispered, low enough that the words brushed warm against her cheek, thumb circling her knuckles in a rhythm more intimate than the waltz itself, “I’ve got you.”

You got me?! You’ll be the death of me, that’s what you’ll be.

Ochako’s spine shivered. Her steps somehow aligned. And for one terrifying, impossible moment she thought she might actually like this, this surrender to rhythm, this tether of palm and spine, this shared ridiculousness.

The beat carried them forward again. One. Two. Three. And as much as her mind screamed to keep distance, her body leaned in against Himiko's. Every almost-touch sparked along her skin; and infuriatingly that almost made it all somehow worse than if they simply had. Seriously, what was wrong with her?!

And yet-

It felt great.

Then came the turn.

Ochako’s slipper caught on the polished floor, just the faintest drag, but enough to break her rhythm. Her breath stuttered, her balance slipped, and for a heartbeat she felt the terrifying tilt of falling-

-and then Himiko caught her.

Strong fingers braced at the small of her back, as though they were made to be there, pulling her in so suddenly their bodies collided, chest to chest.

Oh.

Himiko was so soft. Softer than Ochako could’ve ever imagined.

The world froze. Ochako’s pulse rocked in her throat, roaring, as she found herself staring up into eyes so close she could see the flecks of amber inside the gold, eyes so pretty she could get lost in them.

And a thought invaded her mind before decency could wrap its ugly claws around it: she might very well be the prettiest woman in the entire world.

Her mouth went dry. Their faces were a breath apart, too close, far too close, every nerve in her body screaming with the unbearable awareness of her, her mind completely shut down.

And then she saw the, impossibly, most beautiful thing she had noticed all day.

A flush, faint at first, then deepening, creeping up from the base of Himiko’s throat, blooming pink across her cheeks, right there, undeniable. The woman who had laughed so easily at her blushing, who had teased her mercilessly for every stammer, every red flush; was blushing herself. And she looked radiant.

Ochako’s heart gave a dangerous little lurch. The tiniest, smug spark lit in her chest. Hah. So you’re not untouchable after all.

The thought made her reckless. She let herself look, really look. The way Himiko’s lashes fluttered once, the way her lips parted as though to speak but no sound came. And for one dizzy second, Ochako understood. She understood why Himiko liked seeing her blush, why she teased, why she leaned close just to watch her squirm. Because the sight of it, the helplessness of it, was intoxicating. And now, at the faltering Himiko, Ochako felt the pull of it like a current dragging her under.

Her gaze betrayed her. It slipped, slow and traitorous, from honeyed eyes to the curve of flushed lips. Her breath tangled with Himiko’s, caught between them in the narrow, charged space.

She wanted to -
No. What an insane fancy. Utterly foolish.

But Himiko’s eyes widened, as if she had read the thought straight out of her skull. 

“Time for the next turn!” the captivating woman exclaimed far too quickly, and Ochako was sure the blonde’s voice was higher than she had ever heard it.

And then, too fast, too sharp; Himiko jolted them back into motion, pivoting her firmly into the next position of the dance, almost aggressive in her haste.

Ochako stumbled to follow, face burning, but she couldn’t help it, she smiled. Because Lady Himiko Blackwell was blushing, too.

And after that, she realized that dancing, being ridiculous with someone you trusted, had quickly become one of her favourite activities.

Himiko Blackwell had decided, with absolute certainty, that Ochako Underhill was going to be the death of her.

After last night’s sketchbook madness, how in Heaven’s name had she ever thought dancing with Ochako was a good idea? Fool. Idiot. A complete and utter oaf who had no business mocking her brother for the same. If Katsuki was a brute, then she was the undisputed master of all brutes.

Just a simple surprise visit had been enough to turn her into a needy mess worse than that spaniel pup: pathetic, tail-wagging, begging for another scrap of attention from the most beautiful lady she had ever seen.

After their last incident where she caught Ochako, they had danced untroubled for nearly one blissful, wonderful hour. One where Ochako was free, unburdened, alight with a radiant cheerfulness made her heart ache. And watching her glow had been enough to silence even Himiko's usually deafening thoughts.

For that one impossible hour, the manic clamor in her head had gone quiet. She had gone quiet. And all it had taken was one brunette smiling like joy itself belonged in her body.

How was that fair? Himiko could almost hear herself groan inwardly at the sheer unfairness of it all.

She almost loathed it.

But then, one glance at those eyes: warm, endless, steady, eyes that looked like they could light entire ballrooms if only people would look closely enough; and the word loathe dissolved on her tongue. Seriously, how in the hell are her eyes so warm?

She could not loathe this. She could not regret it. There was no universe, no lifetime, in which she would not thank the world itself for feeling this much for a woman like her, for having the chance to make someone like Ochako light up with so much joy.

Oh, this was bad. This was so, so bad. She had barely seen her three times and she was already this lost. Her thoughts sounded worse than her stupid romance novels. She was pathetic.

She needed a distraction. Anything. Because Ochako was still smiling, actually fully relaxed for once. She had been smiling like that for nearly an hour at this point, Himiko was assuredly confused on how the brunette’s face wasn’t aching from it. Her round cheeks were rosy, eyes bright, and fuck if the sight wasn’t doing things to her that she had never felt with quite this intensity. It was a sight that was dragging hope up from the deepest, most dangerous places inside her. Hope for something that could never exist. Hope she had no business feeling. Hope she knew, with an aching certainty, was impossible to fulfill.

Her chest squeezed so tightly she thought it might burst and cause her brother to pivot his studies into the relationship between genetics and heart attacks. She was pretty sure the only reason she hadn’t had one yet was because she flat-out refused to die from a heart attack younger than her father had from his.

And then she saw it. Through the narrow window, her brother crossing the courtyard, shoulders tight with his usual storm, but his gaze drifting toward the study windows, softening in that absent way it always did when he thought of ink and equations.

Her ridiculous, stubborn brother. Forever caring more for numbers than for anything that might save him.

But oh, it was perfect. Perfect. He was the distraction she needed. The anchor to drag her back down from this treacherous, soaring place. He could remind her exactly why she had no right to hope, no right to dream that someone, least of all Ochako Underhill, could ever love her with all her sharp edges and ruinous appetites. To remind her why her love was not something allowed for women in their world and why even having faith was proof that her tastes were monstrous.

Oh no.  She was starting to repeat to herself the contents of all those stupid lessons that were once drilled into her. That was a sign that things were getting bad at a scarily rapid pace, that she was spiraling soon.

The noise in her head was building again, swelling until she could hardly breathe. She needed out before she did something reckless. Something that she would regret for the rest of her life.

Her gaze snapped to her brother once more.

And without thinking, Himiko shoved open the window and leaned out, voice sharper, louder, more desperate than she meant for it to be:

“Katsuki!”

Her brother’s head snapped up, sharp and startled, like he’d been caught mid-theft, a quick flash of frustration in his eyes softening when he realized it was Himiko who had called out to him.

Ochako turned too, wide-eyed, her lips parting as though she hadn’t expected the name to leave Himiko’s mouth. 

She was a fool. Ochako was happy, trusting her, and she had ruined their moment because she couldn’t control her own spiraling thoughts.

Too late now.

By the time they’d tugged into the corridor, Ochako still clinging to her hand, Katsuki was already there, boots echoing, shoulders coiled. His eyes landed on Ochako first. Yes, of course, his future betrothed. He deserves it, she deserves it too. Don’t feel bad about something like that, you adore him with all your heart. And yet she knew those thoughts were nothing but lies she told herself to avoid thinking of the pain tearing her up from the inside.

Noise, again. Too much noise!

“She needs pointers,” Himiko blurted, far too loud, flinging Ochako forward like an exhibit. “Else she’ll make a fool of herself at the gala.”

Fuck.

She had blurted out something that was both a lie and could be hurtful just to quiet her mind quickly. Ochako’s eyes dimmed for a second and Himiko realized that the earlier pains in her heart had nothing compared to what that made her feel.

“Forgive me, I only mean she deserves to feel steady”, Himiko quickly clarified.

At that last comment, Ochako gave her hand an endearing squeeze before dropping it, a faint trace of vanilla clinging to her glove, an almost loving smile - if Himiko let her foolish delusions speak - on the brunette’s face. Hell, this woman was destroying her.

As Ochako turned to Katsuki and realized that she was about to dance with him, she only made a tiny noise of mortification, bowing her head, her cheeks flushed the sweetest shade of pink.

And instead of the usual joy Himiko felt when seeing her blush, she felt pain. They’re nerves, Himiko, only nerves, it’s a reflexive blush, not the kind of blush you think about when you’re trying not to sketch her lips for the hundredth bloody time-

Katsuki stepped in, actually having the audacity to smirk at the mortified, nervous look in Ochako’s eyes. All clipped movements, hands rough but not unkind. He nudged her arm into position, muttered: “Tch. You’ll do a better job than half the people in the gala. Trust my lead, don’t fight it, and relax.” His tone was flat, but his touch wasn’t careless. He was being, oh, Saints preserve her, gentle.

Of course, of course, of course he was. He was enthralled. This is what Himiko needed to see, to remind herself about the real couple that was going to get married sooner rather than later.

And Ochako looked up at him once, blush deepening, the nervous kind, the safe kind. It wasn’t the same as when the two of them were dancing. Himiko saw it, she knew it. And still her heart burned.

Katsuki, the damn brute, kept glancing longingly toward the wing where his study was located, like every step of the dance was a distraction from whatever infernal proof he was desperate to scribble down. Whenever they took a small break, his hand would wander toward his forearm, oddly enough.

Dancing with the most wonderful woman Himiko had ever met, who would quite possibly be his future wife, and his eyes strayed to parchment, to equations. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

She almost laughed, half-mad, half-grateful. If Ochako had to be with someone, better it be to a man too consumed by equations to notice the depth of the wonderful woman hidden underneath. Better than losing her to someone who would stare at her the way Himiko did.

It made Katsuki happy, made Ochako happy, and she wouldn’t have to see someone love Ochako with the same sheer intensity she was way too quickly feeling.

Yes. This was the truth. The couple, the perfect match. The King’s decree and the world’s order. Himiko would be the sister-in-law. That had to be enough.

It has to be enough.

She would sit beside her at tea. She would sketch her from memory in secret. She would keep every smile like a miser hoards coins. She would live with the ache, because even aching meant seeing her happy, radiant, free.

Better this than nothing. Better scraps of joy than a life where she was caged away from Ochako entirely.

And she realized that she yearned for nothing more than to get to her room tonight, and sketch the wonderful moment earlier that day where she almost felt like they would kiss. And she would cling to that sketch as though paper could hold her together when her heart could not. Mayhaps she should also draw this moment now, her brother and Ochako together, to remind herself of her own place, and to remember that at the very least two people she loved were happy.

Finally, after a last pivot, Katsuki, his arm steady and gentle, gave the smallest nod. “You’ll do,” he said, rough as gravel but softer than most would ever hear him.

Ochako nearly beamed at it. Blushed, nodded, smiled all at once like a girl who had just been told she would survive.

And Himiko - oh, Himiko nearly broke in half right there, because she knew it. This was the picture. The pair, the path of the Blackwell family. And she was just the sketchbook fool destined to draw it from the outside.

Ochako sat at her little desk that night, the single candle guttering low, shadows trembling along the walls. The quiet pressed in thick, the kind of quiet that let every pointless fancy echo tenfold.

Her gloves lay discarded in her lap. Bare fingers curled against the wood, twitching, restless. Without meaning to, she traced slow patterns along the grain. One… two… three. Again. Again. Until she realized she was pressing each fingertip down in turn, like she had against Himiko’s palm.

The memory hit her hard enough to make her stomach lurch. The heat of it, the steadiness, the way her hand had finally stopped clawing at itself when Himiko forced her entire hand open. Baffling, absurd, that such a simple thing could feel so much like freedom. Foolish, to think of it now, with her candle burning down and no one to see her smile like an idiot.

And yet, her cheeks warmed anyway.

The room smelled faintly of melted wax, ink drying in the corner. But in her head, it was that infuriating scent, the one that had lodged itself in her lungs, stubborn, refusing to fade. She swore she could still feel the whisper of breath against her cheek, the ghost of a thumb circling over her knuckles, the shape of her lips as she smiled and then again as she caught her from falling, the terrible, devastating words: Good girl.

Ochako pressed her hands flat to the desk, hard, as if she could burn the memory away by force. But the heat only came back worse. She let her forehead drop to her arms with a quiet groan. “Utterly ridiculous,” she muttered into the crook of her elbow.

And yet all that saying that achieved was to remind her of Himiko saying they’d be fools together, and her heart refused to listen to all her denials. It fluttered like it was still caught in the rhythm of one-two-three, like it hadn’t stopped since that first step into Himiko’s arms.

She should be terrified of the gala. She should be dreading every second. And still, the thought circled her like a wolf: dancing had been… enjoyable. With her, it had even been, oh heavens, admit it, wonderful. And completely improper to enjoy it so much.

That last hour after Ochako had finished making a jest of herself had been the most fun she had had in years.

And the best part of it all? Right before she left the Blackwell Townhouse, Himiko offered her more lessons before the imminent, rapidly approaching gala, to help with her fears and help her feel prepared. She, of course, agreed, because how could she not? She’d be able to do this again as early as tomorrow!

Truth be told, she already felt quite prepared after today, from a technical standpoint at least. But she had still agreed out of how much sheer joy the dancing had brought out of her. And now that she knew what she was doing, she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself anymore, and maybe she would be able to be the one to make Himiko blush, to get back at her for all the previous times the blonde laughed at her for it.

Yes, she really did love dancing now.

Maybe, then, dancing with the Duke at the gala wouldn’t be so dreadful after all.

She lifted her head, cheeks still hot, and found herself smiling before she could stop it. It was idiotic, but she knew at this point that she could not stop herself, try as she might.

When she finally slipped beneath her covers, ribbons still tangled in her fingers, her last waking thought was not of court gossip or royal summons, not even of the Duke’s looming stare.

It was of golden hair brushing her cheek, warm breath at her temple, a hand wrapped around hers, all fingers curled together, holding her steady.

That night, Ochako fell into a blissful sleep, dreaming of dancing with Lady Himiko Blackwell.

Chapter Text

Himiko Blackwell had spent the past week dancing with Ochako Underhill.

Well, something like that. Three days of frantic lessons, laughter bubbling between their bodies, accidental collisions that weren't accidental at all. But keeping that pace up for an entire week would inevitably leave them drained, so then came the quieter days, when Ochako came from exhausting fittings, and the lessons became a convenient excuse to sit in the garden and simply talk. She’d learned Ochako’s favorite color was pink, and Himiko's current gown being that same color was absolutely a coincidence, damn it. She'd learned of her ridiculous love for pastries, which had sent Himiko into the kitchen pestering Jin for baking lessons she swore were for no reason at all, absolutely none. She now also knew that she had parents who loved her, which felt like a fairy tale; and Himiko, with a pang of envy she had to ruthlessly crush, had thought, of course they did. Only loving parents could produce bloody Miss Sunshine herself.

And she’d seen the heart of her: a fierce, terrifying devotion to her family, self-sacrifice carried to madness. Himiko understood love like that, but only for Katsuki. In Ochako it was quieter, stronger, and absolutely breathtaking. Himiko found it bafflingly insane and utterly admirable. However, a small part of her was terrified, petrified by the idea of what it would mean if Ochako ever had that devotion for someone as fundamentally broken as Himiko, of the danger she could put her through.

At the end of it, she was sure Ochako had come out completely prepared to dance for the Kingdom at the Royal Gala.

And that’s where Himiko currently found herself on. The event was the perfect example of practiced hypocrisy, and to tolerate it, she was on her second glass of sherry. The smell of perfume and utterly performative laughs made her head ache, though if she thought about it maybe that was the Spanish wine her brother had pushed into her hand, the oaf’s futile attempt to make the night bearable.

She took another sip, the burn trailing down her throat. Not enough to get intoxicated, something horribly drastic would have to happen for her to get to that state in this place. Just enough to press a thin layer of glass between her, the hum of meaningless chatter, and the noise in her own mind due to the inevitability of what was going to happen soon.

Her gaze drifted across the ballroom, a sea of silks and jewels and faces held in masks of polite cruelty. And tonight, the main attraction, the centerpiece of the circus, was her brother and his utterly captivating future Duchess.

The King wanted an engagement. A neat bow to tie up the ugly knot of border tensions.  Katsuki had attained his blessing from Mr. Underhill, and Himiko knew it was happening tonight: an announcement for the court to devour, appeasing the dramatic as ever prince who had demanded a public declaration at his family’s event. And she knew she should be happy; for Katsuki’s sake, for the family name, for Ochako’s safety. But the thought of it, of seeing Ochako formally claimed, felt like a stone in her gut. And the good old sherry her dear brother gave her didn’t do a damned thing to dissolve it.

And speaking of the devil, there they were, standing near the throne, talking to the prince himself. Ochako looked radiant in a gown that was the exact shade of pink that one would find on certain sunsets, but her smile was paper-thin, her nerves and fear hidden but easy to see for one who spent her every waking thought thinking about her. Poor Ochako. She’d worn the same brittle mask when they first met.

Katsuki, meanwhile, was a thundercloud stuffed into formal attire. He’d been in a foul mood the entire week, snapping at everyone, eyes always drifting toward his study like he could summon his equations to rescue him. She’d thought it was nerves. But looking at him now, stiff beside Ochako, she wondered. Is he not as taken with her as I thought? The idea was laughable. It was Ochako, for Heaven's sake. Anyone not carved of stone would be helpless before her.

Her gaze then slid across the room and found Izuku Milverton pressed to a marble pillar like he might merge with it. He looked so terrified it was almost funny.

He hadn’t been back to the townhouse since that day last week, and in the earlier moments tonight, before Ochako and Katsuki were pulled away, he’d flinched every time Katsuki so much as looked at him. He was a strange, like a beautiful, brilliant, jumpy little puzzle.

And oh, so very nervous.

A week ago she would have pounced at the opportunity, smiles sharp enough to cut, teasing questions until he stammered and combusted. A delightful diversion. But the thought now felt hollow, like a melody played on a badly tuned pianoforte.

Because after all of that week shared with Ochako, after sketching her smile every night until her hand cramped, flirting with the wonderful, brilliant, and handsome Mister Milverton now felt like an insult. An insult to him, who was a sweet, good man, something exceedingly rare in their world. A man like that deserved someone who truly loved him and not a substitute for her own impossible longing. And an insult to herself, for pretending she could smother the truth of her own heart.

Besides… he looked so miserable. He was probably in love with Ochako too, wasn’t he? Of course he would be, who wouldn’t?

Yet he looked so small and alone in a room filled with wolves who would pounce at the opportunity to eat him alive. She knew that feeling, and tonight, she couldn’t bear to see it on someone else’s face.

Tonight, Izuku needed a friend.

She slipped through the sea of silks, skirts brushing against hers, false laughter nipping at her ears. Izuku didn’t notice her at first, his words coming out in a quick mumble that made Himiko lean in just slightly so she could hear it better. “The King won’t even notice someone as lowly as me, there’s no need to worry; but I do want to meet him, desperately, but I’ll make a fool of myself, just like I did with - ” He froze then jumped like a startled rabbit, horror dawning in his eyes at what he’d let slip. As adorable as always.

Himiko tilted her head, amused. “You look like you’re about to faint. Care for a dance, even if for a little while? Or at least a talk?”

He blinked, then nodded, stumbling over his words,  “Y-yes, of course.”

And so they danced. His hand in hers was clammy at first, his steps uncertain, but he followed her into a slow measure, away from the eyes of the court. She didn’t press, didn’t tease, did just enough to steady him. His shoulders loosened by degrees as he gained the slightest bit of confidence, though the nerves clung to him stubbornly.

They circled once, twice, her laughter light but reassuring, his smile small and fleeting. It was nothing, really, just two misfits pretending to be at ease, but it was definitely better than watching him drown in his own panic, and it was a much needed distraction from her own.

And that's when she saw him. A tall figure in flamboyant finery moving through the crowd, and her grin widened. She let go of Izuku’s hand, calling out without hesitation. “Atsuhiro!”

The man turned, swept off his hat with a bow, and strode toward them with a smile. “Lady Himiko! How delightful to see you.”

Izuku’s brows shot up, startled that she would call to a performer as though he were an equal.

“Oh, this is Atsuhiro Sinclair,” Himiko said brightly. “He helped me once, when I was just a little girl being forced into a shape that didn't fit.”

“Only helped?” Atsuhiro laughed, eyes gleaming. “Don't flatter yourself, you were pathetic, my dear. I was her parent-enforced instructor. You should have seen her, fourteen years old, rebellious, refusing to listen. A total lost cause.”

Himiko narrowed her eyes at him. “Anyways. I didn’t feel like myself, but I knew I had to conform. That’s when Atsuhiro noticed, because he had a soft spot on me,” she remarked, sharpening her glare, “and he told me about-”

“-The art of wearing a mask!” they finished in perfect, ridiculous unison, Atsuhiro giving a theatrical flourish as he said the words. Embarrassing.

“And so I realized,” Himiko said, turning to Izuku, “that I could play their games, act their part, without letting them touch me at all. And yes, as you well know, Izuku,” she watched the man squeak at the use of his name, “nowadays I’d rather stay home and not care about my reputation, but when duty drags me on occasions such as this one? Masks work wonders.”

Atsuhiro gave another bow and slipped back into the crowd, leaving her with Izuku, who stared at her like he’d just heard the secret to survival itself. His lips moved soundlessly, repeating the phrase.

“The art of wearing a mask…”

Then, suddenly, a look of determination dawned in his face.

He seized a glass of brandy from a passing tray and downed it in one swig, face twisting at the taste, his entire body curling in disgust.

No mask in the world could hide Himiko's sheer astonishment at the gesture, what in the bloody hell?!

Just then, the music swelled, and a herald’s voice cut through the ballroom, a clear, authoritative cry that silenced the chatter in an instant, “Make way for His Royal Majesty, King Toshinori Yarrow!”

A wave of movement went through the room as everyone, including Himiko, sank into a low, kneeling curtsy or a deep, formal bow. The King entered, a towering, benevolent presence, his familiar, kind smile already in place as he waved a hand, his voice a warm, booming sound that filled the hall. “Oh, please, all of you, stand! There is no need for such ceremony amongst friends!”

Himiko smiled, for she had always liked Toshinori. The man radiated a genuine warmth that was a rare and precious commodity for a king, he truly loved all his people, and had been specially kind to her family.

But Himiko’s mind wasn’t on the King. It was on the man beside her, who was rising with the rest of the crowd, his face pale but his eyes blazing with a strange, feverish light. And then, the King’s gaze found her. His entire face lit up with a genuine, delighted smile, and he began to walk towards them.

Izuku gasped, a quiet, sharp intake of breath. Poor man looked like he would faint at the slightest disturbance. But this time it was warring with something else, something stubborn and determined. He repeated the words as if they were a spell that would suddenly grant him the gift of flight, “The art of wearing a mask!”

He grabbed another glass of brandy from a passing tray without even looking, drained it just as quickly as the first; and then, as the King was but a few feet away, he threw his head back and let out a surprisingly loud, confident, and utterly uncharacteristic laugh.

The laugh that ripped out of his throat felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. It was too loud, too bold, a foreign sound in a room that moments ago had been filled with the desperate drumming of his own heart. The brandy, a treacherous, burning warmth, was singing in his veins, granting him a confidence he didn't know he possessed; but beneath it, a separate, more usual voice in his head was screaming, a high, thin wail of pure, unadulterated panic. Why in the heavens did I do that?!

He had only had a drink once before. A drink, singular, at his cousin's wedding a year ago, after being pressured by family into tasting brandy for the first time. The only reason he had even agreed back then was because Ochako had been out of her mind on sherry, threatening him that if he didn't loosen up she would eat all the pastries she could find in the party until she collapsed and her teeth rotted. Izuku, worried for his friend, had of course agreed. He had had a singular cup of brandy, and that one, slow glass, had been awful.

Now he had just downed two glasses of the finest brandy in the world in a matter of seconds. But heavens, he felt lighter than he had in the entire past week, ever since -

No, he would not think about that now.

He vaguely registered Himiko shooting him a look of sheer, baffled astonishment out of the corner of his eye, but there was no time for that, no time for anything, because suddenly the King was here. He was standing right in front of them, a mountain of a man with a kind smile and even kinder blue eyes that were fixed directly on Izuku. Oh Heavens. The mask, he needed it. He had to hold onto it, he needed to perform, to be courageous. 

This was fine. Everything was absolutely fine.

“And who is this bright-eyed young man you’ve taken under your wing, my dear Himiko?” the King asked, his voice a warm, booming rumble that seemed to vibrate in Izuku’s very bones.

Himiko, bless her sharp, quick-witted soul, didn’t miss a beat. “Your Majesty, may I present Lord Izuku Milverton,” she said, her own voice a smooth, confident glide that Izuku clung to like a drowning man to a raft. “A dear friend of the Underhill family, and a scientific mind my brother finds quite formidable.”

This was it. His cue to put the mask on.

He bowed, and was faintly surprised when his body obeyed him, the movement surprisingly steady. He straightened up, met that famous, heroic gaze, and opened his mouth. The words came out, clearer than he had any right to expect. “Your Majesty,” he said, the sound of his own calm voice a distant, baffling thing, “it is an honor beyond words. I have admired your reign, and your contributions to the Royal Society, for as long as I have been able to read.”

It worked. Oh heavens, it worked! The King was smiling, a genuine, interested smile, not the polite, dismissive one he surely deserved.

He, of course, knew the truth. The moment he had to talk, the moment the king asked anything to him, his words would absolutely freeze in his mouth and he'd have no idea where to even start.

“A man of science, are you?” King Toshinori said, his eyes sparkling. “Excellent! We have far too few men of passion at court these days. Tell me, Lord Milverton, what is the subject of your current study?”

Oh!

And then the most wonderful thing happened. The fear didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it was shoved aside by something far stronger: the pure, exhilarating thrill of the subject. The beverages had loosened all the usual knots of anxiety and self-doubt that kept his thoughts tangled and slow, and this question had been enough to get him going. The ideas were just there. Clear, bright, and begging to be let free.

He could truly do it!

So he talked. The words, usually a tangled, hesitant mess in his head, suddenly felt smooth and ordered, polished by the reckless confidence the miraculous potion had given him. “It began with Fourier, Your Majesty,” he heard himself say, his voice steady, his hands, miraculously, not trembling. “A tool, of course, for engineers, but the philosophy of it… the idea that chaos has an underlying order… it’s breathtaking.”

He really needed to make a study on the effects of brandy on self-perception. Maybe he'd even be able to finally face the Duke again now!

King Toshinori leaned in slightly, his expression no longer just kind, but genuinely intrigued. “Order from chaos,” he mused, his voice a low rumble. “A concept a king knows all too well. Continue, young man.”

The encouragement was a spark he wasn't sure he even needed. The mask had dropped without him even realizing it. The fear was a distant hum, drowned out by the sheer, exhilarating joy of having someone not just listen, but be genuinely intrigued, let alone his idol!

“But the Duke, His Grace, I mean, he argued for Laplace, which is more universal, more theoretically pure! And he’s right, of course, but the practical applications of Fourier are where the true magic lies! Imagine, Your Majesty,” he said, the words tumbling out faster now, fueled by pure passion, “if we could perfectly model the resonant frequencies of a bridge, we could build them to withstand any storm! No more collapses, no more lost lives! Or,” he continued, his mind racing, “if we could analyze the complex signals of a human heartbeat, we could predict ailments of the heart before they ever become fatal! We could help so many people!”

He was gesturing now, his hands painting graphs in the air as if anyone else could picture them, completely forgetting his audience. He was no longer a terrified Baron’s son performing for a king; he was a scholar, a dreamer, sharing the boundless, beautiful possibilities of his work. He saw Himiko’s eyes widen slightly from the corner of his vision, a look of baffled amusement on her face, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the rapt attention on the King’s face.

“To help people,” Toshinori repeated, his voice soft, a profound, thoughtful look in his eyes. “You see this not just as a puzzle, but as a tool for salvation, for progress.”

“Isn’t that the ultimate purpose of knowledge, Your Majesty?” Izuku asked, the question sincere. He snatched another glass of alcohol - this time not looking at what it was - from a passing tray without even realizing he’d done it, drinking it in seconds to the amusement of his companions; the movement was as natural and unconscious as breathing, his mind entirely consumed by the conversation, his excitement overriding any other thoughts,

The King was silent for a long moment, just watching him, a slow, proud smile spreading across his face. It was a smile of approval, a smile that seemed to pour strength directly into Izuku’s very bones. He clapped a heavy, warm hand on Izuku’s shoulder, a gesture of immense, shocking favor that made the man's knees feel a little weak.

“Lord Milverton,” the King said, his voice full of a genuine warmth. “You are a rare and precious talent. A brilliant mind with a true hero’s heart, the kind our kingdom - nay, our world - could use more of. We must speak again; I may return later for a proper chat, once the formal duties are done.”

What?! Had that actually just happened?!

And with a final, approving nod, the King moved on, leaving Izuku standing there, breathless, buzzing, and feeling as though he could single-handedly solve every non-linear system in the universe. The adrenaline, the brandy, the sheer, impossible high of it all crashed over him in a dizzying, triumphant wave.

He had done it. He had spoken to the King. And he hadn’t just survived, he had soared.

“Well, I’ll be,” Himiko’s voice, laced with a genuine, impressed amusement, broke through his daze. “You held your own. And here I thought you were going to faint. And who would've thought, little Izuku Milverton has the drinking capacity only the most experienced possess.”

The compliment, coming after the King’s praise, was the final spark. A dizzy, giddy laugh bubbled out of him, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. “I’m surprised myself!” he said, the words slurring just slightly around the edges. “It’s my first time really drinking, you know!”

The amused smile dropped from Himiko’s face. Her golden eyes widened as she did the quick, silent calculation: the two glasses of brandy and… whatever that last one was, the high-stress situation, his current, giddy euphoria. Her expression shifted, melting from impressed amusement into a look of horrified realization.

“Oh no,” she said, her voice a low, worried murmur that barely pierced his triumphant haze, “this is bad.”

Himiko was still worried for Izuku when the herald’s voice rang out over the crowd, a blade cutting through the chatter of the ton and music alike.

“His Grace, the Duke of Rivermoor, and Lady Ochako Underhill will now honor us with the main dance of the evening.”

A ripple passed through the ballroom. Chairs scraped, skirts rustled, nobles pressed closer, hungry for spectacle, for the reclusive Duke finally finding someone worthy. The polished marble at the center cleared in a sweep, a perfect stage made for the two people Himiko should've been happiest for.

Himiko’s fingers tightened around her glass, the sherry’s sweetness now bitter on her tongue. This is it.

Ochako stepped into the light, pink silk trailing like the last flush of sunset. Beside her stood Katsuki: strong, broad-shouldered, every inch the Duke.

The music swelled, and they moved.

They were, of course, technically perfect. Katsuki’s lead was commanding, Ochako’s follow graceful, their every step in flawless time with the orchestra. The lessons had worked.

It was clear that the crowd saw elegance, unity, power; but all she could see was distance.  Katsuki’s eyes fixed over her head, the air between them cold and impersonal. Ochako’s hand resting too carefully on his shoulder, the tautness in her jaw and the way her soft lips pursed. That was not the impossibly warm, laughing girl who had been dancing with her until their feet ached.

Her chest clenched. Her dance with Ochako was different, special. If she kept repeating that to herself maybe it'd stop her from feeling like she was being gutted.

And then the music ended.

The final note hung in the air. Katsuki did not let go of Ochako’s hand. He turned with her, facing the King, his voice cutting through the hush of the hall. His face hiding his true feelings under a guise of protectiveness and duty.

“Your Majesty. Esteemed guests. Tonight I have the honor of standing beside Lady Ochako Underhill. In her I have found not only grace, but steadfast character and unwavering spirit. In times such as these, when our borders are restless and our people look to us for certainty, it is with both duty and conviction that I speak.”

He continued, now looking directly at the Underhill family, authenticity in his tone. “But duty is a cold and empty thing without character to give it warmth. In a world awash with titles and inherited lands, it is a rare and valuable thing to find a family that has built its standing on the foundations of hard work, integrity, and a spirit that refuses to be broken by adversity. The Underhill name is one of respect not just because of its title, but because of its strength.”

And then Katsuki looked down. At Ochako.

And then, his mouth curved into the smallest of smiles; warm, gentle and protective. Not a scowl of indifference, not a smug smirk. It was a look for Ochako alone, full of admiration and camaraderie, and one that promised safety and stability.

“And in Lady Ochako,” he continued, his voice softer now, meant as much for her as for the court, “I have found a woman who embodies that spirit. She is steadfast, loyal, and possesses a courage that many men of this court would do well to emulate. She is a woman worthy not just of a title, but of true admiration.”

“To safeguard our future, to honor the Crown’s trust, and to strengthen the bonds of peace, I wish to announce our engagement.”

The ballroom erupted into applause, the sound a roar of approval that seemed to shake the chandeliers.

Ochako’s lips trembled, her terrified face softening into a grateful, warm smile.

And Himiko’s heart, the stupid, traitorous, romantic fool of a heart, shattered; just as her glass of sherry might if her trembling hands finally gave in. For she didn’t hear respect, she heard love. She didn’t see gratefulness, she saw devotion.

Oh. She loves him. Of course she does. The thought was a quiet, devastating certainty. How could she not? Her brother, for all his brutishness, was fiercely loyal. He was brilliant. He saw the strength in others where most men only saw weakness or opportunity. He had looked past her terror and seen her courage. He had looked at her family’s precarious position and called it strength. He had seen her. And Ochako, with her good, true, honest heart, loved him for it.

They were the perfect match all along. The powerful Duke and the strong, steadfast Lady.

She should be happy.

She could finally go back to seeing them thrive and go back to being the sketchbook fool who drew them from the outside. She could finally accept her fate and stop living in delusions that had only become so much sweeter since their last week together. She could kill all hope she might’ve once held for ever being loved.

Her hands did very nearly give in. The roaring applause blurred into a dull, crashing wave. She could feel the spiral pulling her under, and she wasn’t about to let everyone see that. After all, there was only so much dignity one could lose in a single night.

So she dragged her gaze away from the stage, away from the roar of applause, and found Izuku, who was looking just as shell-shocked, gripping his half-empty brandy glass like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

A laugh, sharp and bitter, clawed at her throat. You know what? Fuck it.

While it may be true that we’re heartbroken over the same woman, at the least we could bond over it!

She shoved the sherry down in one burning gulp and snatched another from a passing tray. With her free hand, she plucked the brandy glass straight out of Izuku’s slack fingers before he could nurse it to death, but he quickly grabbed another one, almost unconsciously.

“You shall never catch me getting engaged in a room like this, or any, to be quite fair,” she muttered, tipping her fresh sherry in salute, her voice low but fierce, each word dripping with humor sharpened to keep from bleeding. “If it comes to it, I’ll bolt. Save myself the trouble. Though I doubt I’ll be able to do so before the poor fool who was supposed to marry me does the very same.”

Izuku blinked at her, confused.

Of course sweet Izuku would find her self-deprecating humour off-putting.

But then he burst out with a surprising, triumphant, “Yes! Who cares about marriage!” He lifted the reclaimed brandy high, nearly sloshing it onto his sleeve.

She snorted, taking another swallow of her drink. “Or children. I won’t have to constantly worry about breaking them the way I was broken. Imagine the disaster, having to deal with defiant teenagers breaking curfew just to prove a point.”

Izuku’s eyes went round. “Oh, right! Imagine if they stole my books, m-my notebooks! Or- or worse- covered them in snot!” He was absolutely adorable.

The thought of Izuku, sweet face fallen in pure distress because a couple of runts he’d probably love too much to scold made his theories unreadable, completely caught her off guard.

She barked out a laugh, loud enough to turn a few powdered heads, and clinked her glass against his.

“Oh, Izuku,” she said, the laughter melting into something softer, bittersweet. “You will find someone that deserves you one day. I truly believe so.”

He looked at her as though she’d just given him the key to the cosmos. Then he jabbed a finger at her, eyes blazing with drunken conviction. “N-no! You’ll beat me to it. Look at you, you are beautiful!”

Himiko rolled her eyes, tipping her glass toward her lips. “Yeah, right.” Ochako doesn’t seem to think so.

“Yes!” he insisted, wobbling slightly. Then he flushed slightly as he realized what he had told to a woman who just last week was flirting with him, “I-I mean, objectively! It is just a simple fact of life that you could easily find love faster than me. I could make a math-” his ramblings were interrupted by a hiccup that almost made her burst out in laughter, “-mathematical model of it, if you want me to prove it?”

Bloody hell this man was an absolute, hilarious, hiccuping wonder when intoxicated. They’d definitely have to drink together more often.

She nearly spat out her drink. “Please. If you want to convince me, do it in a way I understand, my dear friend.”

He froze for half a beat at the word. Then his lips curved into a bright, boyish smile which warmed her heart. Atleast she'd come out with a friend from this whole ordeal.

And then, all at once, his expression shifted, eyes widening and shining as though he’d just stumbled on the solution to all the secrets in the universe itself.

“I got it!” he declared, his tone now holding a competitive spark. He drained the brandy in one heroic gulp, slammed the glass back onto the tray of a startled servant, and beamed at her. “You’ll beat me to marriage, much in the way I’ll-” he hiccupped and grinned wider “-beat you in this drink and the next!”

And then he collapsed into hysterical, idiotic laughter, as if he’d just said the most hilarious jest in the entire kingdom.

The sound was so stupid, so infectious, Himiko found herself throwing back her own glass just to keep pace, the sting nearly choking in her throat as she tried to keep down a laugh of her own. Warmth rushed her veins as she gulped the last of it, and the next moment she was laughing with him, so hard her stomach hurt, the two of them doubled over in the corner of the ballroom, getting another glass of what might’ve been sherry or brandy, and drowning out the world with their drunken, defiant joy.

The roar of applause still rang in Ochako’s ears long after the last note of the waltz had faded. She stood beside the Duke, Katsuki, her hand still lightly imprisoned in his, nodding and smiling at the endless stream of congratulating nobles. The engagement was sealed now, agreed to by her father, and now witnessed by the entire court. She should have been light, soaring with relief that her family’s future was secure. And a small part of her was happy that the man she was to wed did not match the rumours, that he truly admired her and was going to protect her, and that she would live with as wonderful a sister as Himiko. She really was warming up to the man.

But that was only a small part. The rest of her felt heavy, her smile too stiff, her ears ringing not from applause but from the echo of his words: Steadfast character, unwavering spirit. To hear him speak of her like that before the Crown should have been exhilarating, and it had warmed her heart. Yet it felt curiously impersonal, as though he’d been praising a statue and not the trembling girl who had very nearly tripped in her slippers three times that day alone. She tried to ignore the traitorous thought about how those exact words from another blonde’s mouth would have made her feel like she could soar through the skies.

A flicker of movement in the corner of her vision, in that very spot she had been carefully keeping an eye on during the entirety of the night, made her turn her gaze. There, against the pillar, were Himiko and Izuku. Laughter spilled from them, much too loud, much too bright, glasses raised in a mock toast. Ochako’s breath caught, her stomach feeling like it was being stabbed and set on fire simultaneously.

Every nerve screamed at her to go there. To calm her spirits, she tried recalling how Himiko’s smile, though dazzling as always, wasn’t the one that had bloomed in the quiet of gardens and music rooms. And then she turned to Izuku, dear, foolish Izuku, who was flushed scarlet, his words clearly slurring even from this distance, his glass tipping dangerously as though it might spill at any moment.

As she remembered the small fact that she had never been able to see an intoxicated Izuku, all the jealousy in her heart disappeared, immediately replaced by worry over her oldest friend.

Her heart twisted. Oh, Izuku. He had been terrified of this night, terrified of meeting the King. And now here he was, intoxicated and laughing too loudly in the middle of the most important event of the season. She could not, would not, let him humiliate himself.

“I should-” she began, half-turning, already imagining how to extract him discreetly.

“Do not.” Katsuki’s voice cut across hers, low and brusque. She glanced up, startled. His crimson gaze had already found the pair, and though his expression remained carved in his usual indifference, she thought she could perhaps see something softer buried beneath.

“It would look like hell for the newly engaged Duchess-to-be to run off with her bookworm lifelong friend,” he muttered, his words clipped but not unkind. “Leave the fool to me.”

Ochako flushed, caught between indignation and gratitude. “But he’s my friend-”

“And he won’t thank you if your reputation pays the price,” Katsuki snapped back, though his eyes never left Izuku, and she knew he was right. “I’ll take care of him.”

She blinked at him, taken aback by the protective certainty in his tone.

“…Thank you,” she whispered.

Without another word, Katsuki broke from her side. She watched him stride through the room, his mere presence parting the crowd until he stood before the pair. Himiko looked up, surprised, glass in hand, her laughter cutting off sharply. Izuku blinked at him blearily, swayed, and before Ochako could even catch her breath, Katsuki had said something short and taken Izuku by the arm, hauling him away with brusque efficiency.

Himiko remained where she was, glass trembling slightly in her hand, a sudden loneliness written in the slope of her shoulders. Then, immediately, before anyone could notice her current state, she plastered a small smile and walked toward the terrace.

And that sight was what made Ochako move, as during the last week she felt like she had become the world’s foremost expert on Himiko Blackwell’s smile. She had seen hundreds of different variations of it, and that was not one of them. It didn’t light her eyes, it was missing all traces of mischief and joy, and was tight-lipped and short. It was wrong, something was not right with Himiko, and she would be a fool to abandon the woman who had saved her own hide from being an embarrassment in this very gala.

Ochako slipped into the current of the ballroom, careful not to draw attention, her eyes fixed on the flash of pale hair ahead of her. Himiko’s slim figure moved quickly, slipping past clusters of nobles and out toward the terrace. Any trace of hesitation left her body at the thought of Himiko’s broken smile.

The terrace was quieter, the music and laughter muted by stone and glass. Moonlight spilled across the polished floor, gleaming beautifully in Himiko’s honeyed, contemplative eyes. As she was about to step out to join her, those same eyes went suddenly wide as a tall figure stepped out from the shadows.

Viscount Chapman.

Ochako froze, her stomach dropping with nerves. He was famously Katsuki’s closest friend, and she realized with a sick pang that she had not seen him once during these three weeks of courtship. Of course he must disapprove. A mere Baron’s daughter standing at his best friend’s side? No wonder.

“Lady Himiko, I noticed that your brother took a small leave,” Viscount Chapman said smoothly, bowing his head. His tone was honeyed, his smile courtly.

Himiko looked at him and was about to respond, annoyance in her beautiful gaze, but then the man raised his hand, and very slowly placed it in his hair. A casual gesture, but it made Himiko stiffen in a second. And then, as if that was an expected outcome, Chapman smirked.

Himiko was completely frozen, her slender shoulders locked, save for the faint tremor that ran through her, noticeable even from where Ochako stood.

Ochako’s breath caught. Something was awfully awry. She had seen Himiko in every shade of mischief, had seen her reckless, bold, biting; but never this. Never frozen. 

Her earlier nervousness dissolved like mist under the sun, and Ochako stepped forward to stand beside Himiko, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “Is something the matter here?”

The Viscount turned, his smile widening. “Lady Underhill. A pleasure to see you. I was merely going to ask my dear friend to extend my congratulations.”

Himiko’s hand twitched, then reached out, clutching weakly at Ochako’s shoulder. Her touch was light as a feather, but it trembled with a plea that screamed louder than words, causing something eerily similar to rage to soar through her.

Ochako’s spine straightened. “I think you should leave,” she said.

The Viscount’s face transformed then. His eyes narrowed, a sneer curling his lips. “And who are you to command me? Need I remind you of your current station?”

Her pulse thundered, but she didn’t let her voice waver. “I am the future Duchess of Rivermoor,” she said, each word deliberate and cold. “And you would do well not to make an enemy of me lest you wish for ruin. Get away from her. Now.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Chapman’s face twisted, just slightly, before smoothing back into false charm. “Of course. Take care of her my lady, for she is… fragile. It was a pleasure, I’m sure we will talk again very soon…” he muttered, his voice low and sharp, and then he turned on his heel and melted back into the shadows.

Only then did Himiko breathe, her body sagging, her eyes wide and shining as she stared at Ochako like she was something unreal. She looked close to breaking, her trembling worse now that the danger had passed.

Ochako caught her hands gently. “Are you alright?”

Himiko’s lips parted, but no words came. Her throat worked, her expression raw and shaken, and for a terrifying moment Ochako thought she might collapse right there.

“I’m taking you home,” Ochako said firmly.

Himiko shook her head, voice faint. “Two ladies leaving alone, people would talk-”

From the edge of the terrace, a voice spoke, smooth and theatrical. “Fortune smiles on you both. I can provide… a diversion.”

Ochako turned sharply. From the shadows stepped a performer, his expression unusually serious beneath the playful tilt of his hat. He swept a bow. “It seems my old pupil has attracted wolves. But I am very good at drawing attention where it does not belong. Allow me.”

A mixture of relief and determination hit Ochako as she breathed a simple “Thank you.”

She looked back to Himiko, whose hands were still trembling. On instinct, Ochako slid her own hand down and laced her pinky through hers, squeezing firmly. For a heartbeat there was no response, and then, faint and fragile, Himiko squeezed back.

The carriage ride back to the Blackwell townhouse was a blur of rumbling wheels and the medicinal scent of brandy hanging heavy in the air. Katsuki sat rigidly on the plush velvet seat, staring out at the blurred gaslights of London, acutely aware of the drunken, miserable lump that was Izuku Milverton slumped in the corner opposite him. He hadn’t spoken a word since Katsuki had hauled him from the ballroom, just a series of small, pathetic hiccups that grated on Katsuki’s already frayed nerves. He was a fool.

And yet, an unfamiliar, protective anger coiled in his gut. The bookworm had impressed Toshinori, that much he had seen from his own station. Of course he had. That brilliant mind of his was a bonfire, impossible to ignore. But then he’d gotten drunk, so damned drunk, and Katsuki had seen the night stretching out before him: Izuku, making a fool of himself, that precious, addictive glow in his eyes extinguished by the shame of a morning-after regret. He couldn’t stand the thought of it.

…And it was also a convenient excuse to finally get a chance to understand why the man had been so cold for a week. No visits, nothing but polite letters that went straight to the point. And tonight, every time he had so much as looked at Izuku, the man had looked as if Katsuki would yell at him just for existing. And the simple fact that Izuku would assume such, made Katsuki angry enough that he almost did want to explode at the infuriating bookworm.

The carriage rocked to a halt before the grand entrance of the townhouse. Katsuki practically dragged Izuku out and through the main doors, the sound of their footsteps echoing unnaturally loud in the dead-of-night silence.

Once inside the vast, empty hall, Izuku seemed to find his voice. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of a console table, and finally looked at Katsuki, his green eyes wide with a confusing mixture of gratitude and guilt.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He made a valiant effort to straighten up, to find some semblance of propriety. “And… I am so very sorry, Your Grace.”

The title landed like a slap. After everything, he was still back to this. This wall. This damnable, infuriating distance. The simmering frustration of the entire week, of watching Izuku flinch and retreat every time he looked at him, finally boiled over.

“Fuck off,” Katsuki snarled, the words tearing out of him, rough and jagged. “Don’t start with that.”

He saw the hope in Izuku’s face instantly shatter, replaced by a look of profound, wounded confirmation, “N-no, I must!” he blurted, his face now full of determination, stumbling forward, needing to get it all out. “For getting so close in the study, fo-for touching you and making you so angry that you... you said ‘fuck off’, and I just, I never meant to presume that I-”

The words slammed into Katsuki, and the pieces finally clicked into place with a sickening lurch. Oh. FUCK. The misunderstanding was a chasm that had been sitting between them for a week, and he had been too proud and too furious to even see it. Izuku thought the anger was about the touch, not the title that had followed it. He needed to ensure this was cleared up. Damn this infuriating bookworm making him care so much.

“It wasn’t the touch, you oaf,” he cut in, his voice rough with a raw mix of frustration and regret. He took a step closer, forcing Izuku to meet his gaze. “It was the ‘Your Grace.’ It was you, treating me like an equal, like a partner, and then retreating behind that… that nonsense. I hate it. I hate that everyone sees the title, and that for a moment, you saw me. And then you decided to remind me that I’m just the Duke of Rivermoor.”

He watched as a wave of dawning relief washed over Izuku’s face. The guilt, however, remained, “Oh,” he breathed, the word small and lost in the cavernous hall. “Then… what do you want me to call you? Blackwell?”

The formality of his own surname sounded just as wrong, just as distant. “Just Katsuki,” he grunted.

Izuku looked as though he’d been tasked with solving the most complex equation of his life. He mouthed the name, a silent, clumsy rehearsal. Then, with the utmost seriousness, he took a deep breath and tried it aloud. “Katsuki.” He frowned, the name sounding foreign and strange. He tried again, as if tasting it. “Katsuki.”

Heh, the man was an intoxicated mess, and he had missed talking to him. Katsuki found himself fighting a smirk. “Maybe if you didn’t say it like a death sentence, it’d work.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, as if this were a brilliant, scientific insight. He took a deep breath and tried again, this time with a forced, drunken cheerfulness that was utterly ridiculous. “Katsuki! Katsuki! Katsu-” a ridiculous hiccup, “-ki!” He beamed with pride for a moment, then his face fell into another frown.

A real, huffing laugh escaped Katsuki’s lips before he could stop it. “That just sounds like a damned chant.”

The sound of his laugh seemed to finally break the tension. Izuku’s own face split into a wide, giddy grin, his eyes glinting with that familiar, brilliant spark Katsuki had so sorely missed. “What’s so funny?” Katsuki demanded, while the other man laughed.

“That sounds hilarious! A chant! A Katsuki Chan-” Izuku began, his voice full of jest, only to be cut off by a violent, full-body hiccup that made him jolt. A small, confused frown creased his brow.

Katsuki barked a real laugh this time, loud and unrestrained. “Can’t even finish your own jest.”

Izuku seemed to take this as a personal challenge, his face now full of an addictive competitive fire. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and tried again. “A Katsuki Cha-” hiccup. The second failure seemed to genuinely offend him. His nose wrinkled in concentration.

“A Ka-” hiccup “-Chan-” hiccup. The double hiccup was so utterly pathetic, that he had to turn away to hide how hard he was laughing. 

“Let’s go to the guest room,” he managed, his voice still rough with amusement. He started walking, but the sound of footsteps didn’t follow. 

He turned back. Izuku was standing stock-still, a look of dawning, earth-shattering realization on his face. It was the look. The look he got right before a breakthrough, and it was as utterly captivating as it had always been.

Izuku’s eyes met his, shining with the biggest glint of scientific discovery Katsuki had ever seen. “That’s it!” he exclaimed with absolute seriousness, pointing a triumphant, slightly wobbly finger at him, a radiant smile spreading across his face. “Kacchan! Kacchan! That sounds right!”

Katsuki froze. Absurd, ridiculous, he should banish him for the sheer disrespect. And yet… the way Izuku said it, with such triumphant, possessive affection, it didn’t feel like a mockery. Society’s name for him was ‘Your Grace’. His father’s name for him was Katsuki. This felt like an honorific Izuku had theorized just for him, a name that belonged only to them. He felt a hot, treacherous blush creep up his neck and turned his head away sharply. “Fine,” he grunted, his voice rougher than he intended. “Just don’t let my sister or Ochako hear it.”

Izuku just laughed, a bright, triumphant sound that echoed in the silent hall. And then, the night was over for him. The adrenaline, the brandy, and the sheer emotional exhaustion of the night finally claimed their victory. His eyes rolled back slightly and he pitched forward, face-first, in a dead faint.

Katsuki’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oi-!” He lunged, his own exhaustion forgotten, catching Izuku, ink and brandy and warm breath hitting his collar as the weight slammed into his arms.

The escape was a blur, a chaotic masterpiece orchestrated by the man named Atsuhiro. He had created a diversion and, in the chaos, he had materialized at their side, a shadow with a calm, steady hand, guiding them through a servant’s corridor and out into the sharp, cold mercy of the night air.

During the entire ride to the townhouse, Ochako sat opposite Himiko, acutely aware of the small space between them, a space filled with the scent of sherry and the sheer anger she felt when she looked at Himiko’s clasped hands in her lap. Anger at the Viscount, at a world that could take someone so wonderfully alive and make her look so small and broken.

When they arrived, the Blackwell townhouse was an echo. Ochako followed Himiko up the sweeping staircase and into her private bedchamber. The room was beautiful, of course. A haven of curated elegance that still felt like the precious woman at her side.

Himiko sank onto the edge of her bed, her back to Ochako, looking like a porcelain doll one touch from breaking. The silence stretched, heavy and agonizing, and for a moment Ochako considered if maybe leaving was the correct choice. Her heart ached, she felt so terribly out of her depth. She took a deep breath.

“The Viscount,” she began, her voice a soft, hesitant thing. “Chapman… he seemed to frighten you. I thought he was your friend.”

Himiko didn’t answer at first. Wax slid from the candle as she waited.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked without turning, voice soft and flat, dangerously quiet. “You barely know me.”

Ochako’s mouth opened, then closed. She felt ridiculous for the heat in her chest. “Because you helped me,” she managed, carefully, like stepping onto cracked ice. “Because you were kind when you didn’t have to be. Because I-” She faltered, searching for the most proper word that wasn’t a lie. “-because I see you. And I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

A small, brittle laugh scraped out of Himiko. She finally glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright and glassy. “You think you see me.” The corner of her mouth curled, not quite a smile. “Do you really want to? The ugly parts. The parts that make people polite, and then distant.”

Ochako’s pulse jumped, “If you want to tell me.”

“Do I?” Himiko murmured, then straightened, the brittle curve sharpening into something theatrical, like an armor donned in a single breath. “Fine.” She turned fully, chin high, her glove’s seam pinched white between her fingers. “Let me make it easy for you, Ochako. I’ll show you the worst, and you can pull the bandage off now and finally leave me for good.”

She took a breath, then started. “Kai, ” she whispered to the room, her voice brittle but the name spit like poison. “He was my brother.” She finally turned, and her face, in the dim candlelight, was a look of profound, hollow-eyed exhaustion that stole the air from Ochako’s lungs.

“He did what they all do,” she said, a bitter, mirthless laugh escaping her. “Pretend that they want to help me and understand me, just so they can put me in a cage.”

She looked down at her own hands, twisting a loose thread on her dress. “It’s not the first time someone tries to. It started when I was a child, with my father, mostly. He wanted a perfect Duke’s daughter, you see. A perfect little ornament.” The words were flat, rehearsed, but Ochako could see the memories playing behind her distant eyes, the way she flinched at a thought only she could see. “He would make me practice my curtsies for hours. ‘Lower, deeper. Do you wish for them to think you a common harlot?’” Himiko’s mimicry of a man’s voice was a low, cruel rasp, instead of the comic one she had used in the past, causing a shiver of terror to go down Ochako’s spine.

“My mother, she was my anchor, at first,” Himiko’s voice softened, just a fraction. “She would sneak me paints when he wasn’t looking, would praise my silly little drawings. She understood, I think, that a little bit of wildness was necessary for a soul to breathe.” Her gaze drifted away, towards the flickering candle flame. The light cast dancing shadows across her face, making her look young and impossibly sad.

“But he did a stellar job breaking her, too. When I was thirteen, she began to agree with him. I was a bit much; my passions were unseemly.” Her voice grew small, pained, as if she were a child again, being gently scolded. “She’d kneel before me, fixing my lace, begging me, 'Himiko, please. A little less fire. Please.' As if any personality in me was something to be ashamed of."

“And then…” Himiko’s voice faltered, the brittle edge cracking just slightly. She took a shallow, shuddering breath. “Then, when I was fourteen, the drinking began to get worse. And that was when the quiet rot truly set in.” Himiko’s hands, which had been worrying her dress, clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists in her lap.

“I came home early from a lesson one day, and he found one of my drawings. A fox, mid-hunt.” She looked at Ochako, her eyes wide with remembered terror. “He called it filth. I still remember his words perfectly: ‘Morbid, masculine nonsense, are you a monster?’ And then, he hit me for the first time.”

The words were spoken so plainly, so devoid of emotion, that they struck Ochako worse than a scream would’ve.

“Mama tried to stop him,” Himiko whispered, her voice raw. “He shoved her against a wall. The sound of her head hitting the wood… I still hear it most nights when I try to sleep.”

Ochako’s breath caught in her throat as she clutched her own gown, wanting nothing more than to scream at the memory of the late Duke.

Himiko continued, “But then Katsuki was there. He stepped right between us and stared our father down.” Himiko’s voice cracked then, “He always tried to protect me, but it only made things worse for their once functional relationship. He made father feel weak and pathetic, and a pathetic man with a bottle in his hand is the most dangerous kind of all.”

She finally looked at Ochako, and her eyes were shining with unshed tears, her expression now full of buried pain. “And Mama… after that day, I think she started to truly believe it. That I was the problem. That there was something broken in me that brought all this… ruin… into our house. Something that needed to be fixed.” She let out a small, shuddering sigh. “So the other lessons began. The private ones, behind his back. Her ‘well-meaning concern.’” She said the words as if they were poison, a look of deep shame and bitterness crossing her face.

“She suspected my… other appetites. She never said the words, of course. Proper ladies don't have words for such things. But she spoke of monstrous urges, of unnatural affections, of the damnation that awaits women who did not keep to their proper path. She said it was for my own good. To save my soul.”

Ochako didn’t understand what she meant, not fully. But she felt the shame, the profound, soul-deep degradation of having your very nature twisted into something monstrous by someone you loved, and the injustice of it left a bitter taste in the back of her throat.

“It was hell,” Himiko said, her voice dropping flat, empty of all but a bleak exhaustion. “But I was never alone. Father decided to start focusing more on me. He started taking me to every single event he could, so I could look at every other lady and learn how to properly behave. He’d point out every single one and try to parade me as his perfect daughter, while privately he would threaten me for every little slip of the proper mask he so much as noticed."

"And Mama just watched me with those sad, scared eyes, terrified of the revelry she thought was festering inside of me, waiting for it to burst out and ruin us all. And some people, the kind ones, would try to comfort me. But no one, not once, ever tried to just… understand.”

“So I found my own way to fight back,” Himiko continued, a sudden, jarring shift in her tone. The bleak exhaustion was diminished, replaced by a flicker of the rebellious spirit Ochako recognized. She rose from the bed with a sudden energy and went to a large armoire in the corner of the room. She fumbled for a moment with a hidden latch at the bottom, and a secret drawer sprang open.

“If I had to endure their hellish, boring world, every single blasted event,” she said, her back still to Ochako as she pulled out a worn, leather-bound sketchbook, “I decided I would at least document the circus.”

She turned and marched back to the bed, flipping the book open with a dramatic flourish and thrusting it at Ochako. The pages were filled with monsters. Not the beautiful, allegorical creatures from her artworks, but real, human monsters, rendered with a merciless, vicious wit. Lord Minoru Mineton was drawn as a corpulent toad with a lolling tongue, women running away from him. Lady Upton was a preening peacock, her face a mask of smug idiocy. Each page was a new act of silent, brilliant defiance, and they were frankly hilarious.

Ochako stared, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in her throat despite the heavy atmosphere. “Himiko, these are-”

“Hilarious, aren’t they?” Himiko finished for her, a bitter grin on her face. “This was my escape. In my head, under my perfect, polite mask, this is what I was doing. Laughing at them all, for it was the only power I had.”

“They - you - are incredibly witty,” Ochako said, tracing a finger over a particularly cruel caricature of a lord with a pig’s snout. She tried to offer comfort, to inject some cheerfulness into the suffocating sadness of the room. “And your skill is undeniable. Frighteningly so.”

But it seemed like that wasn’t the right thing to say, as Himiko was quiet for a long moment before continuing.

“You think so?” Himiko’s grin vanished, replaced by a sudden, violent anger. Not at Ochako, but at herself. In a single, furious motion, she ripped off her long, silk gloves, throwing them to the floor as if they were on fire. “You think that? This is me!” she declared, holding up her delicate, bare, scar covered hands. “The real me. A stain in their rulebook, covered in the ink and filth they tried so desperately to scrub away.”

Her voice rose, gaining a frantic, manic edge from the wine and the years of repressed pain. “You think I’m witty for it? Do you want to know what happened when he found this sketchbook? The caricatures? The truth of how I saw his world?”

Ochako watched, heart hammering, as Himiko looked away, her eyes distant, as if lost in a memory she had never fully left. “He found it in my study, he was back before his supposed hour. I had never seen him so enraged. He called it a scandal in the making, our future ruin, and said only a monster could be so capable of bringing a family as powerful as the Blackwells to their knees.” Her voice went high and thin with a remembered hysteria. “He yelled at me, speaking of the consequences that would follow if I was ever caught. He grabbed my arm with all his strength, shook me, and screamed that he would beat the defiance out of me, that he would break me until I was perfect.”

Her voice dropped to a raw, shaking whisper, tears finally dropping from her eyes. “His face was inches from mine. I could smell the whiskey, I could feel the heat of his rage. He raised his hand and struck me the hardest anyone ever had. Then, at my yell, he brought it up again.” She stopped, her breathing ragged. “But he never brought it down.”

Ochako waited, her own breath held tight in her chest.

“He just… stopped,” Himiko whispered. “He made this strange, gurgling sound. His eyes went wide, and his hand flew to his own chest. He stumbled back, his face turning this awful, grey color. And then he fell.” The last word was a flat, dead thing. “The sound his body made when it hit the rug… it was heavy. The last sound he’d ever make.” A shudder ran through her entire body. "I just stood there, my arm aching where he’d gripped it, my face stinging, and I watched him. And then I felt it, this slow, creeping, and horrifying sense of relief.”

She turned to face Ochako then, her golden eyes wet and wild, her face full of a terrifying self loathing. “He had a seizure of the heart. Right there, in front of me. And do you want to know the worst part?” She leaned in, her voice nothing more than a broken whisper. “The very worst part?”

It seemed as if the room itself held its breath.

“I was happy.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and ugly. Himiko started laughing, a high, broken, hysterical sound that was half-sob.

And then Himiko cried, the words tumbling out, fueled by the sherry and a lifetime of pain. “After everything I’ve told you, every dark thing, why haven't you left? You’re still sitting here, looking at me with those kind, foolish eyes as if I’m some wounded bird! You think what I showed you earlier is scandalous? You think I'm free and liberated? You know nothing! You’re the closest anyone has ever come to trying to understand me, but you can’t! No one can!”

She rose from the bed, pacing around the room, a manic, frantic energy in her every step, “It’s inevitable! Every time someone gets this close, every time they see the rot past the mask, they get burned! You will see! Don’t you understand, Ochako?” Her voice cracked, rose to a near-scream of pure, raw anguish. She spun to face her, her honeyed eyes wide and wild. 

She was biting down on her lip, hard, and Ochako saw a single droplet of dark red blood well up, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

Her hand flew to her lip, smearing the blood, her golden eyes wide and wild with a terrifying, self-loathing brilliance. “Do you see, Ochako? Do you finally see what he saw?”

Her voice dropped to a raw, shaking whisper, each word a shard of glass.

“The monster is my very nature.”

She took a deep, ragged breath, her gaze burning into Ochako’s, a desperate, final warning.

“And I am telling you now, if you insist on looking for it…”

A pause.

“…I shall bring you ruin.”

The words landed not with venom, but with the heartbreaking finality of a prophecy declared by someone who believed it a fact of nature. 

The prophecy hung in the air between them, ugly and wrong. Ochako just sat there, frozen, the echo of the threat mixing with the memory of the laughing, brilliant woman from the garden. The utter self-loathing from the woman she so admired was a searing pain in Ochako's very soul.

She watched as Himiko’s hands began to tremble, her arms clutching around herself in a desperate hug, nails digging into her own body, leaving angry red crescents against her pale skin; utterly reminiscent of Ochako's actions.

And in that moment, something inside Ochako shifted. It wasn’t pity, it was even less so fear. It was a clear, cold rage: not at Himiko, but at the world that had taken that vibrant, brilliant woman and convinced her that her very nature, her very beauty, was a walking catastrophe.

She couldn't allow it.

Ochako moved. Before she could think, before propriety could chain her down, she was on her feet. In a single, fluid motion, born of a protective instinct she didn’t know she possessed, she pulled off her own silk gloves and tossed them to the floor, a conscious, deliberate mirroring of Himiko’s earlier defiance.

She knelt before the trembling woman on the bed. “Himiko,” she said, her voice a low, steady thing that tried to cut through the hysteria. She reached out, not to restrain, but to offer. Her fingers, bare for the first time, were surprisingly steady as they brushed against Himiko’s cheek, her thumb gently wiping away the small smear of blood from her lip.

The touch was a sword that cut through Himiko's spiral. Himiko flinched, her eyes wide with a shocked, wild vulnerability.

"You are not monstrous," Ochako whispered, her gaze unwavering. The trembling didn't stop. Himiko’s nails were still digging, her knuckles white. Ochako remembered. The drawing lesson, the dance. The only thing that had ever stopped her own spiraling.

She took Himiko’s tightly clenched fist and gently, deliberately, she offered her own open hand, palm up. All five fingers bare. A direct, skin-to-skin promise to offer her the same comfort she once had.

“You did this for me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “It helps. All of your hand, remember? Now grasp mine.”

Himiko stared at her hand as if it were a life raft, her breathing ragged. After a long, shuddering silence, her fingers uncurled, stiff and slow, and laced with Ochako’s. The skin-to-skin contact was a shock of warmth, of life, that Ochako had no time to linger on. Ochako held her scar covered hand firmly, streaks of blood caught between their palms, and squeezed tightly.

"I have seen the 'real you', or at least a part of it,” Ochako said, her grip tightening, her thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle over Himiko's knuckles. "I have seen the wit, and the infuriating charm, and the humor that made me laugh so hard I forgot to be proper. I have seen the artist who sees life in the middle of death, and the woman I so admire who is terrified of being caged but still defies the world that tries to shackle her." She looked up, her own eyes shining with a fierce, unwavering conviction.

"If that is a monster… If having a mind so sharp it frightens fools, and a heart so passionate it refuses to be tamed is wrong… If that is the ruin you speak of…" Ochako leaned in, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.

"Then let us be ruined together.”

For a moment, it felt as if time itself had stopped.

Ochako didn’t move, just continued pressing her hand against Himiko’s, looking at her eyes with all the care she knew she felt and was sure she was portraying.

Then, for a heartbeat, Himiko only stared at her in shock and wonder, as if the words had been the last thing she had expected to hear. Then her face crumpled and she smiled. Not the one she wore for the world, but something delicate and true, full of joy and shining through her tears.

Oh. It was the most beautiful smile Ochako had seen in her entire life. The realization rang in her chest with warmth and absolute certainty.

She took a breath, and then she squeezed their joined hands once more, saying, “Next time I come, you need to show me more of your absolutely delightful caricatures”, and Himiko giggled, a wondrous sound that Ochako wished she could bottle for the rest of their lives.

Eventually, the tremor drained out of Himiko by degrees, exhaustion sliding over her features. Her lashes lowered; her grip loosened, but Ochako noted with a small frown that the woman was still wearing her clearly new gown.

When her breathing evened, Ochako moved carefully, feather-light, unhooking stays and tiny buttons, easing the pink silk over Himiko’s delightful shoulders so it wouldn’t crease or stain, trying very hard not to think about the implications. What she was doing was sisterly, she told herself, for her future sister, and the word sat wrong in her throat, like a pebble she couldn’t swallow.

She laid the dress across a chair and turned back. Himiko was half-asleep, hair fanned on the pillow, mouth softened but still smiling. Ochako gathered her gloves, reached for the door-

“C-can… you stay?” Himiko uttered, so quiet it was almost drowned out by the quiet of the room.

She was beside her in an instant. She slipped onto the mattress behind Himiko and fit herself along the curve of her back, one arm settling around her waist, their bare hands finding each other again in the dark. Himiko’s fingers were still frightened, so Ochako threaded all her fingers through and held, steady.

“I’m here,” she whispered into warm hair. I’ll stay until you sleep.

Minutes stretched, the room and the world softening around the rhythm of shared breaths. Himiko’s hand slackened at last, the last of the tremors gone. Ochako did not move.

Katsuki shifted the weight in his arms, the bookworm’s body firmer and heavier than he looked. Brandy clung to Izuku’s breath, ink and candlewax to his hair, and when his head lolled against Katsuki’s shoulder the softness of it sent a now more familiar heat creeping up his neck. His legs carried them through the hushed townhouse on instinct, boots striking marble, servants wisely keeping to the shadows.

He nudged open the guest room door with his shoulder, and laid Izuku down with a care that startled even himself. He took his shoes off and pulled the blanket over him, looking over his soft face, making sure the intoxicated man was safe.

As he was leaving, he turned at the door and lingered just a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, before shutting the door with a decisive click.

The corridor beyond was quiet. He turned the corner toward his own chambers, and stopped. Ochako stood waiting in the candlelight, her gown shadowing around her.

“What are you doing here?” Katsuki asked, voice low, rough from the night.

“I brought Himiko back, she’s asleep now,” she answered simply. Then, with an earnestness that shocked him, “I wanted to thank you, for Izuku. He is my dearest friend, and he has been so lonely. I’m glad he has someone like you now.”

The words caught him off guard and warmed his chest more than he cared to admit. He grunted, looking away, before forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I should be thanking you, for Himiko. She’s been… lighter, calmer, since she started getting along with you. It’s good to see.”

Silence stretched, but the mutual gratitude and appreciation between them needed no more words.

“I should go back to my parents before midnight,” she said softly.

“I’ll escort you,” Katsuki replied at once.

He could see Ochako flexing her fingers, as if trying to hold onto some lingering warmth. Katsuki's jaw tightened and his fists clenched; the memory of a name threatening to slip past his lips.

And together they walked down the long corridor, footsteps echoing in the great, sleeping house; propriety settling back into place as the night pretended to bury what could never be buried again.

Chapter Text

Ochako awoke to a world that felt both irrevocably altered and achingly the same. Sunlight sliced through velvet curtains, illuminating the simple, worn furniture of her girlhood. Her chambers had never felt as alone as they did that very moment. She was engaged, the Duchess of Rivermoor in all but name. The thought should have been a reassurance in her chest, but instead, it felt like a borrowed gown, beautiful, heavy and not quite hers.

Her mind, a traitorous thing that got harder to control each passing day, refused to linger on what should’ve been the main event on her mind: her own engagement. Instead, it skipped, with a frantic energy, to the moments tucked away in the shadows of the night. The scent of sherry and old paper in Himiko’s room. The raw, guttural agony of her story. And the delightful intimacy that came after.

Ochako flexed her fingers against the cool linen of her sheets. They felt empty. For a lifetime, she had become accustomed to the sensation of silk gloves on her skin, an ever-present barrier. Last night, she had discarded them with the one person she had wanted to do it most. She had touched her. And now the memory of it was a brand against her skin. The raised lines of scars, the impossible softness of her skin, the warmth of her blood, the way her fingers finally uncurled and held tight to her in an act of trust. She wanted to hold that hand again. She wanted to hold it until her own hands memorized every line, every flaw, every story it held.

And her smile. The way it broke through her tears in the candlelight, so fragile and true it felt like watching a star being born in the dark. She could shamelessly admit it had been the most beautiful sight she had ever seen, and the desire to be the reason for that smile, to see it again and again, had taken permanent residence in her mind. Himiko’s giggle after, which had been enough to light up the whole dark-

Ochako sat up abruptly, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes as if she could force herself to forget it all. She needed to remember her duty: the engagement, her family’s security, their happiness. She would be wedded in two months, at the end of September, the end of the season. A Duchess. That was what mattered. Not the treacherous, pointless fancies she couldn't afford to keep.

Control yourself, Ochako. You are betrothed. This is a madness you cannot afford.

A soft knock at the door shattered her spiraling thoughts. Her dear mother entered, a tray with tea on her hands, her face alight with a proud, happy glow. But as she drew closer, Ochako’s heart gave a small, worried lurch. There were new shadows beneath her mother’s kind eyes, a fragility to the skin at her temples. She looked… worse than she had yesterday. So much worse.

The illness had begun a month and a half ago, a passing ailment, the physician had said. A stubborn cough that would surely fade with the summer. But it had lingered, slowly worsening, and now it was all she could see in her kind mother’s face, who looked pale, fragile and exhausted. A quiet, dry cough punctuated the end of her mother’s smile.

“Mama,” Ochako said, her voice soft, all thoughts in her mind replaced with protective fear, “Are you well? You should be resting.”

Her mother waved a dismissive, though visibly trembling, hand. “Of course, my dear. Just a lingering chill from last evening’s air. I am perfectly fine.”

Then she handed Ochako a cup of tea and her previous glow was replaced by a sad smile, “I never wanted this for you, my dear,” she said, her voice a regretful whisper. “A marriage of duty. My greatest wish, always, was for you to know a love that was a choice, not a necessity. I loathe that our misfortune forced your hand.”

And it was true. Unlike most ladies her age, Ochako had never been pushed into finding marriage until the situation asked for it, her mother always speaking about a marriage of love. And when the news of their necessity arrived, her mother had been the first to break.

Guilt pricked at Ochako, but then her mother seemed to catch the look on her daughter’s face and, as if unwilling to burden her further, she straightened, a fragile brightness returning to her eyes.

“But last night… oh, Ochako. The way the Duke spoke of you. He didn’t speak of titles, or alliances. He spoke of your character, your spirit. He sees you. And that is a foundation on which a true and powerful love can be built upon. Not all of us get hit by lightning,  sometimes, the most enduring love comes from tending to a flame.” She said, looking at her daughter with the same love she always had.

Ochako’s hands clenched in her lap, nails digging into her palms until she could feel the sharp sting of breaking skin. She wished, with a childish desperation, for a hand to cover hers, to uncurl her fingers one by one and hold them, until the frantic need to hurt herself for a sense of control simply went away.

“Mama…” she began, her own voice small, vulnerable, “what is it like? True love?”

Her mother’s gaze softened, reminiscing. “It’s… quiet,” she said, “It’s the feeling that you can finally stop performing for the world, a performance so ingrained and draining you might have not even known it was there. And the person who sees you underneath doesn’t just tolerate what they find; they cherish it.”

Ochako’s breath caught in her throat.

“It’s wanting their happiness so badly it becomes a part of your own. It’s how their smile and laugh,” her Mama smiled, “...become the most precious things in the world. When they are truly, genuinely joyful, it feels like the sun has decided to come out just for you. It’s not just declarations and alliances; it’s wanting to simply sit with them in a quiet room, doing nothing at all, and feeling perfectly, completely content.”

Every description was a name. And it was the wrong Blackwell.

A sudden, wracking cough seized her mother and interrupted Ochako’s line of thought. A desperate, rattling sound that she tried to stifle behind her hand. But the tremor in her shoulders was undeniable, and when she pulled her hand away, her smile was strained, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Mama!” Ochako cried, surging forward.

“I am fine, dearest, truly,” her mother insisted, though her voice was but a thin whisper. She reached out, her cool, trembling hand finding Ochako’s. “Oh, Ochako… I am so happy. So happy you have found a man with whom that beautiful love can grow. I can’t wait to see my beautiful daughter getting married.”

The tragic, hopeful ignorance in her mother’s eyes was a blade to the heart. And Ochako knew that her mother was not getting any better.

And in that moment, watching the woman who had given her everything fade before her eyes, Ochako made a vow.

If her mother’s last, greatest wish was to see her daughter getting married, truly in love, then she would give her that. She had two months. She would take the respect Katsuki offered, the foundation he had laid, and she would tend that flame. She would learn to love him in the exact way her mother had just described. She would give her mother this one last, perfect gift, even if she had to beat her traitorous heart into submission until it beat only for him.

Izuku awoke to the agonizing, rhythmic pounding of a blacksmith’s hammer inside his skull. He groaned, a pathetic sound swallowed by a pillow that smelled inexplicably of lavender and wealth. A pillow that was most certainly not his.

By the saints, where am I?

The light was too bright, the sheets too soft, and the memories were crashing back in a mortifying downpour of idiocy. The King, he’d talked to the King and the King had liked him, a fact so miraculous it had to be a hallucination brought on by- oh no, the brandy. Multiple glasses of brandy. A drunken blur at the gala, and then-

Katsuki.

The misunderstanding, the blessed clarification, the relief so profound he thought he might have actually wept, and then, oh heavens above, the name. He had called the Duke of Rivermoor Kacchan. And not just once, he’d repeated it like a drunken town crier heralding the arrival of a particularly interesting turnip, and then, for the grand finale, he had fainted. 

Directly into him. 

He could still feel it, a ghost sensation of strong arms and the smell of night air and something like caramel and old books and iron, and he was going to die. He was simply going to perish from his own foolishness.

The door clicked open, no knock, and Izuku’s entire body went rigid. He squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps if I lie perfectly still, he will leave me to my shame-

“Eat,” a voice commanded, gruff and entirely too loud for his current hangover, “You look like death.”

A tray thudded onto the bedside table. Izuku risked cracking one eye open. Katsuki was standing there in a well-tailored coat, looking infuriatingly not-hungover. On the tray: water,  toast, tea. A rescue mission, just for me? Izuku’s heart did a stupid, traitorous little flutter, before trying to think things through more objectively.

The man brought him food himself instead of sending a servant. Which could only mean he was going to send him to his ruin personally, wasn’t he?

“I have a proposition for you,” Katsuki said, arms crossed, his crimson gaze drilling into him with an impatience that made Izuku’s heart feel like it was trying to crawl out of his chest.

He scrambled to sit up, the room tilting violently. “A-a proposition, Y-your Grace?” he croaked, his mouth a desert.

Oh no.

Katsuki’s scowl could have killed a man. “Don’t start.”

“S-sorry!” Izuku squeaked, cheeks flaming as he grabbed the water. “Katsuki.” The name still felt heavy and ill-fitting on the likes of him, “What is it?”

Katsuki threw him an official letter from the House of Blackwell, one Izuku barely caught, the blond speaking before he could even begin to open it. 

“I require a permanent scientific advisor,” Katsuki bit out, the words sharp. “A partner. Someone with a mind sharp enough to be useful and a spine strong enough to argue. The position comes with a permanent residence here at the estate, full access to my laboratory and library, and a stipend that will ensure your family wants for nothing for the next three generations.”

The blacksmith in Izuku’s head fell silent. It was everything. The library, a real laboratory where he could actually test his theories instead of just scribbling them in margins, his family secure forever, and Kacchan. Working with Kacchan, every day. The thought was so brilliant it hurt, like every problem being solved at once in his mind.

And it was a trap.

Izuku knew, as a simple scientific fact of his own nature, that his heart was not a simple system. He had long since made a quiet, academic peace with the fact that it was a more complex one, capable of loving men the very same way it did women. Ochako had been his first love, a warm, constant, and gentle current; born of a lifetime of friendship and long since faded into something platonic. But this… this thing he felt for Katsuki was like flickering flames, ones that could easily turn into a full-blown fire very quickly if he wasn't careful. And he knew that if it ever happened  it would be a terrifying, all-consuming fire that wouldn't just be simple infatuation, but something far more dangerous.

To accept this offer was akin to jumping into the open sea in the middle of a storm and hoping he wouldn't drown. It would mean living under the same roof as them, watching his first love and closest friend marry the man whose presence made his mind sing and his heart ache with curiosity of what they could become. It would be a surefire way to turn that flame into an inferno in less time than he could solve the simplest equation. It would be a beautiful, self-inflicted torture, a gilded cage where he could have all the knowledge in the world but none of the things he truly wanted. 

But to refuse? To return to his small world of borrowed books? To not give his family a chance? To lose this connection, to never again have the chance to see that rare, grudging respect in Kacchan’s eyes every time he landed a solid counter-argument? That felt like a different kind of death, like a slow starvation of his soul.

“I accept,” he said, his voice breathless and terrified. He forced himself to meet Kacchan’s gaze, his heart hammering a frantic, terrified rhythm against his ribs. “It would be an honour to work with you, Kac-Katsuki.”

The man gave a sharp nod, a flicker of what might have been satisfaction in his eyes. Kacchan turned to go, but paused at the door, “One more thing.”

Izuku held his breath. He noticed his slip up, hadn't he?

“Do you remember everything from last night?”

Did he?! How could he forget his sheer, unmitigated buffoonery. Izuku’s face went pale. “I do,” he whispered, certain this was the part where he was banished for crimes against ducal dignity.

Kacchan glanced over his shoulder, his glare somehow both annoyed and appraising. “Tch. Good. What I said… I meant it.” He let that hang in the air for a second. “But if I ever hear that ridiculous name come out of your mouth when my maniac sister or that almost-as-mad chipmunk are around, I’ll throttle you. It’s bad enough I have to tolerate your muttering, I don’t need their jests adding to it.”

It wasn’t a dismissal! It was approval! An infuriating, backhanded approval, but still. The world tilted again, but this time from sheer relief. The name wasn’t a mistake to be forgotten; it was theirs, an unbelievably precious secret for the two of them.

He took a shaky breath, the syllables heavier on his tongue. “Kacchan,” he whispered, just to test.

A faint flush crept up the back of Kacchan’s neck. He turned away sharply, hiding his face. “Good,” he grunted, his voice rough. “We start tomorrow. You need rest today.”

And then he was gone. Izuku was left alone in the vast, quiet room, staring at a piece of toast he was fairly certain he’d be too nauseous to eat. He had done it, he’d accepted a dream and a life sentence all in one. And now he had to figure out how to live here, under this roof, with this brilliant, terrifying man, and somehow, somehow, not let his own stupid, racing heart give him away. This was either the best or the absolute worst decision of his entire life, and he had a terrible feeling it was both at once.

Ochako Underhill wasted no time getting to the Blackwell Townhouse. If she only had two months to make her wedding day the happiest day of her mother's life, she would. She'd make her Mama happy, for all she's done for her. She'd alleviate both of her parents’ guilt for her marriage of duty. She'd make Katsuki happy, for all the protection he had promised her in front of the realm and the care he had shown Izuku. She'd be the best sister-in-law for Himiko, ensuring the woman always had someone to rely on for all she had already done for Ochako.

Those were her last thoughts as Jin Baker ushered her in towards a sunlit parlour where Katsuki stood, reading over a copious amount of letters, all full of theories written in Izuku's familiar penmanship, with a small smirk on his face. That expression was slowly becoming more familiar.

She gathered her resolve. She needed to bond, learn more about him, about how to love him. She was here to learn the landscape of Katsuki Blackwell's heart and find a place within it, after all. 

With a deep breath, she curtsied.

“Your Grace.”

The man looked at her and huffed, “None of that. We are getting married, Ochako.”

At least she wouldn't have to worry about propriety with either Blackwells. She gave him a small smile, “Katsuki”, she took a seat, her nerves still there but a flicker compared to the flame they had been in their first meeting, “I was wondering what you were working on, if I may know?”

He huffed, and looked away, “Tch. Just some brilliant ideas that the bookworm has been exploring. I doubt it'd interest you much”.

But she didn't deter, “Yes. Izuku has mentioned some of your work together when he's at my family's. Always rambling, that man. I do not fully understand the specifics, but he mentioned something about finding order within chaos?”

In truth, she wasn't terribly interested. But she had to learn his own language if she wanted this to bloom, didn't she?

And it seemed to do the trick, as he turned to her, a small smile on his face again, his tone warm. “Indeed. The bookworm understands what most people do not. Most people hear chaos and think violence, randomness. They don't see the beauty in it, the underlying patterns, the constants.”

That made Ochako pause. Maybe she didn't fully get it, but it could, in a way, be similar to Himiko's paintings, could it not? Order in the midst of chaos, life blooming from death.

Just as she was about to respond, an actual flicker of excitement in her eyes at having a path in, the doors burst open.

… And every thought of bonding with Katsuki was emptied from her head.

Himiko was standing there, wearing yellow, her face alight with a joy and adoration Ochako had never seen in her. It was almost like last night had ripped out the last of Himiko's reserves and now she was, quite impossibly, even more unrestrained and more beautiful, staring at Ochako as if she had handed her the moon last night, when all she had done was speak the truest words she ever had.

“Himiko,” she sighed happily before she could help herself.

The woman in question turned to look at Katsuki. Her beaming expression turned into an amused grin as she spoke with mock exasperation, “Oh for goodness sake Katsuki, are you seriously talking to Ochako about mathematics or something of the sort?”

She then turned to look at Ochako with mock offense in her eyes, “And you too, Ochako? First my brother’s eternal passion for his oafish interests, then Izuku's intoxicated ramblings about it, and now I'll have to deal with the future Duchess also engaging in this behaviour? No, that won't do.”

Any pain Ochako might've felt at the way Himiko mentioned their upcoming situation was immediately dismissed as the blonde paced around the room, a thoughtful, playful look on her face, before stopping next to Ochako and looping her arms around her own tenderly. The blonde looked at her with a playful, mischievous glint in her eyes, that lovely scent of hers drawing a hopeless Ochako in.

“I have the perfect solution, then! I shall rescue you! You have two months before living here permanently, and this townhouse is quite gigantic. I must make sure you don't get lost. I will show you around!” She finished with a mock bow, extending her gloved hand, as if she were a Lord asking Ochako for a dance.

And Ochako, helpless as she was to her charms, grabbed it, the touch warm despite the layers of silk between them; her heart doing that now familiar,  infuriating flip.

Katsuki raised his eyebrow at Himiko's antics, but Ochako answered before he could, a small smile playing on her lips. “Himiko, I've already been here before, many times, as you well know.”

Himiko then stood back up and waved her finger playfully, “Ah! But that's where you are wrong, my Lady!” Ochako tried very hard to ignore how that made her feel, “You know the gardens, a couple other rooms I've showed you in our lessons, and Katsuki's dusty parlour and study. But that is nothing compared to the vast expanse of the townhouse!” She punctuated those last words by throwing her arms wide open, as if to represent the size of it.

Ochako gave a small giggle at the blonde's adorable antics, it was clear that what they went through yesterday made Himiko trust her more. She was being so much sweeter to Ochako, and it made her feel light on her feet.

A sound of someone clearing their throat pulled her out of her own thoughts. She turned to see Katsuki looking at them, at Himiko, specifically.

“Himiko. Need I remind you that I am with my betrothed, you maniac?”

Himiko looked at him, “Precisely Katsuki, it is my duty to my future sister!” She also tried to ignore how that made her feel, for a very different reason altogether.

Katsuki just looked annoyed, a refusal clearly forming, but Himiko then pointed a delightful look of theatrical pleading at him. And it seemed like all of the Duke’s power meant nothing in front of his sister.

He then turned his gaze to Ochako, who had a dopey smile on her own face and was leaning into Himiko's touch, and he scoffed, but a small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Fine. But make haste. And Ochako, please do try not to let her convince you to commit treason before luncheon.”

That was fine, she’d still have time to talk to Katsuki later, then. She had nothing to feel guilty about.

The instant those words left his mouth, Himiko's hands tightened around hers and pulled out to the corridor, Ochako stifling a giggle at the blonde's almost childlike energy. The hallways, once daunting to her, now felt like a prelude to an adventure just for the two of them.

Well, and Jin, who was escorting them with a look of fond exasperation on his face. But that was a mere formality at this point, as much a barrier between them as the gloves had been last night.

“Do not worry, it is as if I am not even here!” He said, then, “I am always listening to every word of anyone who dares approach- sorry!”

Ochako and Himiko just let out an endearing laugh at his antics.

And as Himiko pulled them into the familiar entrance to the garden, Ochako let out an actual laugh this time.

“Didn't you say you'd show me around the townhouse so I'd be prepared by the wedding? I already know the gardens, Himiko.”

The woman just turned to her with a mischievous grin, “Precisely! We have two whole months, Ochako, we must utilise our time well. Besides…”

She stopped, dropped Ochako's hand, and pulled out the same leather sketchbook from last night as if from thin air. Where had that come from?

The bird inside Ochako's heart did that little chip at the thought that Himiko now trusted her enough to just show it to her so openly. 

Himiko decided to continue her explanation, “If I recall correctly, you made a very specific request of me last night. You asked to see more of my delightful caricatures”.

Ochako smiled at her, thankful that this unbelievable woman was prioritizing what Ochako asked despite all she went through.

And as Ochako reached out to grab the sketchbook, Himiko pulled it back above her head and shook her head.

“Mmm, no, not quite yet. I need to show you the garden first, then the drawings.” Ochako opened her mouth to retort but Himiko just placed a soft finger in her lips to shush her, “And no, you do not know it. Not properly, anyway. A Duchess has to know her garden well, and you still need to know the most essential part of it…”

She held a pause with a theatrical flair before extending her arms with a flourish.

“Why my favourite flowers, of course! So I will show you one of them, and then you see one caricature, what do you think, my Lady?”

Despite the blush on her face at the honourary, Ochako couldn't hide the small giggle that left her mouth at her words. Ochako was pretty sure that knowing Himiko's favourite flowers was not an essential requirement that she had to know before becoming the Duchess. But she would be lying to herself if she said she didn't love the prospect of it.

Ochako did a mock curtsey and extended out her hand, “Lead the way then, my Lady”, causing Himiko to blush before grabbing her hand again and oh how she loved that look.

Himiko pulled her to a small, secluded alcove at the top.

There, growing in a tall cluster against the old stone wall, were spires of the most breathtaking flowers. Deep purple bells, with a darker pattern on the inside, cascaded down elegant stems. They were beautiful, but with a wild quality that seemed entirely out of place in the manicured garden.

“Foxglove,” Himiko said, her voice soft with a strange reverence. “Most ladies adore them for their colour. They call them Fairy Thimbles. Utterly saccharine, isn't it?” She looked up at Ochako, a smirk covering her features. “They’re liars, you see. These flowers.”

Ochako blinked. “Liars?”

“They’re full of poison,” Himiko stated, the words simple, “enough to stop a man’s heart.” A shadow flickered across her face, immediately suppressed. “But,” she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she reached out to gently trace the edge of a single bell, not quite touching it, “in the right hands, with the right knowledge, that same poison can be a medicine. It can steady a frantic, fluttering heart.”

Ochako stared at the flowers, fascinated by their beauty. Then, she looked at the way Himiko was still tracing them delicately, her eyes full of the passionate adoration that she always had when looking at her art or garden. Before she realized it, she was, once again, staring at the woman instead of what she was supposed to be doing.

It seemed as if Himiko wanted to continue her explanation, but when she turned and saw Ochako's foolish staring, she blushed and turned away, causing Ochako to do the same.

Himiko then quickly fumbled with her sketchbook, opening it and sitting on the wooden bench close to Ochako.

“Well, we had a deal, one flower, one sketchbook,” she turned a page and patted the spot on the bench next to her, “come, seat!”

And Ochako's body, as always, followed whatever that voice wished. And there, in the pages, was yet another drawing of Lord Minoru Mineton. Here, he was drawn as a pig, grapes in his extended hands, showing them to women as if they were gold instead of fruit, and causing them to look away in disgust.

Ochako, naturally, barked out an unrestrained laugh, causing Himiko to smile at her.

“I am glad my instincts were right and you liked it. Now, let us go see the next flower, we can make jests of that brute while I take you there.”

But Ochako just looked at her, a theatrical pleading in her eyes, mirroring the blonde's own weapon on Katsuki. “Must we close your delightful art so quickly? Can I see another one? Please?”

Himiko just rolled her eyes and groaned playfully, but her ever-present smile still grew. “Fine. You get two pictures per flower. After all, I have hundreds of them from those dreadful days.”

Ochako smiled at her, eyes shining, and whooped, before turning the sketchbook. There stood Lord Grafton, drawn as a rat clutching a singular coin to his chest, bragging to some richer Lady about how powerful he was and what a good match he'd make. Once again, she laughed. Oh had she actually considered this man a good prospect at one point? Pathetic.

She turned to tell Himiko that she could take her to the next flower. But the woman was, once again, pulling an object out of thin air, this time a beautiful yellow flower.

Seriously, how was she doing that?

“Well, time for the second flower, my Lady.”

Ochako squinted her eyes, trying to make sense of the situation. And there, she saw a small case that Himiko was trying very hard to keep hidden behind her. The case had a small note that had ‘From Atsuhiro’ written on it, tied on the top with a small ribbon. 

So that's how she managed it!

At the antics of her endearing magician, an unrestrained peal of laughter left her before she could think, one that made both Himiko and even Jin smile.

At this moment, all Ochako knew was that, without even having to think about how, she was having the time of her life.

It had been a week since his engagement, and at last the damned townhouse no longer felt empty.

Evidence of life lingered everywhere: the constant annoying hum of conversation from the garden, laughter spilled in the parlour, the scent of pastries baking in the kitchens. Even here, in the polished oak of his study desk, it was undeniable. A letter lay there, not delivered by a servant but left deliberately, somewhere between last night’s passionate arguments and this morning.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had worked past midnight, yet again due to pondering over Izuku’s ideas. With a smirk, he slit the seal. The familiar, infuriating scrawl sprawled across the page:

Kacchan.

His mouth twitched. The damned bookworm now lived only a few rooms away, yet still he left letters whenever he could, as if hours of debate were insufficient to exhaust his thoughts. Heh. The man was ridiculous.

Katsuki’s finger traced the name, his rebellious fingers betraying him. Warmth rose in his chest; the easy smile creeping across his face was becoming far too familiar.

Ugh. He would sooner die than let anyone know this feeling was the furthest thing from boring he had ever imagined.

Setting the note aside, he quit the study. In the library, he found Ochako surrounded by a fortress of ledgers, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had been coming almost daily, insisting on assisting him however she could. Which meant, whenever his sister wasn't eating away at her time. Tradition dictated that a betrothed should not take up household duties, but at her inclination to assist, he had ignored that entirely. The rules be damned, it's not like this engagement would fall apart anyway: he would not give her up for another lady, not when she was clever, bold, and already more than approved by Himiko. The maniac trusted her, the bookworm trusted her. And most importantly, as infuriating as admitting it was, she freed his time for what mattered most - further discussions with the green-haired man.

At the sound of his approach, Ochako glanced up, startled for a heartbeat before her expression softened into a small smile.

“So? Anything unusual? You look as though you’re plotting a rebellion,” he asked dryly.

She frowned, lifting a notebook. “I must admit there is something unusual; unpleasantly so. The bailiff has been overcharging the tenants for three seasons. Not enough to be noticed, but enough to cause them hardship.” A quiet, fierce fire lit her eyes, righteous anger in her voice.

He scoffed, his own irritation clear. “Tch. That old man Rikiya was only hired as a favour to Chapman’s father. I’ll dismiss him outright, and use your work as proof; might as well rid the townhouse of the last traces of that pest.”

Ochako’s frown deepened at the mention of the Viscount. Curious. Had she met him?

“What else would you have me do? Issue an apology?” she asked.

“That, and a full reimbursement for the discrepancies, but not yet, once we are wedded,” he replied.

Her eyes burned with determination. “In that case, allow me to do it in person. It will give me a chance to meet our people, and improve my standing in their eyes, which I shall clearly need once I am officially appointed Duchess.” A blush crept across her cheeks, “If that is adequate, of course.”

He smirked, “It would be most excellent.”

Her smile widened, her eyes lighting up.

She will make an excellent Duchess. He had made the right choice.

Later that day, Katsuki stood in the manicurd greens of the archery range. This was his preferred method of bleeding off rage and sparing some poor fool from becoming its victim. Thinking about Rikiya causing hardships on the tenants, about Chapman having met Ochako or, much worse, having talked to Himiko again, had been more than enough to lead him here.

As he drew the bowstring back, feeling the satisfying tension in his shoulders, he took a deep breath in. The world narrowed to the distant rings on the target. He breathed out, letting the arrow fly.

It struck the outer ring with a dull thud. Tch, is this one of those days that I am too enraged to even concentrate?

And just as he was about to let another arrow go, he heard that familiar, infuriating voice.

“Kacchan! Himiko said I could find you here if all else failed! I am completely stuck on this equation and was wondering if-” The man came to a halt.

Katsuki let the arrow go, once again hitting the outer ring. He let out a grunt of frustration.

“What is it, bookworm? As you can see, I am truly not in the best spirits at this current moment.”

“A-ah, yes! Is it because you can't hit the target? I believe it is because you are muscling it, Kacchan!”

Now I'm supposed to think Milverton is an expert at this?

He turned to glare at him, making the man flinch and eat his next words.

He scoffed, “Tch. If you think you can do it better, then be my guest.” He shoved the bow at the stunned man's hands, “Shoot.”

Izuku looked surprised for a moment, but then his features hardened with an intoxicating look of pure determination. He stepped into position, took a deep breath, lined up, and released.

It was a perfect strike,

And as Izuku turned, Katsuki didn't have enough time to school his surprised features back into a scowl.

“Tch. Whatever. It's just lady luck smiling on you.”

The bookworm actually had the audacity to look offended at that, for the first time since they met, “N-no! It is not. My brothers and I used to spend countless spring evenings doing this when we were younger, and I got quite obsessed over catching up to my eldest sibling.”

Then he seemed to remember his station and paled, looking at the ground. “I- what I mean to say is… I could help you, if you let me?”

Katsuki just glared at him for a second longer, the man cowering slightly, before clicking his tongue and looking to the side, “Tch. Just don't let it get into your head. Heaven knows you already have enough to brag about.”

The man now had the gall to look at him like he was sunshine himself, causing that maddening heat to rise in his chest once again. “Excellent, Kacchan! Please, get into your usual stance!” 

The man was brilliant, Katsuki had never had an issue admitting that. Mayhaps he could actually help him get his stance down so he could finally release his frustrations.

As he settled into his stance, Izuku came up from behind. A hand suddenly grabbed his waist, causing his stupid breath to catch in his stupid throat. His voice, closer than ever, prickled the hair on the back of his neck, “Your stance is all power, Kacchan, but you are not accounting for uncontrolled variables, like the wind's variance. You are trying to fight your way through it, instead of navigating it.”

Katsuki froze, his still present anger bubbling up. He was the Duke, a man of science and power, how dare Milverton say that he could not account for simple things like unexpected variables-

Any lingering thought promptly left his head as the bookworm got even closer, his warmth mixing with Katsuki's back, lighting his nerves on fire, and slightly adjusted his shoulder downward. “Here,” he said, his voice softer now, tender, losing his academic edge Katsuki had grown endeared to and yet somehow becoming even more addictive. One hand settled on his shoulder, “Relax this,” he continued, “ and turn inward. Just slightly, so you are aligned with the current.”

Heat spiked down his spine as the idiot’s chest brushed his back; breath ghosted his ear and sent an imperceptible jolt through him, his fingers tightening on the bow. Ink and clean soap and a hint of mint fled his senses and, damn him, he nearly leaned into it before pride yanked him back into position.

Katsuki's entire body went rigid, his face once again warm, but his refusal to make a fool of himself overpowered it. He took a deep, trembling breath as Izuku's warmth made its absence known, and fired.

A perfect hit.

Huh. He turned to look at Izuku, who was looking at him with a smile on his soft lips, eyes glinting. He had to give it to him, he could finally let out his anger-

Except that, Katsuki realized with a jolt, there was no anger left at all. Only a desire to defeat the man in front of him.

“Tch. I was distracted, is all”, he said, though the smirk betrayed his words, and Izuku could clearly tell now, laughing along. “Go grab a bow, let's see who gets to fifteen perfect strikes first.”

Izuku looked stunned for a second, before smiling, laughing, and running off to get his own equipment.

Stupid, infuriating bookworm, making him smile like this.

It had been a week since her brute of a brother got engaged to the most beautiful woman Himiko Blackwell would ever lay eyes on. And despite what the heartbreaking situation ought to have her feeling like, she was, to her own surprise, actually having the time of her life.

Ochako was coming here every day. Her tour of the townhouse had finally begun, though they still spent most of their time in the gardens.

Currently, the woman who held her heart hostage was working on something Katsuki wanted. So Himiko - never one to waste any time when it came to Ochako - found herself at yet another baking lesson with Jin.

The man was looking down at the knife, terrified. “Y-you do it Himiko! I cannot use knives, you know this! Fooled you, I am the world's utmost expert at it!” 

Himiko let out a cackle at his endearing antics, flour colouring her cheeks. “Jin, it is butter and strawberries. For someone that comes from a family of bakers, it is surprising that you can't even cut butter!”

Jin let out a laugh, “While that may be true, I have still taught you the art of creating pastries for the future Duchess! And you have become extremely skilled at the art of using a knife, Himiko! Each of us can do what we do best.”

She giggled. He was right, of course. This past week two most delightful things had happened: first, the noise in her mind was almost dead quiet. Secondly, she had become eerily good at using a knife, who knew it was so enjoyable?

When the strawberry cake was done, she left the kitchens with the tray and set a small rose at the top. From this angle, the colour looked rather like Ochako’s pretty cheeks when she blushed.

Himiko was jolted out of her own thoughts as Ochako was suddenly in front of her, sniffing the air with a contented smile on her face. Her foolish heart had surrendered itself to her so absolutely she doubted it would ever recover.

“Himiko!”, the woman said, her eyes alight with that familiar glow they've had since their first dance lesson. “That cake looks delicious, did the cooks make it for you?”

The brunette was staring at the cake with a look of such profound longing it actually made Himiko jealous over a fucking cake. 

Himiko giggled and smiled at Ochako, causing the brunette to stumble slightly. “Hmm, you are quite wrong, Ochako,” she hummed, before extending the cake with a flourish, “I made this cake. Well, with Jin's help, but I've been taking lessons from him for nearly two weeks at this point.”

Ochako looked up at her, stunned.

“And it is not for me. Well, not just for me. I made it for you, for I do not wish you to work so ferociously on Katsuki's utterly boring duties without earning a well deserved snack. But we have to go to the garden alcove first.” Himiko then wiggled her eyebrows, “What say you, would the future Duchess of Rivermoor grant humble me a most alluring audience?”

Ochako's face was dusted by her familiar, gorgeous blush, but, as it seemed to be the rule these days, she didn't lose her cool, “I would be most honoured to share pastries with the infamous Lady Blackwell. Please,” she extended her hand, “do lead the way, my Lady.”

Himiko blushed and turned her head away towards the garden, but grabbed her hand. She, like the pathetically-in-love woman she was, panicked and blurted “Onward!”

Such an embarrassing fool! This also seemed to happen more often. Ochako would not lose her cool, and Himiko, who wasn't used to someone actually replying to her playful flirting, would be the one to blush and lose hers.

As they arrived and sat down, Ochako, who sat in front of her, suddenly looked at her and giggled, interrupting Himiko, who was in the middle of expertly cutting up two slices.

“What?” Himiko said, playfully glaring at Ochako, who just giggled in response.

“You have flour on your nose,” laughing harder as Himiko's eyes widened for an instant.

Himiko grumbled and grabbed a napkin, cleaning off her nose. “Thought I cleaned it all off. Well now, for your intrusions, you-”, she plucked the rose from Ochako's plate, “-do not get the rose anymore.”

The brunette pouted at her.

Bloody hell I loathe this woman.

Himiko grumbled once again and placed the rose back, extending it towards Ochako who whooped happily.

Himiko watched closely as the woman of her dreams gave her first bite, joy flooding her senses as the woman's face scrunched up at delight. She was pretty sure she was beaming at her, but she couldn't help it!

Ochako hummed, “Oh heavens, this is wonderful Himiko, you are making strawberry become one of my favourite flavours! How did you manage to-” she grabbed another bite, looked up at her smiling face, and promptly choked on her food.

Himiko cackled, “Huh, I didn't expect it to be that good. Please do remind me to thank Jin.” She proceeded to take a bite herself. 

... It truly was that good.

She took another, larger bite, smudging her lips without a care in the world as she savoured what had to be her best work yet. When she glanced up, she found Ochako just staring at her, an unreadable expression on her face. Before Himiko could ask, Ochako reached across the table and, with a startling gentleness, wiped the smudges of cake from her lips.

Himiko's mind immediately went blank.

Ochako's eyes widened as she seemed to realize what she had done, quickly retrieving her hand, blushing.

This was quickly turning into a catastrophe.

Say something. Anything! The first thought that comes to mind!

“You know, I do not think I ever told my brother how lucky he was to be marrying a woman as pretty as yourself.”

Not that!

She was sure her face was volcanic, but Ochako's absolutely was too. Well, at the very least both were being pathetic together.

It had been two weeks since the day Himiko bared part of her soul open and Ochako didn't look away. On the contrary, the woman was now insisting that it was her turn to show Himiko the things she liked most.

Which apparently included riding her ridiculous brown mare named Buttercup.

Himiko loathed horses. Ever since she had a small accident on one when she was but a kid, she had thrown every tantrum the world was willing to listen to avoid ever getting on one of them. They were beasts! She was terrified, and here Ochako was, nuzzling her face against the coat of a gigantic one called fucking Buttercup.

The stable boy was looking at Himiko in wonder, his first time ever seeing her visit her own grounds. Whenever he looked at her too hard, waiting for the blonde to get on a hunter, she would glare at him.

Ochako decided this was just the absolute perfect moment to chime in, “Himiko, aren't you going to get on?”

Himiko turned to look at her, faking bravado, “Ah! Yes, of course! I just need to… uhm… go get a saddle! Yes, indeed.”

Ochako tilted her head adorably, “But the hunter already has the saddle placed,” she pointed a finger at the black beast, “see?”

The brunette then laughed and got closer to Himiko, lacing all her fingers with hers and squeezing, trying to be reassuring in their own little way they had built, “Himiko, why are you so nervous? You're acting like you've never been to the stables before. It's only me, I can take it easy if you want, we do not have to race.” She gave her a reassuring smile.

The stable boy decided to give his own comment, “Well, my Lady, the last time she came here I had not even started working here, my father was in charge!”

Himiko glared at him again, shutting him up. Good, little runt.

As she turned back to face what was surely going to be a laughing Ochako, the woman just gave her a small smile, “Oh Himiko, are you afraid? That is quite alright, I adore horses, but I understand that they could be quite intimidating to some.”

Himiko looked away, embarrassed, dropping Ochako's hands, “That's not it I just-” she sighed, “-I had an accident while riding when I was younger. I- I haven't been here since.”

Ochako didn't deter, instead, she turned to look at her side, her cute face scrunching up in concentration, before she turned to her, alight. “I've got it! We shall ride together. You can hold on to me until your fears are gone. And then, if you wish to, we can ride side-by-side like we originally wished. Agreed?” She extended her hand, as they always did to each other nowadays.

Himiko sputtered, her mind reeling at the sheer concept of riding while holding on to Ochako's back, trying very hard to stray her rapidly drifting thoughts away from recalling the small layer of definition she had felt when she caught her during their first dance.

Ochako let out a laugh, grabbing Himiko's hand before she could object, “Well, I don't hear an objection, so I'm taking charge here,” Oh she could take charge whenever she- “you've taught me how to draw, and dance, so it's time I taught you how to ride!”

Did she really have to phrase things like that? She was already going to combust and they hadn't even started yet!

Ochako mounted in one smooth motion, then turned and held a hand out, smiling, “Come, Himiko. I’ll help you up.”

Himiko swallowed, glaring at Buttercup as if the mare had personally offended her. With an unladylike huff she placed her hand in Ochako’s, and in a whirl of skirts and mortification found herself perched behind her, the beast shifting beneath them.

She was terrified. And Ochako could clearly tell.

Ochako laughed softly. “Hold onto me, Himiko, if it helps, use-”

“Let me guess,” Himiko interrupted with a wicked grin and a sarcastic tone, tightening her arms around Ochako’s very firm waist, “all my hand? All five?”

Ochako jolted, then burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. “You started that during those drawing lessons! I'm just doing it because it helped me!”

Himiko then shot back, “Ah, yes, you were such a mess, my then-useless apprentice. A miracle ailment, then! Maybe I should start charging for it.”

They both laughed at that, the memory of smudged charcoal and Ochako’s nerves bubbling up between them. Their giggles tangled until the mare tossed her head, jolting them sideways.

Oh bloody hell. Himiko squeaked, clutching Ochako tighter, her heart thundering.

Ochako, still half-laughing, patted the reins with practised calm. “Easy, girl, easy.” The mare stilled. Ochako twisted just enough to glance back at Himiko, her smile gentle. “See? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You've ‘got me’?!. I am quite literally yours for the taking.

Himiko clung tighter than she’d meant to, face burning as she tried to disguise it with another laugh. But then Ochako was right there, her most definitely defined back pressing against her, that familiar alluring vanilla perfume mixing with fresh grass and the smallest hint of sweat and quickly making Himiko's mind wander towards places she knew it shouldn't. Because she knew that as much as she'd love nothing more than to bury herself in Ochako, she really shouldn't.

In a panic, she quickly removed herself before immediately being cruelly reminded about her lack of experience as she almost fell off, and so she grabbed onto her waist again. Her waist, which felt soft and strong all at once and her hands were way too low and oh heavens, where in the bloody hell was she supposed to place her hands?! Her shoulders? No, too firm, too close to her wonderful chest - not to mention she'd fall in a second, of course. Her ribs? Too high.

Her hand slid, brushing against Ochako's hip and she jolted back as if burned. But before she could retreat entirely, Ochako shifted with the mare's motion, leaning back slightly into her as if inviting her in. And as clutched tighter and allowed herself to bask in the other woman's presence, Himiko's poor, hopeful heart thought that she could do this forever if Ochako simply asked.

The horse moved into a smooth trot. Ochako’s laughter bubbled again, rich and unguarded. Himiko blinked, startled by how carefree it sounded. Does she always laugh this much when riding her horse?

She looked so… joyful, as she turned between looking at the beautiful scenery and back at Himiko's flushed face.

When at last they slowed, Ochako swung them down with ease, helping Himiko to the ground before leading her to a stretch of grass. They collapsed side by side, breathless, shoulders brushing.

That had actually been… ridiculously fun.

Himiko turned her face to the sky, then to her. “You know…” she said, voice lilting, “I think I want to try it again, with my own horse. Side by side this time.”

Ochako’s eyes lit up like dawn, and suddenly it was all worth it.

Himiko grinned, embarrassed and elated all at once. “If I go soon, we can maybe even catch the sunset and be back at Katsuki's study before it's too late.”

Ochako answered, “I would love it if we could catch it together.” Then, she stood up and extended her hand, “Let me teach you how to ride on your own, Himi.”

At that endearing name, Himiko’s foolish heart leapt into her throat, daring to believe that she might be the cause of Ochako’s earlier joy. That maybe, just maybe, the brunette felt the same delight in her company. She crushed the thought before it could take root, but still took her hand, blushing furiously at the name that would surely echo in her mind for the rest of her life.

The following day, Himiko lay in her chamber, staring down at her garden from her window.

There, stood Ochako with Katsuki.

Ochako had looked so foolishly delighted when she taught her how to ride her hunter and later on as they rode together, laughing into the sunset, and it was frankly everything.

And, as she looked at them, trying to school her stupid mind back into place, she decided to sketch them. The actual couple.

As much as seeing the two people she loved most be together - her dear brother, and the woman who she was falling more in love with every day - felt like being gutted, she was also… calm.

Because being Ochako's sister-in-law would be enough, she realized.

Because that meant baking her all the pastries in the world, giving her as many lessons as she so wished, showing her as many caricatures and flowers as time would allow them, and hearing that musical laugh as they rode on their horses. 

That meant making Ochako happy. 

And so that night, Himiko Blackwell made a vow. She would accept her role with no hesitation, even if she had to beat her own heart into submission, as long as she could make the woman she loved happy and see her prosper before all.

Chapter Text

It had been a month and a half since Izuku Milverton had his dream handed to him on a silver platter. And, frightening as it had been, it had also been quite simply exhilarating.

Spending his days theorizing with Kacchan, throwing rapid-fire responses to the blond's incredibly smart remarks, was marvelous. And now there was something akin to friendship, too: going to the archery grounds to compete every Wednesday and Saturday or even going to museums together! That flicker he had been so terrified of was, in fact, growing into a fire, but he was surprised by how calm and happy he felt despite the fact. That certainly wasn't part of any of his forecasts.

And that was without even considering that once a week he sat with Ochako to talk through this new life, and whenever their paths crossed, conversation with Himiko brightened up his day.

It really was astonishing how a struggling baron's son like him was able to somehow reach this position, while also getting enough money to keep his family upright. It, frankly, was a miracle from the Saints themselves. One he surely did nothing to deserve.

Which is why, walking through the northern townhouse halls after his morning horse ride, hearing the cruel words of the visiting Viscounts Bolton and Davis - who were waiting on an audience with Kacchan - hurt so much.

“Is that the rat who His Grace decided to show mercy upon?” Davis whispered, but intentionally not low enough, making sure the much lower-ranking Izuku could hear him.

The other man, Bolton, sneered. “Indeed, that is His Grace's little charity project. One does hope his... patronage... proves to be a worthwhile investment. And if not, that he discards it before it leeches him dry.”

Izuku swallowed nervously and quickened his pace.

They were just words. They shouldn't hurt; they knew nothing of the way Kacchan thought he had a “bloody brilliant” mind, of their scientific partnership or now friendship. 

And yet… the words struck deep inside his certainly not brilliant mind, resonating with his own perceived shortcomings. He knew, deep in his heart, that Kacchan offering this to him just didn't make sense. It was an unbalanced system Kacchan didn't have enough to gain from, and, as nature tended to do, it would eventually correct itself and the blond he admired would realize they were right.

And that is why, later that night, in the laboratory, Izuku could not concentrate in the slightest.

“Bookworm, go for sample 3C, it's the glass jar in the-” Kacchan's gruff voice said, apparent annoyance in his voice, but Izuku knew better now. Spending every night together had made him learn more about the man than what was probably a healthy amount.

“-I know, I'll get it,” he replied, though his mind couldn't concentrate at all. 

A charity project. A rat. How long until Kacchan realizes it, too, and this has to end?

He didn't want it to end. He truly didn't. 

His hands were shaking; he stood on his toes to reach for the jar labeled ‘3B.’

“That's 3B, bookworm, I can go grab it-”

“N-no! I've got it, apologies Kacchan.” He replied, almost too quickly, and set the jar back, reaching towards another one. The correct one, this time.

Heavens, he could not even grab the correct sample. He needed air, he needed to stop feeling useless. He needed to go gaze at the constellations until his mind and heart calmed down, he needed-

His line of thought was interrupted, a sudden sharp noise went through his ears as the jar hit the ground due to his useless, trembling hands.

And then, an even sharper pain went through his arm. Small, thankfully no glass got stuck, but enough to release a hiss of pain from his mouth.

This was a disaster. He was contaminating valuable data that Kacchan had required for weeks, just ruined their entire experiment, and was rapidly on the way to proving how certifiably useless he was.

He needed to leave, now.

He grasped his arm and began to flee, Kacchan for some odd reason calling after him, “Bookworm, wait, is your arm alright?”

Izuku, almost too quickly, interrupted him, “It- it's quite alright, Your Gra- Kacchan! Not worthy of your concern, truly!”

He bolted out of the study, the steps following him but a mere drop in the background of the noise in his own head.

He had just destroyed weeks of research. His proposed experimentation methods which were meant to prove that Kacchan's old partner was barbaric had been working, and now Izuku was destroying them.

He got to the central gardens just in time for his heart not to collapse, and he laid down on the clearing that had the best view of the night sky.

It was cold. He was shivering, his arm hurt and definitely needed to be tended to, but he didn't care. He needed to calm down. To gaze at the constellations until the hammering in his head quietened and he could somehow gather the courage to ask Kacchan for another chance.

It had been but ten minutes before he started hearing a pair of footsteps getting closer, jolting him up into a sitting position.

He turned and looked at the imposing figure approaching him.

No. He wasn't ready for Kacchan yet. He would surely make a mess of things and get sent back, surely-

“Give me your arm,” the man said with softness unlike any Izuku had heard before, sitting down next to Izuku, the moonlight shining in his striking hair.

“What? N-no it is quite fine, I do not need-” he stammered.

“Tch. You are still bleeding, that is not ‘fine’. Give it. Now,” the Duke continued, now clearly less than impressed by him being a blabbering mess.

He extended it, bracing for an impatient grab, instead astonished by the tenderness with which Kacchan touched him. It shocked him, how right it felt to be held like this, to feel Kacchan's hands, significantly warmer than his own, and his gruff fingers tracing near his injury with surprising softness.

He swallowed down his nerves. The flame was growing and now was not the time. 

Kacchan pulled out a bottle of vinegar, “Tch. If you had stayed here you would've filled your wounds with maggots and converted something minor into life-threatening.” He poured the liquid into Izuku's wound, making Izuku hiss and flinch, Kacchan holding his arm in place.

The bleeding was sluggish, but it hadn’t stopped. Kacchan made a sound of disgust in his throat. “Tch. It’ll get on your sleeve and stain it.”

Before Izuku could protest, Kacchan was unwinding the dark silk cravat from his own neck. The fabric was impossibly soft as he wrapped it firmly around Izuku’s forearm, knotting it with a swift pull. Izuku stared at the rich, dark silk stark against his simple linen shirt, his eyes wide and his breath catching in his throat. It was an absurdly intimate gesture, like a piece of the Duke himself was now bound to him.

“You know this, I know you do, you do not carry a fool's mind,” Kacchan continued, now glaring at him, “so tell me, what possessed you to act like one?”

Of course Izuku knew of the dangers. He just could not think. He was going to get to his chambers and tend to his own wound, later, it was minor. But-

“I was… I was not in the right state of mind, Kacchan,” he retorted, gaze drifting sideways to land on the pale light reflecting off the grass.

“You do not say?” the blond sarcastically quipped, “your hands would not stop shaking. Even now, they still are.”

Izuku looked up at him, only to immediately drift his gaze sideways at the intensity of Kacchan's stare, shame filling up his eyes. 

Of course someone as brilliant as him had noticed his inadequacy.

Kacchan's voice softened as he nudged his head upwards, coercing him into looking at that intense crimson gaze. “Izuku,” Izuku couldn't avoid the small gasp at the way Kacchan spoke his name with such care, “you can trust me. What is it that troubles you?”

Izuku took a deep breath, his mind pondering a million scenarios at frightening speed, trying to decide if speaking his thoughts was the best choice. But it seemed like his heart decided to trust the man before his mind could.

“I… I overheard some Viscounts today, Kacchan.” He didn't need to say the name, there were only two Viscounts that had visited that morning.

He saw Kacchan's stare harden into a rageful glare, pinning him in place, “Go on.”

“Y-yes. They mentioned that I was just a- a charity project. A… a rat that you would-” he turned his gaze sideways, his own eyes slightly glossy, “-you would eventually discard when you realized how much it was leeching from you.”

The man growled, causing Izuku to yelp slightly. Gods, it was surely over now, right? Kacchan would notice and-

The man interrupted his thoughts, rage lacing his tone. “Those pompous arses. Saying that because they think their lowly station makes them worth something, when they are still powerless themselves. I will ensure they never say that again.”

No! That would mean a scandal caused because of him!

“No, Kacchan!” The man turned to him again, his eyes slightly widened in surprise, “they were… they were right. Just look at how I delayed our research for weeks, there is truly nothing you gain from this. I- I am just leeching off of you, you have no reason to need me here-”

His words were silenced when Kacchan held his hand up in front of him. Now he looked even more angry, but at him.

The man took a deep breath, his gaze now softening.

“Izuku,” he started, his tone having a completely new and stunning shyness to it, “who cares about some weeks? We have years to do our experiments. And…” he took a second before looking up directly into Izuku's own gaze. 

“You are brilliant. You provide more to my research and enjoyment in a day than those fools could in a lifetime. You are with me because I want you here. Is that not reason enough?” The man finished.

Oh. That… that was a perfect explanation. It made everything make sense, even if it originally seemed like an unbalanced system. He hadn't accounted for the human choice, and it-

It made him feel wanted. It made him feel like he was worth something.

It made that fire inside him expand into an inferno that warmed his cheeks and painted a smile on his face.

He beamed at the man who made him feel more than anyone else, “Kacchan! I- I do not know what to say, I also want to be-”

“Tch.” The man cut him off, turning his head sideways, a small blush at the tips of his ears. “Do not let it get into your head, bookworm,” the man smirked, before turning to look at him, “now, why in the bloody hell did you come here instead of your chambers? It took me minutes to find you in the dark.”

Izuku laughed sheepishly, a hand coming up behind his neck, “Oh! I needed some air and I- I really enjoy looking at the constellations, it calms me down. But I'm feeling better now, we can go back to the laboratory and see what we can salvage!”

The man shook his head, and it was only then that Izuku saw what he was holding in his other hand. “No. You are still in no state. We can count this night as lost. Besides,” he continued, pulling out the blanket he held there, “it has been a long time since I gazed at the stars. However, unlike you, I am not a fool and I know about the cold of the night. And I know a significantly better place for it. Come.”

Izuku brightly grinned at Kacchan, his heart leaping into his throat. This man, beneath his gruff exterior, was absolutely marvelous.

Kacchan just huffed at his look and continued walking, turning back to look impatiently at a still-beaming Izuku who laughed and trailed behind him.

As Izuku’s heart kept doing backflips, Kacchan led him not back toward the study, but to a part of the townhouse Izuku had only glimpsed: a vast conservatory, its glass roof a web of framing the star-dusted sky. He nudged Izuku onto a wrought-iron bench, then settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. He unfurled the thick wool blanket and draped it over both of them with a huff.

They sat in a comfortable silence, a shared warmth beneath the wool. The hammering in his head had stopped, along with his shivering. He watched as the inky black of the sky gave way to thousands of stars, the man beside him analyzing them carefully.

“So, bookworm, what is your favourite one?” 

The spaniel, a creature of paws and ears now grown slightly bigger - but still miserably small - nudged a wet nose against her hand. Mon, she had named him. She stirred, her thoughts drifting back from the place they lingered far too often these days. She was in her sleeping mother’s sitting room, but her heart was miles away, caught within the stone walls of the Blackwell townhouse, stuck in memories of a smiling blonde.

It had been a month since she first rode side-by-side with Himiko, and it had been the most amazing month. During it, she one day arrived with her own leather sketchbook, asking Himiko to continue their drawing lessons, which they then steadily had during the past month.

It was just an excuse to spend more time with Himiko, although it’s not like she ever needed one, anyhow…

But it was fine! Because going to the Blackwell townhouse to see Himiko meant she could spend some time getting to know her future husband, too.

Right?

She glanced down, and there, on her lap lay the lesson sketchbook, its leather cover already softened from use. She hadn’t meant to bring it, had told herself it was foolish to carry it with her everywhere like some cherished relic. And yet, here it was. Her fingers traced the clumsy, uneven outline of her first rose, the one Himiko’s hand had guided into existence. The day Himiko first saw the sketchbook, she had insisted that this very first drawing must be stitched into the opening page to truly show her journey, and so they had done exactly that. A phantom warmth spread up her arm at the memory of their first lesson, a blush threatening even now, in this quiet room. It was absurd, utterly absurd, how a single touch could leave such a lasting echo.

She flipped a page, a drawing of foxglove coming into view, and her mind was no longer in the sitting room. It was in the blue-grey light of dawn, an hour she usually avoided. Ochako had always hated mornings, but after overhearing Jin gently scolding Himiko for tending the beds herself before the staff was even awake, she’d felt a need to witness that sight. She had justified it as the duty of a future sister-in-law, arriving early to find Himiko not in her usual spot, but kneeling near a forgotten flowerbed. Her morning gown was scandalously smudged at the knee, sleeves pushed to her elbows, and somehow, she looked more radiant than Ochako had ever seen her.

There was no pretense, no performance. Just Himiko, a smudge of rich, dark earth high on her forehead, her beautiful hands working through the soil with a focused, reverent care. Ochako had simply stood there, hidden by a mesh of climbing ivy, completely speechless at the entrancing sight. She watched as the Duke’s sister, a woman of impossible wealth and station, gently untangled the roots of a rosebush as if it were the most important work in the world, honeyed eyes full of profound care. When Himiko had finally looked up and noticed her, there was no embarrassment in her now lit-up golden eyes, only an excited smile and a happy blush that made Ochako feel as though she were the one who had been caught doing something strange. Himiko, smiling even wider, had held up her soil-streaked hands and waved at her excitedly. “Chako! What brings you here so early?,” she’d said, and the endearing name warmed Ochako’s very soul. After that beautiful sight, Ochako found herself rising before the sun more often than not, bringing a cup of tea out to the gardens just to sit in the quiet company of a woman who could light up her mornings more than extra sleep or boring lords ever could.

Her fingers turned another page then, landing on a faint, ghostly smudge that smelled of strawberry. The strawberry cake. It had become their ritual, an unspoken appointment for the afternoons when Ochako’s head ached from staring at endless lists of all the expectations awaiting her once she was appointed Duchess. Himiko would appear with a single slice on a porcelain plate, and they would sit on the stone balustrade overlooking the gardens and share it; all the while discussing either Himiko’s caricatures or the gossip either of them had heard. It seemed like Himiko knew that laughing until her ribs hurt was the best cure for Ochako’s anxieties, and she administered it with startling efficiency. 

It was on one of those afternoons that the wind had picked up, a playful gust that whipped a strand of hair across Ochako’s face and tugged at the simple pink ribbon at her wrist - the same one she always spent perfecting before seeing Himiko - loosening the knot until it threatened to come undone entirely. Before she could fix it, Himiko had set down her fork, her expression turning serious, as if this were a matter of grave importance. Her fingers, long and impossibly gentle, had brushed against Ochako’s skin as she captured the fluttering silk. She’d retied it, her head bent in concentration, in a perfect, elegant bow, her touch so light and deliberate it sent a shiver straight up Ochako’s arm. “You’ve worn your ribbon so prettily since the second time we saw each other,” Himiko had said, her voice soft. “I assume it’s important to you.” Ochako’s breath had caught, trapped in her throat, overwhelmed that Himiko had noticed such a foolish little detail. She had not untied that bow until she’d had to for bed that night, her own fingers tracing the perfect, careful loops long after the sun had set.

A faint scent clung to the final page she’d worked on. There, pressed beside her latest drawing, was a violet. She smiled, closing her eyes, and suddenly she was back in the townhouse, the air thick with charcoal and roses. The woman who had taken permanent residence in her mind was showing her how to press flowers, her movements delicate as she arranged a tiny purple bloom. Then, with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes, she had picked up another. “Tu es tellement talentueuse, ma chère petite artiste,” she’d murmured, Ochako didn’t understand a word but her knees still went weak at them. After that, Himiko leaned in. Her warmth, her closeness, that lovely, infuriating pomegranate scent, had surrounded her as her impossibly soft fingers tucked the small violet behind Ochako’s ear. The ghost of that touch still haunted her, a phantom pressure that could make her entire body go still.

Later, her heart still hammering, Ochako had found a perfect violet of her own and, in a surge of bravery, had offered it to Himiko. “I saved the one you gave me in my sketchbook”, she blushed before steeling her nerves, “this is for your own,” she’d managed, her voice barely a whisper but her eyes full of resolve. Himiko had taken it, and Ochako had seen it then, that soft, beautiful smile and blush she loved so much bringing her cheeks to life. She hadn’t put it in the book on the table, though. She’d held it carefully between her fingers, a strange, tender, and almost sad expression in her golden eyes. “I promise I will, Chako,” she’d said softly, “it just fits another sketchbook better. Trust me.” The words had left her with a lingering, aching curiosity that she found herself returning to again and again in the quiet of her own room, wondering what lovely secrets of the woman she was desperate to know all of laid in that other book.

Ochako sighed happily, closed the sketchbook and stroked her puppy's fur, her cheeks aching from the stupidly big smile she couldn't suppress. Himiko just had this effect on her; the more they knew each other, the more her heart seemed to leap at the very thought of her. It was wonderful. She was wonderful.

A voice, warm with love, shook her from her thoughts. “Oh, my darling Ochako, you are glowing,” her mother said, apparently having been awake for some time. Ochako turned, stunned, the smile still frozen on her lips. “I knew seeing the Duke more would do wonders for tending to that flame. I am so happy to see you shine so much. You need not worry about me, my daughter. I will be overjoyed as long as I know you are genuinely content.”

Her mother’s words were cut short by a violent, rattling cough that shook her frail body. Ochako was at her side in an instant, pressing a napkin to her mother's mouth. “Mama!” Her mother shook her head, offering another weak smile. “It is okay, my love.”

But Ochako saw it, a faint crimson mark on her teeth. When she pulled the napkin away, her own breath hitched. It was smudged with blood. Her Mama was not getting better. Her dear mother, holding on to see her marry, buoyed by the hope of a beautiful lie her own daughter was feeding her.

Ochako started feeling cold on the inside, her heart leaping with fear. She wished she could do anything if it meant seeing her recover. She was willing to do whatever it took for it.

And yet… she couldn’t even tell her the truth.

Two weeks until the wedding, and no matter how desperately she tried, she was simply not capable of loving Katsuki. Not the kind, respectable man who had so graciously welcomed her, who had trusted her with duties far beyond her station and offered words of admiration in front of the king himself. Instead of mustering the quiet, steady love he deserved, she was busy daydreaming about moments with his sister. About a warmth so bright it felt like the sun. About a feeling so intense it left her breathless and confused, a confusing mix of joy and longing she had no words for.

What is wrong with me? She was a fool. She was so weird about it all. And she was failing them all; her mother, her betrothed. She was an awful daughter, an inadequate fiancée, a fraud feeding lies to two people who deserved the world instead of… her.

Before she knew it, her hands were trembling, gloved fists clenching so tightly the silk strained over her knuckles. Her eyes began to sting.

“Ochako?” Her mother asked, concern etched in her features.

“M-mama,” her voice cracked. “I need to leave. I forgot something at the Blackwell townhouse.”

She fled before her mother could answer, before the pup could even stir to follow, tears of shame streaming down her face. She had been given a month and a half and had achieved nothing but tricking people who deserved so much more. And instead of gaining clarity, her own feelings were a more tangled mess than ever, leaving her to wonder what any of it even meant.

No. This was useless. Crying over her own inadequacy wouldn’t magically cure her mother, or make her a worthy Duchess. Lamenting her failure with only two weeks to go would solve nothing. She had to continue her mission, somehow.

But to do that, she needed comfort. She needed a sense of control, a way to regain her bearings before she shattered completely. And there was only one person, one simple gesture, that had ever given her both.

With a singular, desperate objective, a teary Ochako was on Buttercup's back, the beginnings of rain be damned, riding for the Blackwell townhouse.

Himiko sat in her bedchamber, rain pattering outside, a longing smile playing on her lips. Her finger traced the lines of a drawing in her most private sketchbook: Ochako, her face a beautiful contradiction of a shy blush and fierce determination in her eyes, offering her a flower. Tucked onto the facing page, preserved like a gift from the Saints themselves, was that very violet.

She let out a soft, helpless sigh, closing the book. Gods, she had it bad for this woman.

She placed the book at the bottom of the stack on her bedside table. The morbid landscapes, the merciless caricatures, and this: the final, most vulnerable layer. The book that held not her view of the world, but her heart. A testament to her monstrous appetites, her unnatural, all-consuming way of loving.

A wry smile touched her lips. She had shown Ochako the other books, the art and the anger; during that last showing hoping the sharp edges would scare her away. It had been her oldest, most reliable defense: show them the monster, and watch them flee. But Ochako hadn't just tolerated what she saw; she had celebrated it. And in that acceptance, a small, dangerous part of Himiko had begun to feel seen. Loved, even, as ridiculous as that fancy was. The thought of losing that now, of Ochako being scared off, was a new and intense kind of terror.

Ever since the gala, Himiko’s feelings had grown impossibly more, her trust for Ochako absolute and an ever-growing part of her - overriding her usual fear - yearning to show all of herself to the woman. However, as much as she hoped she could, this book was different. The danger here wasn't just the nature of her feelings and what they represented, but their intensity. Because what sane person, upon discovering their friend and future sister-in-law had been secretly documenting their every shared moment, their every smile and blush, wouldn't be terrified? It wasn't the love that was monstrous, it was the utterly deranged obsession that would be enough to scare off even someone as full of sunshine as the woman she loved.

It was during this thought that a knock on the door jolted her.

She walked towards it, and there was Jin. Behind him, her hair damp from rain and her eyes - oh bloody hell - red and puffy, was Ochako.

“Himiko, she said she needed to discuss something of utmost importance urgently!” Jin said, his face full of worry.

“Chako? Are you alright?” She asked, walking closer, her expression filled with concern.

Ochako shook her head, “That is precisely what I am here for, I-,” she walked in and looked at the door, “Jin, can we close the door? This matter is most private.”

It was then that Jin did something so out of his station that it stunned even her. “Of course! In fact, you will be the Duchess in just two weeks, so I will stand outside and give you both some privacy!”

The moment the man had left and the door clicked, Ochako, her dear, sweet, and currently completely broken Ochako, collapsed into her bed.

“Chako? What is it?” Himiko asked, moving closer to rub her cold, damp back.

Oh heavens, she is freezing. She needed to get her some tea, or do something to warm her up-

“H-himi I,” the woman hiccupped, a sob racking through her entire body. Himiko couldn’t just leave her alone to go get tea, so she quickly grabbed a blanket and covered her up.

The woman took a shuddering breath and continued, her voice shaky, “I am completely inadequate and un-undeserving of your brother’s love and-and especially my M-mama’s.”

As she mentioned her mother, an intense sob completely racked her body, so loud she was sure Jin would be able to hear her outside.

Himiko was panicking internally. She had never been the one to help calm someone’s spirits from something this intense, it had always been the other way around.

“Ochako? Why would you ever think such a lie?” She said, the only truth that she could muster.

The woman looked directly at her, sitting up, but she couldn’t even form a sentence from how hard she was breathing, nothing but cut out attempts at her name forming before she sobbed again.

Talking wasn’t going to get them anywhere, yet.

This made Himiko start looking for the subtle signs she had learned that represented Ochako’s distress. The way she pursed her lips, almost futile with how much her body was trembling. The way her shoulders lurched inwards. And, most importantly, the way she would claw at her own palms and hurt herself with any fingers she could.

And there it was: her own damp hands were clutching at themselves so strongly Himiko was sure the silk of her gloves would rip anytime soon. That looked genuinely more painful than any of the times Himiko had torn her own skin just to get out of her own thoughts.

It was bad. It was really, really bad.

She sat next to the woman and tried to open up her hand, but Ochako wasn’t letting up.

“Chako, please, you are hurting yourself. Do you trust me?” At her words, the most magical woman she had ever met gave a shaky nod, inhaling rapidly, but still unwilling to open all her hand at once.

“Good. Let’s try with one first, okay?” As she said it, she grabbed both of Ochako’s shaky pinkies, one with each hand. It seemed that the shaking slightly calmed down, but it didn’t stop the rest of her fingers from ripping herself open.

“Good. Two”. Her ring fingers were next, Himiko tracing slow circles over her knuckles and never once looking away from Ochako’s downward face.

“Three,”middle finger. Even with two, the brunette’s destructive habit continued.

“Four,” only her thumbs were left now, but it seemed that they clutched harder than ever.

Himiko took a deep breath. She was beginning to lose some hope, but she truly hoped this worked, for nothing, not even her earlier fears, was more terrifying than Ochako losing her light.

“Five,” Ochako hesitated slightly, her thumb clawing at Himiko’s hand, making the blonde suppress a wince. But, eventually, she relented, letting Himiko clutch it fully.

Ochako held tightly onto her hand, stronger than she ever had, and it was only after that that her breathing started to really slow down.

A moment happened.

Then, another.

Until finally, Ochako looked up, her beautiful brown eyes looking up at Himiko’s own, full of warmth despite the sadness there.

“Th-thank you, Himi.” The woman tried for a smile, but it was watery, broken. However, Himiko could feel the five points of contact slightly lose their strength, could see her shoulders relax the slightest amount, and she knew this was working.

Himiko smiled at her, as tenderly as someone like her could muster, “Do not thank me, for you have done so much more for me. I will stay here until you need me to… However,” she continued, a grateful but confused look crossing Ochako’s face, “both our gloves are damp now. You are going to get sick, Ochako, I need to dry your hands first of all.” 

Ochako’s eyes widened, a small blush colouring her features. At that Himiko’s face got one, too, and she clarified, “If that is fine by you, of course.” It wasn’t like they had not done it before, but Himiko had been throwing a drunken tantrum back then.

Ochako gave her the most tender smile she had ever seen, her eyes still shining. “Of course it is, Himi. I trust you more than anyone.”

Himiko had to turn her face away to hide how much that simple comment made her feel. Stop, you fool. She dropped Ochako’s hands and stood up abruptly, going to grab a dry towel.

When she had come back, Ochako was back to clutching at her palms, but calmer this time. Himiko kneeled in front of her, swallowing to keep her own nerves down and focus on comforting the other woman.

“Let me know if anything makes you uncomfortable, yes?” Himiko said as she took off own her own gloves and dried her own hands, looking up at Ochako, who just smiled and nodded at her. She still looked one second away from breaking, and of course she did, they had not truly fixed anything yet.

She proceeded to take Ochako’s gloves, the wet silk giving way to gnarly, red palms. Himiko wanted to wince at the sight, because why would someone like Ochako ever feel the need the hurt themselves so badly. 

It seemed that no matter how much she tried to hide it, Ochako noticed, speaking as Himiko dried those beautiful hands. “I- I realize how odd I may seem for it. It’s just, when I feel powerless, whether it is because I feel like I’ll fail at something, or an even bigger cause, I clutch at anything I can. The pain helps me forget about my own futility sometimes.”

The woman took a deep breath before continuing, “which is also why you help me so much, Himi. When you hold me, all of me, my hands have no other way to hurt themselves. It grounds me, gives me the smallest sense of control,” she chuckled, a bitter thing. “I know it doesn’t fix anything but… for a moment, it makes all the burdens weighing me down feel the slightest bit lighter. It… it truly helps Himi, thank you.”

Oh. That is also why Ochako had done the same for her, too, trying to make her feel that same comfort. She couldn’t possibly love this wonderful human any more.

Before she even realized what she had done, she placed a kiss down Ochako’s irritated palms. Both froze, a mortified blush covering Himiko’s features because what a fool she was being. But Ochako, surprisingly and to her heart’s content, tipped her hands forwards towards her lips, as if grateful.

Himiko placed the towel down, and grabbed both of Ochako’s hands, - easier to unfurl this time - the skin-to-skin contact with the brunette’s cold hands a quick shock that she ignored as she turned her head to face her completely. Ochako was looking at her with her eyes full of gratefulness, her deep sadness mixed with what Himiko’s stupid heart wanted to see as adoration.

Himiko rubbed her thumb across the back of her hand as she held her favourite gaze in the world, “Chako, you can try telling me what happened now - if you wish to, of course.”

The other woman gave her a small, watery smile, as she answered, “My… my Mama’s very ill, Himiko. I don’t-” she took a shuddering breath, tears slipping down her eyes as she answered, “I don’t think she has very long left.”

Himiko’s heart squeezed in empathy, wanting nothing more than to whisper false promises to her love about how everything would be alright. Instead, she opted for squeezing her hand tenderly and listening to what else the woman in question had to say.

“And she has a… a wish for me. A wish that I have been trying so very hard to meet for her, but I- I cannot, Himi. I simply cannot, no matter how much I’m trying, or how badly I wish it. It’s like I’m broken.” She finished with a small sob, turning her gaze sideways.

“Ochako, listen to me carefully,” she squeezed the woman’s hands again, making Ochako look at her, “you are not broken. You are the most wonderful person I have ever met.”

Ochako shook her head, as if daring to doubt Himiko’s heart, tears spilling faster now. “No, Himi, you do not understand. I am not wonderful, I have somehow tricked even you into believing that. I am inadequate, I am unworthy of my Mama’s love or carrying her last wish, and doubly so of being the Duchess.”

Himiko tried to retort, to tell her how foolish she was, but the woman didn’t let her, continuing, “Do not start, Himiko. You have no idea how odd I am, how broken I am, how different-”, Ochako’s shoulders shook, “how weird I am over everything.”

Himiko looked straight at her eyes, dropping one of her now calm hands to wipe a tear from her cheeks. “You are weird Ochako,” and it was true, only someone weird would see Himiko’s ugliest truths and think they are marvelous, “but that is one of the things that I so adore about you.”

Maybe she was saying more than proper, but it was all worth it when Ochako’s eyes widened, a pretty blush colouring her pretty cheeks.

That thought was brutally crushed when the brunette frantically shook her head, “You are just saying that, you have no idea how far it extends, how confusing everything is, how-”

Himiko stood up, taking a deep breath and stunning Ochako at the loss of contact.

She made a quick decision she truly hoped she wouldn’t regret. Ochako trusted her, she felt inadequate, she felt that no one saw her. And, terrifying as the idea of this going wrong was, she knew Ochako would not listen to words at this point. There was only one way of showing Ochako how lovely Himiko truly thought she was, to get it through that insane, thick head of hers.

Himiko went toward the place where her biggest secret stood. The most deranged part of herself. But… she trusted Ochako to take it well, and it was also the one thing that she knew, with no doubt in her heart, would make Ochako see the truth of her marvelous self.

She came back with the leather-covered sketchbook in her hands, Ochako’s eyes widening at the sight.

“Himi, what is-” Himiko sat beside her and squeezed her hand reassuringly, shushing her.

“Trust me, Chako. You say your oddness is a mistake, and though I may not fully understand what you mean by it, I think it’s beautiful. You think your fire was to be ashamed of, and I’ve always found it radiant. You proved to me that you didn’t think my oddities were something to be ashamed of. This is… this is my way of showing you I feel the same, that I’ve always thought of every part of you as precious, and I don’t just say it as empty words to make you feel better.” She took a second to steel her nerves, noting the way Ochako’s pupils dilated. “This is also… the most intimate part of me. No one, not even Katsuki, has seen it. So let that show you that I mean what I say.”

Those last words had also been a way to brace herself against a possible rejection, but she couldn’t dwell on it, not when Ochako needed to feel better. She had vowed that she would place Ochako’s happiness before her own needs, and what honour would she have if she couldn’t do it when the other woman needed her most?

With a thundering heart, Himiko handed the book to Ochako, one hand still holding the brunette, Himiko being the one to clutch now.

She saw as the woman she’d always love opened it on the first page, her eyes widening in awe, a happy smile covering her features as she squeezed Himiko’s hand tenderly. “Himi, this is… thank you.”

Himiko just looked away with a small blush. At least she took the beginning well. This woman, gods, this woman was a gift from the heavens themselves. She just hoped it was enough to lift her spirits.

As Ochako continued laughing, crying her last tears, smiling, looking in awe, and always holding her hand, Himiko just watched, hopeful.

Then Ochako got to one of the last pages, the time Himiko had drawn her with Katsuki.

There, Ochako’s eyes widened. She turned back the page to the previous one, when they had been horse-riding, an unexplainable train of thought going through her head, increasing the anxiety in Himiko’s vulnerable heart. She wished she could hear the brunette’s thoughts, to know what was going on through her mind while Himiko exposed the deepest part of herself, to-

And that’s when she saw it. A sudden look of realization went through the woman’s features, which then turned into an abject look of sheer terror. 

Oh. Oh no. She had realized just how utterly deranged Himiko was, documenting Ochako as if she was another lord who owned her like property, like Kai had wanted to with Himiko herself. The terror on her face continued, the brunette not able to look away from the drawings long enough to notice the fear in Himiko’s own.

Himiko quickly dropped Ochako’s hand as if burned, her eyes stinging, her heart beating faster than she thought possible. It was finally happening, Ochako was realizing the depth of Himiko's feelings for her, how truly monstrous Himiko was.

At that, Ochako looked up at her, confused.

“I- I will go get some tea! You need to warm up or you will get ill,” her smile was too bright, she was sure her pathetic voice cracked at the end, but she didn’t care. Ochako looked at her with an unreadable expression on her face. Himiko turned around, grabbed her gloves and rapidly went to the door, ignoring Ochako’s confused asks and Jin’s worried words as tears spilled down her face and down the cold stone, hastily wiping them away so no one at the townhouse would see her, her heart feeling as if it was being split apart, her mind abruptly filling with noise.

Her greatest fear had come true, and it wasn’t as liberating as Himiko had once, many weeks ago, expected it to feel.

Ochako Underhill thanked the Saints the moment Himiko walked out the door suddenly. For if she hadn’t, she might’ve very well kissed the woman or even more.

Heavens, this was bad. This was terrible. And yet, nothing had ever felt so right or made as much sense in her life.

The moment Himi showed her the sketchbook, it’s like a key started opening a lock in Ochako’s very being. First, Himiko had been able to calm her down in a way no one else could. And then, seeing the way the woman saw her, the way she depicted her in her art - which was her way of expressing herself to the world - had been the most wondrous thing.

It seemed that Himiko captured every little thing, every look, every emotion, in Ochako’s soul. It had been so accurate that Ochako almost felt like she was reliving through every amazing moment of their last months together. Which is why, when she got to the page where Himiko drew her with Katsuki, she stilled. Himiko drew her in love, adoration in her and Katsuki’s faces. But Ochako knew that she didn’t love Katsuki, that she did not feel that way, much as she had tried. The contrast between Himiko’s earlier accuracy and that had been so jarring that it made her stop and look back at the previous drawing, the one where she was laughing while riding Buttercup with Himiko in her back. That was real, the light in her eyes was genuine, her happiness was genuine, the sheer joy and adoration was something that only Himiko brought out.

It was that comparison that made her realize that maybe her Mama was right, she did love someone. And that mayhaps that someone was a woman, the most wonderful one she had ever met. And the idea had made so much sense, that the more she pondered it, the more the depth of her feelings became true to her. And the sheer scale of it had been such a revelation, that it had terrified her, shook her to her very core as she recounted every moment, every thought, she had had with the blonde she loved.

She loved Himiko Blackwell.

Gods, just for how long had she felt this way? And did Himi feel the same way, is that why her love’s most intimate secret was full of loving drawings of her?

After that realization Himiko had suddenly stood claiming she would go for tea, breaking her out of her shock. At that moment, Ochako had wished for nothing more than to kiss her and claim her right there-

No. “Claim her?” Like some wretched lord staking a claim? Who was she to claim Himiko, anyways? As if she was mine-

It was at that thought that Ochako froze, remembering what Himiko had told her that first day they met.

I am no man’s, and I like it that way.

It was true, and her freedom was one of the things that had made Ochako love her in the first place.

Oh Heavens, what in the Saints’ name was she doing? 

A quick jolt of disgusting anger rose at herself for ever thinking that way. Then, another memory went through her, making her laugh bitterly as she remembered all the times Himiko had called them “kindred spirits” and all the times Ochako had, excitedly and foolishly, believed it to be true. Believed that she could ever be like the woman she admired most.

It was a fundamental lie, they were nothing alike.

For Himiko was no one’s, and Ochako was hers.

It was with this thought that Ochako shut Himiko’s sketchbook close with a thud, the small violet she had given Himiko falling to the ground. A foolish part of her felt happy at the idea that Himiko had placed it there, before her heart squeezed with longing at something that could never be.

Now it was not just about meeting her mother’s wish and being a worthy Duchess. It was also about protecting the woman she loved. Because Ochako knew how much Himiko hated cages, and she knew that she would rather die than place Himiko in a cage.

Just then Himiko re-entered her own chambers, and Ochako blushed and looked away, berating herself for acting like a schoolgirl. The reality of her own feelings now felt terrifyingly hard to keep in.

Himiko, though, surprised her by placing the tea tray down, only one cup in it, and then quickly separating herself.

Ochako looked at her, a questioning tilt of her head, “Himi, why is there only one-”

Himiko interrupted her, her profile turned sideways, “You can have the tea and stay here as long as you need. You have pretty much witnessed every part of me at this point. But I have to go, I have-”, Ochako was sure she heard Himi’s beautiful voice crack at the end, and the idea of the woman she loved crying was ripping her open from the inside.

Himiko finished her statement, “I must leave. If you need any more, please do tell Jin.”

And there, right before Himiko turned, Ochako saw a sight that would surely haunt her for the rest of her days. Himiko’s eyes were red, tears forming in her eyes. The woman left, and Ochako just stayed there, holding her hand out as if that could reach out, her heart tearing in half at the idea of Himiko’s beautiful face tainted by tears. Himiko had done her best, including showing Ochako her absolute biggest secret, to make her feel better. And now, for reasons Ochako did not even understand, she was crying, and Ochako could not even offer comfort to the person she felt everything for.

She was truly inadequate.

Nightfall was nearing when Katsuki suddenly heard a muffled sob near his sister’s chambers-

What the fuck?!

Why was the maniac crying? Saints help Chapman if he had something to do with it.

He could hear his own footsteps quicken as he reached for her door, and there, he found a sight he wasn’t expecting. Himiko was sobbing, yes. But she was also laughing, a bottle of sherry in one hand, and a damned flower in the other, already dressed in her nightgown. Seriously, what in the bloody hell got into her?

“You are not doing a good job of muffling your cries, maniac,” he said, grunting as he laid down next to her.

Himiko turned, laughing bitterly as she saw him. “Oh Katsuki, I truly do not care at this point. People already think the worst of me, let them. It’s not like they matter. anyway.”

This was grave, then.

He placed a hand on the top of her back, making her look at him, her eyes swollen.

“How long have you been crying for?” He asked the biggest question in his mind, his eyes full of genuine care.

“A couple of hours, give or take, some here, some in the gardens. Why? Are you going to berate me, too?” She replied, her tone defensive.

He grabbed her hands, forcing her to drop the items she was holding, the sherry staining her blankets.

“And when have I ever done that? Why would you ever  believe I would not stand by you, you imbecile?” He said, slight anger in his tone.

She had the audacity to scoff, trying - and failing - to get out of his grasp. “Oh, Katsuki, Katsuki,” she shook her head sarcastically, infuriating him. “Mother was like that once. Other people were like that once. There are limits that even you would not easily look past, my dear brother.”

That did it.

He growled at her, “Fucking try me, then.”

She laughed, “You know what? I shall. I shall tell you the most monstrous part of me, so that the last person to stand by my side can finally tell me how I’m just an omen for ruin and abandon me! Then I can finally be free of my delusions of anyone ever understanding every little part of me.”

That completely stunned Katsuki. What in the heavens had got into her? And why, why, was she giggling like a complete maniac?

She continued, clicking her tongue and shaking her head as if making fun of him, clearly having given up on breaking out of his grasp. “Oh my dear brother, remember how mother took me away sometimes to help save my soul?”

He nodded slowly. Their mother had always been well meaning, even if clearly broken in her latter years.

“Well… you would’ve agreed with her. Let’s just say she suspected, with quite alarming precision, that I had certain… monstrous appetites that would condemn my soul and everyone around me.” She was grinning at him as if this was just a game, but he could see the truth behind her eyes. She was daring him to run, she was hoping he would so she could stop pretending to be strong and continue to break privately. Fool, as if he ever would.

He just glared at her and nodded, “I doubt that. What ever could be so monstrous as to condemn you? She was clearly wrong.”

She laughed bitterly, again, extending her held arms with a flourish as if she were a magician revealing her trick. “Women, Katsuki! Is that not wonderful? Your little deranged sister loves women. Your little maniac loves unnaturally, and your mother couldn’t fix the broken toy. No matter how hard she tried, I continue to feel that same fire when talking to ladies, continue to yearn about the day when I will converse with O-” she cut herself short, genuine pain flickering in her eyes, before continuing “-one again, continue to think about time spent with them before falling asleep, to chase their fire, laughter and that warmth and glint in their eyes when they’re happy. Isn’t that just lovely, my dear brother? Do you see now? Do you see why every Blackwell but you eventually decided I was not worth the trouble?”

She was smiling, too much, too wide, her voice high with fake cheerfulness. But her eyes told a completely different story, clearly showing that she was about to break.

The first thought that went through Katsuki's mind, unbidden, was: women feel sexual desire?

He quickly shook it off. Despite the fact that he wasn’t supposed to understand, and that he knew what something like it meant in their world, the only remaining thought in his head was: Really? All of that loathing from mother, from yourself, because of something so stupid?

Himiko kept looking at him, her expression slowly breaking as she started trying to break his grasp desperately, beginning to yell in distress.

Katsuki yanked her held hands and pulled her into a hug, stunning her.

“You are not a monster for it, Himiko. And if anyone dares say that, I shall show them who is the one in this household that they should’ve been afraid of.” He said.

Himiko stayed quiet for a long moment. Then, she started laughing, the relieving sound turning into a sob halfway through as she wrapped her arms around him. “Katsuki, you sounded embarrassing saying that, you fool,” her voice cracked, interrupted by wracking sobs as she held tighter, the scent of alcohol coming off of her in waves.

Katsuki huffed, followed by a smirk. “Tch. Is there any lady out there specifically?”

That just made Himiko cry more, burying her face in his shoulder.

Huh. I shan’t ask that again, then.

She shook her head against him, “N-no. It doesn’t matter. I do not need anyone. I’ve got my stupid brute of a brother who actually accepts every part of me without fleeing like a scared fool.” Her voice lowered then, a whisper so small he struggled to hear it, “Thank you, Katsuki, I love you.”

He smiled, “I love you too, maniac. You are the best sister I could’ve asked for, no matter what other fools may say.”

She didn’t answer.

He pulled back enough to look at her. She was sleeping soundly now.

Tch. Idiot really thought he’d ever drop her.

With that thought, she placed her in a comfortable position in her bed, making sure she was covered, changing her sherry-stained blankets with clean ones.

As he left her chambers, however, he couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said.

Spent nights yearning for their next talk and reminiscing about the last. Longing to see the glow in their eyes.

Surely, if she could love women and not just men, then-

His eyes widened at the realization. He hadn’t even noticed, but he had unconsciously walked towards the laboratory, wishing to talk to the bookworm to distract himself.

Fuck.

This was terrible.

His hand trembled at the doorknob, wishing desperately to talk to Izuku. The feelings, now that he started considering a different nature to them, were now coming to him in an overwhelming rush.

He stopped, his fingers lightly tracing the handle. He could not do this. This could ruin Himiko, Ochako, and even Izuku himself.

Disgustingly, he needed to do the thing he loathed most. He had to sit and reflect on his feelings before he made any drastic decision.

The damned bookworm would be alone tonight, and it angered him how much the idea of his stupid face looking alone and saddened hurt him.

He took a deep breath, and right before he turned and left, he softly exhaled a single word, one that felt like a wound he couldn’t stop pressing, “Izuku.”

Chapter Text

Himiko Blackwell sat in her art chamber two days before the wedding, the grey afternoon light filtering through the tall windows in thin streams. Outside, the first drops of rain had begun to fall, hesitant at first, then with increasing conviction, streaking down the glass in crooked paths that reminded her uncomfortably of tears.

In her lap rested her most private sketchbook, the leather cover worn smooth from countless anxious touches. She had not opened it in two weeks, had not dared to, but now her fingers moved of their own accord, tracing the familiar grooves and finding the page she both desperately wanted and desperately feared to see.

The pressed violet lay there still - Himiko had foolishly picked it up from the ground - somehow still holding its delicate purple hue despite the passage of time, despite being trapped between pages like a secret too precious to speak aloud; one that had caused Himiko's foolish heart to launch itself against her ribs like a caged bird suddenly freed.

She stared at it now, this tiny, fragile thing, and felt something crack painfully in her chest.

Sister-in-law would be enough, she had told herself. She had made that vow with such conviction, such noble self-sacrifice, forcing herself to accept the inevitable. She would take what she could get: pastries shared together in warm corners of the townhouse, riding lessons that ended in breathless laughter, stolen hours in this very chamber where Ochako's presence made the whole world feel larger and alive.

She had convinced herself that it would have to be enough.

What an absolute fool she had been.

Because she had been the one to ruin it. Two weeks ago, desperate to improve Ochako’s spirits, Himiko had shown the future Duchess dozens of sketches capturing every angle of her most beloved’s face, and Ochako had looked terrified. Of Himiko’s monstrous appetites, most likely.

Himiko had done the only thing she could think of: she had retreated. Built walls. Turned on her heel whenever Ochako approached for a sketching lesson, leaving the woman confused while Himiko quickly tried to hide her tears. Turned cold and sharp and sarcastic, anything to give Ochako the distance she so clearly needed, anything to prove that Himiko understood, that she would not press her perverted affections on someone who had just seen the true depth of her obsession and recoiled.

She had thought she was being kind. Merciful. Letting Ochako escape gracefully from the trap of Himiko’’s too-much, too-intense feelings.

But these two weeks of living in that aching distance, of watching Ochako look confused and wounded every time Himiko deflected or looked away when their eyes met, had taught Himiko a devastating truth: it hurt. It hurt far worse than she had ever imagined. Not just the loss of Ochako's presence, but the active effort of maintaining the coldness, of forcing herself to turn away when every fiber of her being screamed at her to reach out.

And sister-in-law for the rest of their lives? That future she had convinced herself she could bear? It would never be enough. It would be a slow, exquisite torture stretched across decades, this careful dance of distance and propriety and appropriate smiles.

A memory rose, unbidden and vivid: Ochako in the kitchens, flour smudged across one round cheek, laughing so hard at some ridiculous jest that she actually snorted, and then laughed even harder at her own mortification. Making Himiko believe she trusted her more than anyone else. The image had seared itself into Himiko's mind, impossibly bright and precious.

The ache in her chest sharpened into something unbearable.

It hurts so terribly, she admitted to herself, to the empty room, to the violet pressed between pages.

Her fingers moved without conscious thought, flipping through pages until she found the sketch she had made just weeks ago, Katsuki and Ochako standing together in the garden, a study in what should have been. The perfect couple. The future Duke and Duchess. She stared at it for a long moment, at the careful lines she'd used to capture Katsuki's protective stance, Ochako's gentle smile. It had hurt to draw it then, forcing herself to accept what was inevitable. But now, looking at it, the hurt felt different. Raw. Like watching yourself bleed to death. With a sudden, vicious movement, she tore the page from the binding, the sound of ripping paper loud in the quiet room. The sketch fell to the floor, forgotten.

How was she supposed to endure this? Not just two weeks, but years? Decades? A lifetime of maintaining this protective coldness, of watching Ochako belong to someone else - Himiko’s adored brother, no less -  while Himiko's monstrous heart bled in silence? All because she had made the catastrophic mistake of showing Ochako the truth, and the woman she desired most had been too frightened to even pretend otherwise?

Himiko groaned, trying to control the noise hammering her mind.

But it seemed to only get louder, and that was when the doubt arrived, quiet and insidious: What if it had never been real to begin with?

Though she knew it felt too real to ever be faked, the thought still detonated in her mind, and suddenly the hurt had somewhere to go. Somewhere other than inward.

What if those stolen hours, those soft looks, that extraordinary sense of both of them seeing each other - what if it had all been an elaborate performance from the start? Ochako was kind, after all; infuriatingly so. Kind enough to humor the mad sister of her betrothed, to smile and laugh and pretend interest in the deranged sketches and half-formed philosophies of a woman the ton called a lunatic.

That would explain the terror when confronted with the full scope of Himiko's feelings. Not fear of Himiko herself, but fear of how to escape the madwoman's attentions without causing a scene. Horror at realizing the performance had worked too well, that the monster had actually believed the kindness was genuine. At realizing her warmth, given so freely, had accidentally drawn out Himiko’s nature - fixing the devious monster’s deranged obsession squarely upon her.

Her mind kept screaming the doubt at her, louder each time.

Slowly, it was all she could hear, transforming into a guttural, ugly anger at the woman she loved.

It would be easier this way. Easier to be angry than heartbroken, than to feel that hurt so profound she could barely breathe around it sometimes. Easier to believe it had been duty all along than to accept that something real had been destroyed because Himiko had been too much, too monstrous, too honest.

The doubt curdled into something darker, more solid. Something that felt almost like righteous fury.

Of course it had been a performance. How could she have been so monumentally stupid? Ochako was going to be a Duchess, the Duchess of Rivermoor. She was practicing her role, learning how to manage difficult relatives with grace and poise; getting ready for charming the ton in its entirety. Every gentle touch, every warm smile, every moment where Himiko had dared to believe she was special? It had all been training. Preparation.

Pity.

As much as deep down she knew it wasn’t, the noise still overwhelmed her mind with the force of a slap, and suddenly everything recontextualized itself through this bitter new lens.

The careful way Ochako had always asked permission before touching her? That was not respect, it was wariness. The gentle concern in her eyes when Himiko spiraled? That was not love, it was the calculated kindness of someone managing a volatile, potentially dangerous creature. The way she had held Himiko's hands when she was breaking apart, cleaning blood from her mouth? Saints, Himiko had been so vulnerable, so pathetically exposed, and Ochako had simply been doing what any proper lady would do when confronted with hysteria.

Every memory reframed itself, each one twisting into something ugly and hollow.

Ochako's breathless laughter during their riding lessons? Politeness. The way her eyes had lit up when Himiko showed her the caricatures? Feigned interest. 

When Ochako comforted her tenderly and said "Then let us be ruined together" with such fierce conviction-

No. No. It couldn’t be. That had been-

That had felt real-

But what did Himiko know about what was real? She was the madwoman, the monster, the thing to be managed and contained. Her parents had told her since young that she had hysteria, of course she had misread everything. Of course her desperate, pathetic heart had constructed an entire fantasy from simple courtesy, from a woman too well-bred to recoil as easily as everyone else had.

The anger grew, feeding on itself, building into a terrible, self-protective rage that felt infinitely preferable to the gutting pain of loss.

And the cruelest part? Ochako was good at it. So extraordinarily good that Himiko - lonely, desperate, pathetic Himiko - had actually believed it was genuine. Had actually allowed herself to hope, to want, to imagine a future where Ochako loved-

She looked down at the sketchbook still in her lap, her fingers going through the pages so quickly the paper would've torn her skin if not for her gloves. She stopped at the page with the pressed violet. That damned flower that had made her foolish heart hope. Her hand hovered over it, trembling with rage and grief in equal measure. Then, with deliberate violence, she ripped the entire page from the binding, violet and all, crumpling it in her fist until she felt the delicate petals crush between her fingers. Let it be destroyed, it was better this way. The crumpled page joined the torn sketch on the floor, two pieces of evidence of her pathetic delusions.

Himiko stood abruptly, the now-damaged sketchbook falling from her lap to land beside the crumpled pages with a thud. She moved to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass, watching the rain hammer as the skies wept. The garden below was barely visible through the downpour, the roses she and Ochako had admired together now battered by the storm; everything beautiful being slowly destroyed. How fitting. Her breath fogged the glass, obscuring even that grey view, and she closed her eyes, trying to find stillness in the chaos. But there was none. Only the noise, and the anger, and the desperate need to believe the lie.

No more. No more of this agonizing, pointless hope. If Ochako wanted to perform kindness, fine. But Himiko would not be made a fool again. She would protect herself the only way she knew how: by striking first, by ensuring her coldness was intentional rather than the natural result of being discarded like a broken toy once her novelty wore off.

She was doing Ochako a favor, truly. Saving her the discomfort of having to maintain the exhausting performance of caring about the mad sister once she became family. Sparing Katsuki the burden of mediating between his wife and his disaster of a sibling.

And if Himiko was wrong about Ochako? If every laugh, every blush and tender gesture, had been real?

Then that was worse. Infinitely worse.

And in that case, she was protecting Ochako from the danger Himiko herself represented. Because if Ochako had somehow, impossibly, genuinely cared even a fraction as much as Himiko's foolish heart wanted to believe, if there had been even a seed of real affection there, then Himiko's monstrous, all-consuming love would have smothered it eventually. Would have caged it, corrupted it, destroyed it.

Better to be cold now. Better to be cruel. Better to drive Ochako away with ice and sarcasm and barely concealed hostility than to risk her monstrous appetite devouring something as precious as Ochako. It would be a mercy.

The rain lashed harder against the windows now, the storm finally breaking in earnest. The sound should have been soothing, a distraction from her thoughts, but today it only sounded like the world weeping for something irretrievably lost.

I am protecting her, Himiko told herself over and over again until her mind believed it, her jaw set, her eyes burning but refusing to spill tears. She convinced herself she would somehow find the strength to endure.

She almost believed it.

Izuku Milverton was profoundly worried.

First of all, the wedding was in two days. Which he had told himself was fine, perfectly manageable even, but his heart was aching at the prospect so much more acutely since the night Kacchan had wrapped his cravat in Izuku’s wounded arm and talked about constellations with him, his voice soft in the darkness, his brilliant mind mapping the stars like they were old friends.

Second of all, every single person in his inner circle had spent the last fortnight in a baffling state of emotional chaos.

It was perplexing how it seemed like everyone had decided to unravel all at once, as if some cruel celestial force had aligned their miseries for maximum devastation. He hadn't even been able to talk with Himiko properly; she would either perform with sarcastic irony so sharp it could draw blood, look away like she was mourning a dream long lost, or simply stand there looking one second away from shattering entirely.

Kacchan, meanwhile, was apparently perfect. But that was the core of the problem: apparently. Izuku now knew a disturbing amount about the man he was falling for - had fallen for, if he was being brutally honest with himself - and the Duke was acting profoundly odd. He would look at Izuku with an intensity that made his heart dare to hope for something impossible, made his breath catch and his thoughts scatter like startled birds, and then he would just turn away rapidly or manufacture some transparent excuse to leave. Their conversations had become a study in extremes: either unbearably intense, crackling with something Izuku didn't dare examine, or painfully awkward, stilted things where neither could meet the other's eyes. No in-between. No comfortable middle ground where they used to live.

Izuku had seriously begun to wonder if Kacchan had somehow caught scent of his secretly blooming - no, rioting - affection and was now desperately trying not to make things more awkward than they already were.

He groaned aloud, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Ugh, why, Saints, why would this happen to me?

And then, of course, there was the reason he currently found himself in the familiar, modest garden of the Underhill family residence. Ochako. His dearest friend, practically a sister, had been acting disturbingly similar to Himiko for roughly the same span of time, now that he lined up the variables in his mind. She was sad, diminished somehow, their usual comfortable talks now interrupted by long silences and haunted looks. She was never with Himiko anymore, a change so stark it felt like a wound. She always looked confused, lost, and carried a wretched mixture of guilt, confusion and grief in her eyes that made Izuku's chest ache.

The moment he had arrived at the Underhill estate and Sayaka Underhill had welcomed him in with her usual warmth, a small variable in the cruel equation had been solved with devastating certainty. It had hurt him then, viscerally, to see the sweetest woman he had ever known look so pale and drained, so obviously ill, and yet still trying with every fiber of her being to smile, to be strong, to pretend the world wasn't crumbling around her.

She looked so much worse than she had before he'd left to live at the Blackwell townhouse. The decline was alarming, undeniable. And poor Ochako had been carrying this unbearable weight without even letting him know, suffering alone while performing happiness for a dying mother.

He found Ochako sitting on a simple wooden bench beneath the sprawling branches of an old oak, the sketchbook she always kept close cradled in her lap. Her eyes were hazy and shining with unshed tears as she softly traced a line over an incomplete draft that he couldn't quite make out from where he stood. The grey sky above seemed to press down on her, heavy and bruised, promising rain.

He remembered this bench. The memory was as clear as yesterday: when they were younger, mere hopeful children barely in their teens, Ochako's grandmother had passed. She had been devastated for nearly a month, unreachable in her grief, and Izuku had visited almost every day to no avail, helpless and aching. One day, as he'd arrived, he had overheard Sayaka saying something to her daughter, something that had finally, miraculously, steadied Ochako's shattered nerves.

He approached slowly, settling beside her on the bench. His voice was soft, careful, as he repeated Sayaka's words from that distant memory: "Whenever you feel like the weight of the world is too much, come to this garden, think of me, and let the scent of the lavender take all your problems away."

Ochako's head snapped up, startled. For a moment, she just stared at him, and then she laughed: bitter, broken, a sound that made something in Izuku's chest crack. "She was wrong, Izuku. So, so wrong." Her voice trembled, on the edge of breaking. "I do not think anything will ever fill the gaping hole in my chest that she will leave when she's gone."

Izuku gave her a pained smile, his own eyes already beginning to sting with tears. He reached out, taking her trembling hand in his. "Ochako, you are precious to me, you know this. What is it that troubles you so profoundly?"

She huffed, a exhale that might have been meant as a laugh but came out more like a sob. She looked down at the page in her sketchbook, her fingers ghosting over lines he still couldn't identify. "What does not trouble me, Izuku? My Mama, I know you saw her. She is not getting any better, she is getting worse."

He squeezed her hand, his throat tight. No, she was not getting any better. The knowledge sat in his stomach like a stone, and he could hardly imagine the suffocating weight of it for Ochako, who had to watch her mother fade day by terrible day.

Ochako continued, her eyes closing in a pained squeeze that made her whole face tighten. "She… wishes for nothing more than to see me happy. To see me loved, loving someone with my whole heart. To know I will be cherished after she is gone." She opened her eyes again, and that warm, brown gaze he trusted with his life looked more hollow than he had ever seen it, scraped raw and empty. "And Izuku, I have tried. I have tried so thoroughly, so desperately, to love the Duke. For her sake, for his, for duty and honor and all those pretty words. He is a good man, not the brutish troll I was terrified of at first. He is brilliant, kind in his own rough way, protective. I should be delighted. I should be consumed by love, dizzy with it. But I am not. I know I am not. I do not even think I am capable of loving him, not in the way she wishes."

Her voice cracked, splintering. "And yet I have tricked my poor mother into believing it, smiled and performed like some sort of demon wearing her daughter's face. My Mama will die thinking her wish came true, and it will all be a lie. I am a liar, Izuku. What sort of daughter does that?"

Izuku's mind reeled, trying to process the confession. She doesn't love him? What? He ruthlessly suppressed the tiny, shameful flicker of relief that sparked in his chest and focused instead on the glaring alarm blaring in his thoughts. How could someone, someone as wonderful as Ochako, think themselves incapable of loving a man as brilliant, handsome, protective, and genuinely good as Kacchan? Yes, the Duke was rough around the edges, sharp-tongued and explosive, but to the people he actually saw, which Ochako undeniably was, the man was extraordinary.

"Ochako," he said slowly, carefully, his brow furrowing. "Are you certain you cannot love him? Perhaps you are simply confused about what love feels like because it is all so new? Perhaps it takes time to grow into-"

She shook her head, cutting him off. A raspy, broken laugh tore from her throat as tears began to spill down her cheeks, landing on the draft drawing in her lap and smudging the charcoal lines. "Oh, Izuku. I thought I loved you once, a long time ago. Did you know?"

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. "I-I loved you that way once as well, Ochako," he admitted, his voice small and almost wondering. "Years ago. But that love changed, eventually, into something that is not romantic but somehow just as powerful, just as important."

Ochako sighed, the sound carrying the weight of the world. "What I felt for you back then was not that kind of love, Izuku. I only thought it was." She gave a small, bitter laugh. "Because what else could it be? The world only gives us one story for that kind of closeness between a man and a woman, and it always ends in marriage. I simply didn't know any better."

Her gaze drifted. "And what I feel for Katsuki now: friendship, respect, admiration, partnership; it is not that fire either. It is not love. Not the way my mother means."

She shook her head again, and a small, sad smile bloomed on her tear-stained face. "But now I know for certain it is not what romantic love feels like. Because now I do know. To tell you the truth, Izuku, I do not think I have ever loved a man that way, not truly. And I am starting to suspect I never will. I am starting to doubt I am even capable of it-"

She turned her gaze away then, but Izuku saw it clear as day: the flicker of fear in the visible corner of her eye, the way her shoulders tensed as if bracing for a blow.

Oh. That somehow explained so many phenomena about Ochako that he had never dared question.

And heavens. Ochako was scared, terrified, that Izuku would not accept her. That he would recoil, judge, abandon her when she needed him most.

He laughed then, soft and full of affection and relief. Ochako's head whipped around, confusion flooding her features and momentarily overriding the fear.

"Oh, Ochako," he said gently, warmth filling his voice. "Would you look at that? We are so very much alike, you and I. Some people's hearts simply do not follow the same fundamental rules as others. Mine, for instance, is not limited to loving only women. It can feel the same depth of love, the same fire, for men as well."

Ochako's eyes went wide, her lips parting in shock. "Izu-"

He interrupted her gently, his expression shifting to one of careful, curious understanding. "What about women, then? Can you feel that kind of love for them?"

Ochako's face flushed a deep, telling pink. She looked down at her lap, at the sketchbook and the smudged drawing, but Izuku saw it anyway: the painful flicker that went through her features, the longing and grief and want that she couldn't quite hide.

She took a small, shaking breath. "I… yes. I know what love feels like now, Izuku. Real love. And it is every bit as marvelous, as consuming, as overwhelming as what my mother wishes for me - what I had always thought impossible for someone like me. In fact, it might be even more so, somehow." Her eyes filled with fresh tears. "However, it is said to be unnatural, is it not? You understand, but I am not so certain most people will. I would be ruined, shunned, possibly worse. And the very worst part?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and desperate. "I cannot just repress these feelings and force myself to love Katsuki like I tried so hard to do before. This love, this all-consuming fire, I cannot extinguish it like blowing out a candle. Sometimes I feel like I will never be able to put it out no matter how desperately I try, like it will burn in me until I die. And to tell you the truth, even if it were possible to stop it, I do not think I would want to. I do not think I could bear to lose this feeling, even knowing it will destroy me."

Her voice cracked completely then, a small sob racking her shoulders. "And that… that makes me feel so guilty over my poor Mama. What kind of daughter chooses her own heart over her dying mother's happiness?"

Izuku placed a steady, grounding hand on her shoulder, for her own hands had begun clutching at each other again, nails digging into silk and skin in that self-destructive way she tended to do. However, his mind had already leapt ahead, rapidly connecting variables to the complex mystery that had been growing in the back of his thoughts for weeks now.

He remembered how he had noticed Ochako's sheer glow after she spent personal time with Himiko, before they had all been invited to the Royal Gala. He remembered how both Ochako and Himiko had practically radiated light when they saw each other at the Blackwell townhouse the next day, how the very air between them seemed to shimmer with something unuttered. And most importantly, most damningly, he vividly recalled the smile that had become a permanent, luminous feature on his friend's face for the past two months, the entire time she had been going to the townhouse and spending most of her days with Himiko. And then, he remembered how it had all been extinguished, suddenly and completely, replaced with longing and suffering, exactly two weeks ago. For both women.

Of course. It made perfect sense now, seen through this lens. It was not an unsolvable equation at all; it was, in fact, elegantly simple when you knew what you were looking for. A basic system with only one logical answer.

It was love!

"It is Himiko, is it not?" he asked softly, gently rubbing her shoulder. "You love her."

Ochako's eyes went impossibly wide. She turned to stare at him fully, and her rosy cheeks did absolutely nothing to hide the longing and deep pain shining in her gaze. "It is," she whispered, the confession barely audible. "Will you-"

"I will not tell anyone, Ochako. Not a single soul," he promised immediately, fiercely. "It is not wrong for you to feel this way. Himiko is a beautiful woman with a wonderful, vibrant, utterly extraordinary personality. Besides, anyone would be lucky to be loved by you."

He saw a look of pure, unguarded adoration flash across Ochako's features at his words, at the mention of Himiko, at his blessing and reassurance that this was not something to be repressed. And that was when he realized with sudden, crystalline clarity: he had never once seen that look in her eyes when she spoke of him, or when she spoke of Kacchan. 

And it was wonderful. How could anyone witness that expression and dare to call it unnatural? It was the most achingly beautiful sight in the world, radiant and true and right, second only to the way Kacchan's own face transformed when Izuku said something particularly clever and the Duke forgot to hide his-

Oh. Do not think about that right now.

His rapidly derailing train of thought was mercifully interrupted when Ochako finally seemed to come back to herself, the sadness and grief crashing back over her features like a wave, drowning out the brief flicker of joy.

"It does not matter, Izuku," she said, her voice flat and defeated. "I did not just fail my mother. I hurt Himi, too, and I do not even know how or why, I just know that I did. Perhaps she somehow caught on to my feelings and was repulsed. Perhaps I did not show her enough respect when she trusted me with her secrets, with her art, with herself. I truly do not know. I just know that I miss seeing her glow, her smile, her everything, so desperately it feels like I am missing a limb."

Izuku smiled at her, sad but genuine, and squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Ochako, Himiko looks just as devastated as you do. Just as lost. And though I admit I know you far better, I have witnessed the way you two come alive around one another. It is like watching stars be born. I think she loves you, too. I can see it now, clear as day, if I allow myself to remember the way she spoke about you, the softness in her voice. Even when I was utterly inebriated at the Gala, I noticed how Himiko looked genuinely heartbroken at the announcement of your engagement, like something vital had been ripped away from her."

He paused, making sure she was truly listening. "And that look in your eyes when you think of her? Your love for her? It is the most pure, most luminous, most beautiful thing I have ever seen in this world. I truly do believe that your mother: the kindest, most loving woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing; would be happy as long as her daughter could have something that pure and wondrous with someone, anyone."

He saw the doubt warring with hope in her eyes and leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "I know this because one day, when I was younger, I said something careless to my own mother. About where my own heart might lead. I was terrified she would be angry, or ashamed of me. But she just smiled. And she told me that a mother's greatest wish is not to see her child fit a perfect mold, but to see them whole. To see them loved, truly and completely, no matter by whom."

He looked at her then, his gaze unwavering and full of a lifetime of friendship. "I know this love and support is not common in our world, however I have absolute certainty on one thing: your mother loves you like that, Ochako. I know she does."

Ochako smiled at him then, but her eyes were full of painful disbelief, like she wanted desperately to believe his words but could not allow herself the cruelty of hope.

After a long moment, however, a new expression settled over her features: determined, resigned, devastatingly sad.

"If- if what you say about Himiko somehow loving me back were true," she began slowly, carefully, like she was working through a proof, "then that would change everything. Because it would mean Katsuki does not love me either. Not truly, not in that way."

Izuku tried desperately to ignore the traitorous flutter of hope rising in his chest.

Ochako continued, her voice growing stronger even as tears continued to stream down her face. "I can see it now, you understand. The way he looks at me is the same way I look at him. There are feelings there, certainly: respect, admiration, even affection. But none of them are love. Not the kind my mother means. They are not the way Himiko looks at me, if what you say is true. They are not the way I look at her, which I know is love because it is burning me alive from the inside out."

She took a shuddering breath, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. "My wedding is in two days. I know I can never stop loving her. I know Katsuki does not love me. But I will give my mother what might very well be her dying wish, her final comfort before she leaves this world."

She cried then, truly cried, tears spilling rapidly down her face as she clenched her hands with such fury that her knuckles went white. Disgust at herself radiated from her in waves, palpable and wretched, through the storm of despair, something rose above all else: sheer determination. Her gaze hardened. "I will have to lie to her like the devil himself. I will make her believe that the love I feel for Himiko is actually for the Duke. I will smile and perform and pretend with every fiber of my being, as much as it destroys me, just so she can die believing her daughter is loved and happy, so she knows I am feeling that beautiful fire - even if it burns for the wrong person. I cannot fail her in this. I shall not."

She gasped for air between sobs, her whole body shaking. "And even if- even if Himi feels the same wonderful, delightful magic I feel when I am near her, it changes nothing. Himiko wants to be free, Izuku. More than anything in this world, she wants her freedom. I cannot cage her. I will not be the thing that traps her, that clips her wings and forces her into yet another prison."

What?

"Ochako, I truly do not believe Himiko would feel caged by your love," Izuku said earnestly, urgently. "She looks so much more free, so much more herself at your side. I have never seen her so unguarded, so-"

"No, Izuku, you do not understand," Ochako cut him off, shaking her head violently. "She told me herself. She told me she loves her freedom above all else, that she is no one's and never wishes to be. And I- I am content with that. I have to be content with that." Her voice dropped to a broken whisper. "For you see, I truly do love seeing her happy, more than anything else in the whole world. I love watching her smile, hearing her laugh, seeing her eyes light up when she creates something beautiful. I am perfectly willing to love her from a distance, in silence, for the rest of my life, as long as I get to know she is happy and free. As long as she gets to keep the thing she loves most, her precious freedom, I can bear anything."

Her composure shattered completely then. "But Gods, Izuku, it hurts. It hurts so terribly I can barely breathe sometimes. I just want to love her openly, to hold her properly without gloves between us, to tell her how much she means to me, to show her that every single part of herself that she thinks is monstrous is in fact full of staggering beauty and deserving of so much love-"

Her shaking increased dramatically, sobs leaving her gasping desperately for air, her brave facade dissolving entirely.

'Perfectly content'? That is a damned lie, Ochako, and we both know it.

Izuku knew he needed to solve this, for the four of them, but he did not know what to do. As much as he desperately wished to help them. to fix this impossible situation with logic and reason and carefully calculated solutions, Kacchan was still a monumental factor in this equation. The wedding was in two days and showed no signs of stopping, the entire royal family behind it. His own treacherous, growing feelings for the Duke were also playing an undeniable role in every calculation he attempted, skewing the variables in ways he could not fully account for.

For the first time in his life, Izuku Milverton was completely, devastatingly floored, staring at what should have been a simple system and finding himself utterly unable to solve for any variable that did not end in heartbreak.

Katsuki Blackwell woke with a sharp intake of breath, the fragments of a dream dissolving like smoke the moment consciousness returned. But the sensations lingered: the rough texture of a cravat around his fingers as he wrapped warmth around skin; the strong, clean scent of ink and mint; a laugh that interrupted a passionate ramble; green eyes, blazing with an intellectual fire that he yearned to see again just by thinking about it. And beneath it all, the ache, a raw, infuriating ache in his chest he now had a name for.

He sat up in the darkness of his chambers, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes as if he could physically force the dream back into the void where it belonged. The room was cold, the fire long since died to embers, and outside the storm that had been threatening all day had finally arrived in earnest, rain hammering against the windows with relentless fury.

Pathetic, he thought viciously. Dreaming like some lovesick fool.

It was the fourth damned time in the last fortnight, almost like giving this a name ignited an unstoppable heat in his heart.

He hated it. He wanted it to stop. He had tried to stop it, once he realized this sounded awfully similar to the symptoms every lovesick lord described - only his were not for a lady.

But still the ache remained, a restless, angry energy that made sleep impossible. He threw off the covers and stalked from his chambers, not bothering with more than a robe thrown hastily over his nightshirt. The townhouse was silent, the servants long since abed, and his footsteps echoed too loud in the empty corridors.

He found himself at the art chamber’s door without conscious decision. Two weeks ago, she had broken down in his arms: drunk and crying and confessing that she could love women, that she had spent nights yearning for someone's next talk, longing to see the glow in their eyes. As a side effect, the maniac had made him aware of his foolish feelings for the damned bookworm. At the time, he had been too shocked, too focused on keeping her from falling apart, to think about who had affected Himiko in such a way.

But these past two weeks, with everything that had been going on, with his own chest cracked open by dreams of Izuku, with his own useless feelings recognized, he could see it clearly. 

He pushed open the door to the chamber where the lamplight still burnt, that familiar smell of charcoal covering the air. Himiko sat curled in a chair by the dying fire, still dressed, her arms wrapped around herself, a sketchbook he’d never seen before was on the floor, closed and discarded. She looked up as he entered, and for one unguarded moment her expression was utterly devastated before the mask snapped back into place.

"Come to check on the madwoman?" she asked, her voice brittle with false cheer.

"I came to check on my sister," Katsuki said bluntly, crossing to lean against the mantle. He studied her face in the firelight, the exhaustion, the barely-contained pain. "And to understand what in the bloody hell has been happening for two weeks."

Himiko's laugh was bitter. "Nothing's happening, dearest brother. Everything is perfectly fine. Your wedding approaches, your bride is lovely, I'm simply thrilled-"

"It's Ochako," Katsuki cut through her deflection, the realization solidifying as he said it aloud, "what you told me two weeks ago. The person you-" He stopped, the words feeling too large for his mouth, "-it's her."

Himiko went completely still, her false smile freezing on her face. For a moment she looked like she might deny it, deflect again. Then something in her began to crack.

She looked cornered. As if she was afraid of him. 

Katsuki hated it.

“I do not care that she will be my wife, Himiko. One cannot control their damned heart.” He would know.

The fear dissipated as the crack extended, and then something in her broke.

"She saw the sketches," Himiko said quietly, her voice stripped of all its usual armor. "All of them, the ones not even you have ever seen. Pages and pages of her radiant beauty, Katsuki, my obsession laid bare. And she looked terrified. Like I'd revealed myself as the monster everyone already knows I am, like she could no longer hide her fear." Her right hand tightened on her left arm with such force that silk and skin strained, "So I gave her the distance she clearly needed, the mercy of letting her know she shall not have to endure the madwoman's attentions once we become family."

Mercy? What a farce. The damned chipmunk had looked more like an abandoned pup left in the rain since that day, that brilliant fire that had drawn both siblings in more brittle and exhausted than he had ever seen it. But it was Himiko's other word that snagged in his mind.

Terrified.

Bloody hell, he knew that feeling. He'd been living with it for two weeks, and it wasn't the fear of a monster, it was the gut-wrenching terror of your own heart turning traitor. It was the frantic, panicked beat in your chest when you realized you wanted something forbidden, something that could ruin everything. It was the hot shame that followed, the desperate instinct to build a wall, to pretend you felt nothing, to run before the want consumed you whole.

It was the emotion consuming the look he had seen on his own face in the reflection of his study window that night a fortnight ago, after dreaming of green eyes and that damned hiccuping laugh for the first time.

"And you're certain that's what she felt?" Katsuki demanded. "Terror of you?"

"What else could it possibly be?" Himiko's voice cracked, anger and pain bleeding through. "I showed her proof of how utterly consumed I am by her and she couldn't even look at me properly afterward. I've been protecting her, Katsuki. Protecting us both from my monstrous appetites-"

She stopped abruptly, turning back to the fire, but not before Katsuki saw it: her expression crumpling, revealing something so achingly, devastatingly familiar it knocked the breath from his lungs.

That look. He knew that feeling because he had felt it in his own chest for weeks now: the intense longing that consumed everything, that made the air hard to breathe, that sat like a bruise you couldn't stop pressing.

Fuck. It was not a simple fixation either of them had, it was love.

"Then both of us are monsters," he said quietly, the realization settling like lead in his chest. "The same damned curse."

Himiko's head turned violently toward him, confusion and something almost like fear flickering in her eyes. "Katsuki, what-"

But his mind was already racing ahead, calculating, strategizing; until an idea lit up in his mind. The wedding. Of course. The wedding was the solution, not the problem. Marriage would give Ochako and Himiko legitimate reasons to be around each other. They would be sisters-in-law, family, living in the same townhouse under his protection, unquestionable. It would give them both the shield granted by the Blackwell name, his power as Duke covering them from scrutiny. A marriage where he and Ochako both understood there would be no romantic expectations, it protected her from having to perform love she didn't feel, protected Himiko by keeping Ochako close and safe within their household.

And for himself... well. If Izuku's feelings weren't mutual - and why would they be? Katsuki was hardly a prize, all sharp edges and explosive temper, had been cruel to hundreds just to pass time - then the marriage solved that problem too. Made Izuku permanently, impossibly off-limits. Removed the temptation by making it unthinkable, protect the man he had fallen for from scandal.

It was perfect. He would protect the three of them from ruin, at the cost of a lifetime of want for him that he should logically be able to control.

"The wedding must go forward," he said, his voice firm, certain. "It's the solution - for all of us." He moved toward the door, then paused, glancing back at his sister's confused, shattered, frightened face. Something in his chest twisted, but he kept his expression steady, willing as much love as he could into his next words. "Trust me on this, maniac."

He left before she could ask what he meant, before he had to explain what he was still working out himself. The door clicked shut behind him, and he stood in the darkened hallway, listening to the storm rage outside.

I have to be strong enough for all of us, he thought grimly. Even if none of them understand why.

The wedding would happen. And somehow, he would make it protect them all.

It was one day before her greatest performance, and Ochako Underhill found Himiko in the music room well past noon, the storm outside sounding akin to the sky tearing apart, the cold in the room a stark contrast to the warmth they had once shared in it. She had been searching for nearly an hour, dressed in a yellow gown - the closest shade she could find to Himiko’s eyes - made by Blackwell hired modistes, clutching her sketchbook against her chest like a talisman, her heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat.

Two weeks. Two weeks since that terrible night when Himiko had shown her those beautiful sketches, pages and pages of Ochako's face rendered with such tenderness and utterly exaggerated beauty that it had stolen her breath. Two weeks since Ochako had frozen, paralyzed by the sudden, terrifying realization of how deeply she loved this woman, how consuming and impossible and real those feelings were, how much she wanted her more than anything else in the world.

Two weeks since Himiko had run away from her.

And Ochako still didn't understand why everything had fallen apart after that. Why the past two weeks had felt like a wound that would never heal.

But today Izuku had helped her finally say it out loud. Had confirmed that loving a woman wasn't wrong, that her feelings were real and valid and even beautiful. Had given her the courage to try one more time to reach the woman she loved.

She had known the absolute, bone-deep certainty of her feelings for a fortnight. And if Himiko felt even a fraction of the same love, if those sketches meant what Ochako desperately hoped they meant, then they had been destroying each other for nothing.

She had one chance to make this work. She couldn’t call off the wedding tomorrow, she wouldn’t; not with her mother's dying wish hanging over her head like a sword.
But she could still let herself be selfish for once and let Himi know how loved she was before the wedding placed a wall between them. Could prove that whatever had frightened Himiko that night, it wasn't Ochako's rejection.

Himiko stood at the mirror they had seen themselves dancing together so many times before, one hand pressed against it, watching her own image with an expression so desolate and full of self-loathing it made Ochako's chest crack open. She, of course, still looked stunning despite it, a pink gown covering her body - the color choice making Ochako’s heart soar with hope - her perfect hair coming loose from its pins in thin, silky strands. She didn't turn when Ochako entered even though she must have heard the door.

"Himiko," Ochako said softly. "I must show you something."

"It's late, my lady." Himiko's voice was flat, carefully neutral, the formal title feeling like a slap. "You should be resting, your wedding is tomorrow."

Your wedding. The distance in those two words was deliberate, a chasm placed between them.

"Please," Ochako whispered, moving closer, determined to bridge that chasm no matter what it took. "Just look at this, please."

Himiko finally turned, and the guarded expression on her face, so different from the brilliant joy Ochako desired to see more than anything in life, made something in her chest shatter. But she pressed on, opening her sketchbook with trembling hands.

This had to work. For she did not know what she would do if that smile was lost forever.

It was a drawing of Himiko. Ochako's clumsy, amateur attempt at capturing what she had seen two weeks ago, before she unknowingly shattered everything. The sketch depicted the moment when Himiko had held her bare hands so gently, so patiently, comforting her with such vivid tenderness drawing it had made her fall in love all over again. The lines were shaky, the proportions slightly wrong, the shading amateurish at best. It was nothing like the breathtaking precision of Himiko's own work, but Ochako had poured everything into it: the gentleness in Himiko's expression, the care in her touch, the beauty that had made Ochako's heart stop and come back to life over and over again.

For a moment, Himiko’s enchanting eyes widened - Ochako’s own growing hope mirrored in them - the start of a beautiful blush blooming on her cheeks.

"I know it's terrible compared to your drawings," Ochako said, the words tumbling out in a rush, her heart hammering. "But I needed you to see. Just like you did, I needed you to understand how I see you. This is what I saw that day, when you showed me your innermost work. Just… you. Beautiful and the most-"

"Stop." Himiko's voice cut through the air like a blade, something shifting in her features, extinguishing the growing hope. She took a step back, her hands coming up as if they could physically ward Ochako off. "Please. I cannot bear this anymore."

"Bear what?" Ochako's voice cracked. "Himi, I don't understand-"

"The pretending!" Himiko's composure splintered, her voice rising with desperate pain. "You were terrified, Ochako. Two weeks ago, when I showed you what I truly am. You froze. You looked at me like I was something horrifying and you couldn't even- you couldn't even look at me after. I saw it, I saw the fear."

The realization hit Ochako so hard she felt the air leave her lungs.

Oh.

That's why.

That's why Himiko had been cold, why she'd retreated, why everything had fallen apart. She thought Ochako had been terrified of her. Thought the sketches had revealed something monstrous that Ochako couldn't accept, instead of the terrifying depth of Ochako’s devotion for the most marvelous person she would ever meet.

"Himiko, no," Ochako breathed. "No, you have it completely wrong-"

"Don't," Himiko said, her voice breaking. "Do not try to be kind about this. I showed you my obsession laid bare and you were horrified. It's understandable, it's what anyone would-"

She was so, so angry about the fact that Himi thought so lowly about herself.

"I wasn't horrified by you!" The words exploded out of Ochako with more force than she'd intended, the violent, frustrated movement of her hands so sudden the sketchbook clattered on the ground. "After everything, how could you ever think that? How could you possibly assume-"

"What else was I supposed to think?" Himiko's voice rose to match hers, wounded. "You looked terrified, Ochako, absolutely terrified, right after seeing the beast that lives inside of me. What was I meant to believe?"

"That I was terrified of my own feelings!" Ochako's hands clenched into fists at her sides.

She hated that Himi saw herself that way when she shone so much.

“And stop saying you are a beast! You are the most extraordinary person I have ever met!" The words burst out of Ochako like they had been building pressure for weeks, unstoppable now that they had started. "You are brilliant and brave and so full of life it makes me ache to be near you! Every moment I have spent with you has been - heavens, Himi, it has been the only time I have ever felt truly alive, truly myself, truly free to be something other than what everyone expects me to be!"

She took a breath, panting, looking at Himiko’s stunned face before continuing.
"I would never be scared of you! I am terrified, Himi, but not of you, I am frightened by how much I-" She stopped abruptly, just barely, her chest heaving. "You think you know what frightens me? You think your feelings could ever be monstrous to me?"

Himiko then slipped on a different mask, a desperate, last-resort rage painting her features, performing an act eerily similar to that night after the gala when she had been trying to push Ochako away.

"You only say that because you do not understand what my feelings are, how devious my appetites run. How could you? You, with your perfect propriety and your perfect future and your perfect ability to pretend that everything is fine when we both know it is a lie!" Himiko snarled, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, something dangerously close to tears prickling at her eyes.

"Then tell me!" Ochako took a step forward, causing Himiko to retreat until her back hit the wall, something fierce and desperate rising in the brunette’s chest. "Tell me what these monstrous appetites that you're so convinced would frighten me are. Tell me!"

Himiko stared at her, panting, a wild and cornered look in her eyes. For a moment she looked like she might flee again, might retreat back into her armour of sarcasm and ice. But then her expression shifted, becoming almost defiant, reckless, like someone with nothing left to lose.

"You!" Himiko said, her voice raw and stripped of all pretense, pushing back against the wall and pointing a finger at Ochako’s mid-section. "My monstrous appetite is you, Ochako! Every sketch, every moment, every pathetic, consuming thought I cannot stop having - it's all you. That's what you saw two weeks ago. That's the monster. My obsession with you, how I think about you constantly, how I cannot stop wanting-" Her voice broke, lowering, a desperate last attempt, "-that's what should terrify you."

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the storm and both their ragged breathing.

But it did not terrify her in the slightest, if anything it made the fire in her chest burn that much brighter.

Suddenly, with devastating clarity and determination, Ochako understood what she needed to do.

She could not love Katsuki. She would lie to her mother, and it would destroy something inside of Ochako.

But that didn't mean she had to destroy everything.

Let the world have its performance. Society could have its proper Duchess, demure and perfect and playing her role with flawless grace. She would give them that. She would wear the mask for her mother, for the ton, for everyone who demanded propriety.

But where it truly mattered? To hell with propriety.

Here, in private, in stolen moments behind closed doors, she could be real. She could show Himiko that every supposedly monstrous part of her was actually extraordinary. Could prove with actions instead of inadequate words that Ochako saw her and loved what she saw more than anything else in the world.

And now that she knew it was mutual, it burnt away every careful restraint she'd built. She would love Himiko Blackwell, no matter what it took, even if she had to lie to the entire world to do it.

"You think that would terrify me?" Ochako's voice came out shaking with barely contained emotion.

"You assume the worst of me," Ochako said, her voice steadier now, fierce with conviction. She deliberately took her gloves off, discarding them with a throw, and then took a step forward, so close to Himiko she could almost feel the blonde’s ragged breathing. "You assume your feelings would repel me when the truth is that I-"

She stopped, the confession hovering on her tongue. Himiko wasn’t listening to words. But she could show her. She would show her.

Another step forward. Himiko's eyes went wide, her breath catching, but she didn't move away. Ochako's adoring gaze looked up tenderly at those golden orbs as she reached up slowly, giving Himiko every chance to retreat, and cupped that beloved face with all the love she could muster.

The warmth and softness of Himiko's skin beneath her palms sent a shiver through her, the delicate line of the blonde's jaw fitting perfectly against Ochako's trembling hands. She could feel the rapid flutter of Himiko's pulse beneath her fingertips where they rested just below her ear, a frantic rhythm that matched her own thundering heart.

"Let me show you," Ochako whispered, her voice full of want and determination, "exactly what I think of your monstrous appetites."

She leaned in, her thumb rising to trace the soft curve of Himiko's lower lip, every second increasing the anticipation building inside her body. The touch was feather-light, reverent, feeling the warmth and slight dampness there, the way Himiko's breath stuttered against the pad of her thumb, the desire rapidly burning in that honeyed gaze no different from Ochako's own.

Himiko's eyes fluttered closed, those impossibly long lashes casting shadows on her pale cheeks. Her lips parted slightly beneath Ochako's touch, just enough for Ochako to hear the soft catch of her breath, to see the tremor running through them, to feel every single one of her own nerves lighting on fire.

Ochako got closer to doing what she wished most, so close their breaths tangled, warm and sweet and tasting faintly of sherry. That infuriatingly addictive scent of pomegranate and charcoal wrapped around her, made her dizzy, made her want to drown in it. She could feel Himiko shudder beneath her touch, could feel the heat radiating between their bodies in the scant space that remained, could feel every breath of theirs as the distance disappeared. Her own pulse hammered everywhere: in her throat, her fingertips, behind her ribs-

"No!" Himiko jerked back, stumbling until her back hit the wall. Her chest was heaving, panic written across her expression, contradicted by the flush in her cheeks and the sheer want blazing in her eyes. "No, Ochako, you cannot, the wedding is tomorrow. You marry Katsuki and-” she seemed to latch onto the thought like a drowning woman finding a piece of wreckage, “-he said it must happen. He said it was for our good. That I needed to trust him." Her voice broke, the words desperate. "I- I cannot fail him. This cannot happen. It must not."

And then she fled toward the door.

"Himi, wait-" Ochako called out, something desperate and possessive surging through her.
She would say it all then. She would not let Himiko run away again, not when they were so close. Nothing would stop her from yelling her feelings to the ton if she had to.

Himiko stopped at the door, her hand on the handle, but she didn't turn. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Please," Ochako said, her voice cracking. "Just look at me. Let me-"

Himiko took a deep breath and then turned, slowly, and Ochako saw them: tears, bright and devastating, tears that Himiko was desperately trying to blink away, trying to hide.

The sight hit Ochako like a bucket of ice water, dousing the fierce, possessive determination that had been driving her forward.

Oh heavens. What am I doing?

Himiko looked utterly broken, torn apart. And Ochako had been the one pushing, trying to make her accept something when Himiko had explicitly told her, from the very start, that she loved her freedom above all else. That she was no one's, that she never wanted to be caged.

The guilt was hot and heavy, making her gasp. The moment she’d got even the smallest confirmation of Himiko’s feelings, Ochako had wanted to kiss her, claim her, trap her in exactly the way she’s always feared, almost taking Himiko’s freedom away from her. All because she wanted Himiko so desperately she couldn’t see past her own desires.

I- I caused those tears.

"I'm sorry," Ochako whispered, the words barely audible. "Himi, I-"

But Himiko was already gone, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the empty room.

Ochako stood frozen, staring at the closed door, her hand still half-raised from where she'd been reaching out. Slowly, she closed her hands, desperate for some control, pressing nails hard against flesh. Harder. Until she felt the sharp bite of pain and the sting of skin breaking, and she welcomed the pain as punishment.

Tomorrow she would marry Katsuki. Tomorrow she would put on the greatest performance of her life for her dying mother, would smile and pretend and lie with every fiber of her being. Tomorrow she would become the Duchess and Himiko would become her sister-in-law and this would have to transform into something the world could accept.

The storm raged on outside, and Ochako Underhill stood alone in the music room, pressing her bleeding palms together, drowning in overwhelming guilt so intense it made her nauseous.

She did not know if protecting Himiko's freedom meant destroying her own chance at happiness forever. All she knew was that when she looked at Himiko, she didn't see a monster.

She saw everything she wanted and could never have.

Izuku Milverton had not slept properly since his conversation with Ochako a full day and night ago. He had spent every hour since then trapped in the same infinite loop, his mind racing through variables that refused to resolve into any solution that didn't end in heartbreak for them all. He desperately wanted to save them all from that terrible fate.

The storm outside matched the chaos in his mind. Rain lashed against his windows, the wind howling with a sound like the end of the world itself. Inside his chambers, a single lamp burned low on his desk, casting long shadows across walls lined with books he couldn't focus enough to read, the clock ticking well past midnight. His hands trembled slightly as he paced, and he couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion or the terrible weight of what he was considering.

He went through the variables again: four hearts pulling in directions the world would not allow them. Ochako loved Himiko, not Kacchan. Himiko loved Ochako. He loved Kacchan. Kacchan didn't love Ochako.

It was a disaster, but the wedding was happening anyway. In but a few hours..

There has to be a solution, Izuku thought desperately, his footsteps wearing a path in the carpet. There has to be some way to make this work for all of them.

But every possibility ended the same way: Ochako marrying a man she didn't love, lying to her dying mother, losing any chance of happiness with Himiko. Katsuki forced into a loveless marriage with the woman his adored sister loved. Himiko condemned to watch from the sidelines. The three of them locked into misery for the rest of their lives.

And Izuku, left to watch it all unfold, knowing he had failed to protect any of them.

His chest ached with it. His eyes burned from staring at nothing. He had filled pages with diagrams and tables and logical progressions, all of them leading to the same dead end. His tea had gone cold, untouched. The clock on his mantle ticked relentlessly toward dawn, toward the moment when it would all become permanent and irreversible.

Unless-

Izuku stopped pacing abruptly, his heart lurching in his chest.

Unless he examined the one variable he had been too frightened to properly analyze. The one impossibility that made his chest tight with fear and hope in equal measure.

What if Kacchan didn't love Ochako because he loved someone else?

The thought had been hovering at the edges of his mind since yesterday, never quite landing, because examining it felt too dangerous. Too much like hope. But now, with hours left before the wedding, Izuku forced himself to actually look at it. To treat it like any other hypothesis that needed testing.

And with that thought came the even more terrifying consideration that had been playing at the corners of his consciousness every time Kacchan showed him a side no one else could see:

What if it's me?

His breath caught. His hands stilled. The storm seemed to quiet for just a moment.

He tried to dismiss it immediately as wishful thinking, as his own desperate hopes distorting his observations. But the scientific part of his mind, the part that had been trained to look at evidence, wouldn't let him. The variables fit, if he listened to the foolish, hopeful part of his brain. The way Kacchan looked at him sometimes, the charged atmosphere between them in the laboratory, the careful distance Kacchan had been maintaining lately, like he was protecting them both from something that might consume them if they got too close.

He knew it was impossible, but…

If that impossible hypothesis was somehow true, then suddenly everything changed. The marriage wouldn't be a death sentence but a solution. A shield. A way for Kacchan to protect his sister's chance at happiness while also protecting himself from a world that would destroy him for loving another man. A way to save Ochako from having to choose between her duty and her heart. A way to keep all of them safe from societal ruin.

A perfect solution.

But only if Izuku was right. Only if he wasn't projecting his own longing feelings onto observations that could be explained a dozen other ways.

He had to know.

The thought rose with sudden, terrifying clarity, cutting through the fog of exhaustion and fear. He had to test this hypothesis. Had to gather enough evidence to confirm or deny it. Because as terrifying as finding out was, if he was right it was the only way to protect everyone he cared about. 

And if he was wrong-

Then I'll know to let it go. I'll know, and I can stop hoping, and I can accept that I failed them all.

The alternative, doing nothing, was worse than any rejection could be. Doing nothing meant watching them all march toward misery when there might have been a way to save them. Doing nothing meant being a coward when bravery was the only thing that could possibly help, meant spending the rest of his life wondering if there had been a solution he'd been too cowardly to check.

Even if testing the hypothesis meant revealing his own feelings. Even if it meant destroying the friendship that had become the most precious thing, throwing away the life that had been a dream come true. Even if he was wrong and it shattered him.

He had to try.

For all of them.

Izuku moved decisively towards the door, not bothering to change out of his nightgown, his hands shaking with exhaustion and fear. He barely noticed. This would just be careful questioning, he told himself. Scientific information gathering. He could ask vague questions, probe gently, assess Kacchan's reactions without confessing anything directly. Find out if the variable existed without exposing his own heart completely. Just… science.

It was a lie, and some part of him knew it. But it was the only way he could force himself out the door.

The clock struck two past midnight as he turned a corner. The wedding was in hours. This was his last chance.

Izuku took a shaky breath and willed his shaking body to move forward.

The laboratory was a walk away in the townhouse, and Izuku's feet carried him there on instinct after months of late-night work sessions. His heart hammered with every step, identical to the storm battering the windows and illuminating the corridors with flashes of lightning. 

Izuku's heart lurched. Kacchan was awake well past midnight, again. Just like every other night this fortnight when Izuku had found him here, working himself to exhaustion as if he could outrun what was coming.

He pushed the door open slowly.

Kacchan stood at the main worktable, still fully dressed despite the late hour, staring down at papers scattered across the surface. He wasn't reading them, his eyes were unfocused, his expression raw in a way Izuku had never seen before, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like his teeth would shatter. He looked exhausted, devastated, hopeless; like someone barely holding themselves together.

Izuku's breath caught. He'd never seen Kacchan look so unguarded..

Kacchan's head snapped up at the sound of the door, and for one unguarded moment his expression was pure relief before his usual scowl slammed back into place. "Bookworm. What the hell are you doing here?"

But his voice cracked on the words, rough and strained, and Izuku could now easily catch every tell of Kacchan's.

"I couldn't sleep," Izuku said, the words tumbling out too fast, his carefully planned approach already beginning to crumble under the weight of seeing Kacchan like this. "I needed- I wanted to-"

Get control of yourself. Be logical, scientific. For all of them.

He took a deep breath. "I needed to ask you something."

Kacchan's jaw tightened even more, his words falling with finality. “At well past midnight? The night before my wedding?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's late, but I-" Izuku took a hesitant step into the room, his fingers twisting together nervously. "I spoke with Ochako yesterday; about the wedding."

Something flickered across Kacchan's face, too fast for Izuku to identify, before his expression shuttered completely, his knuckles going white where they gripped the table.

Izuku's heart was hammering now, but he took a deep breath and stilled his mind as much as he could.

"Do you love her?"

The question fell into the silence like a stone in water. The silence that followed was deafening. The storm raged outside, rain hammering; but inside, it felt as if the thick tension caused by the question drowned out all the noise.

Kacchan stared at him, something dark and wounded and furious flickering in his crimson eyes. "What kind of question is that?" 

He had come this far. He couldn't stop now, even if it meant ruining the life that had been his dream for the past two months. Even if it meant losing Kacchan forever, shattering him for life.

"An honest one," Izuku said, more steady than he felt. "Do you love Ochako? Are you marrying her because you want to, or because you-"

"Because I what, Izuku?" Kacchan's voice was sharp now, dangerous, and he'd used Izuku's first name without any usual bite, full of raw emotion instead. "Because it's my duty? Because it protects my family? Because the damned prince wanted us to? What answer are you looking for here?"

That confirmed his and Ochako's assumption: Kacchan did not love his betrothed.

"I'm not looking for any particular answer," Izuku said, which was a lie and they both knew it. "I just- I need to understand. Because if you don't love her, then-"

"Then what?" Kacchan demanded, and suddenly he was moving closer, his control visibly fraying, blurting more than he intended to. "Then the marriage is pointless? Then I should call it off and ruin both our families? Then I should condemn my sister to a lifetime of loneliness? What, Izuku? What do you want me to say?"

I want you to say you love me, Izuku thought desperately, and nearly said aloud. He caught himself just in time, his face paling, the longing in his eyes more intense than it had ever been.

Kacchan must have seen something in his expression because he stopped abruptly, his eyes widening slightly. The anger drained from his face, replaced by something worse, something that looked almost like hope, grand and terrified all at once.

"Why are you really here?" Kacchan asked, his voice dropping to something quieter, more akin to the real Kacchan he had seen that day in the observatory. "What are you actually asking me?"

Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it. His planned questions, his careful analytical approach, his scientific framing all disintegrated like parchment in the fire that was Kacchan's raw, exhausted vulnerability.

"I think-" Izuku started, then took a pause to gather his courage. "That is, I wondered if perhaps-"

Just say it, you coward, find a solution. For Ochako.

"Do you-" His voice cracked. "Is there someone else? Someone you-"

He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't ask directly if Kacchan loved him because that felt too presumptuous, too dangerous, too likely to shatter whatever fragile thing existed between them.

"Someone I what, Izuku?" Kacchan's voice was barely above a whisper now, rough and strained, and he'd moved closer without Izuku noticing. Close enough that Izuku could see every shade of crimson in his eyes, could see the exhaustion bruised beneath them, could see the barely controlled desperation flickering across his face like a drowning man seeing a ship in the distance. ”Someone I care about? Think about when I sleep at night-”

He stopped, his jaw clenching, longing shining in his eyes, and Izuku watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.

Oh.

At that look, Izuku knew. Knew it with the same certainty he knew that two plus two equaled four, that gravity pulled objects down, that the sun would rise in a few hours on Kacchan's wedding day.

Kacchan looked at him the same way Ochako looked at Himiko. The same way Izuku looked at Kacchan in the laboratory when he thought no one could see.

And this meant Kacchan was marrying Ochako in hours thinking his feelings were one-sided. Was sacrificing his own heart for duty, for protection, for everyone else while slowly rotting from the inside out. 

The tenderness of the thought nearly undid him. Oh, how Izuku admired him. And how badly he wanted to stand at his side, to let him know he wasn't alone in this ridiculous idea to save all of them with a performance of a marriage.

This was the last chance. After dawn, everything would be impossible, locked away forever. Kacchan would be carrying a burden alone, left to die a slow, agonizing death.

Unless Izuku was brave enough to bear the burden with him.

Izuku's body moved before his mind could catch up.

He closed the distance between them in two steps, his hand coming up to rest against Kacchan's chest. He could feel his heart hammering beneath his palm, as frantic as Izuku's own, the sound of both heartbeats making the world around them silent. Kacchan's breath hitched, his eyes going wide, but he didn't move away, didn't push Izuku back; just stood frozen, staring at Izuku like he was afraid this might be a dream that would shatter if he moved.

"Kacchan," Izuku whispered, and he'd never said the name quite like that before, soft and desperate and full of every feeling he'd been trying to repress for months. "You shouldn't have to do this alone, I-”

He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet Kacchan's eyes even though the intensity in them made him feel stripped bare and vulnerable in a way that terrified him. But Kacchan deserved to know. Deserved to understand that the solution existed, that there was a way to save them all if they were just brave enough to take it, together.

“I want to be by your side."

The words hung in the air between them, and Izuku watched understanding dawn across Kacchan's face. Watched his eyes widen, his lips part slightly, watched something that looked almost like hope break through the exhaustion and despair.

Izuku was leaning in before he'd fully decided to, drawn by something stronger than logic or fear; by weeks of longing and careful distance finally collapsing.  Kacchan's eyes recovered, then fluttered closed, his lips letting out a shivering breath, and Izuku could feel it warm against his own face, could feel the magnetic pull between them, could feel that inferno consume every cell in his body like it was the very oxygen moving through it-

Reality crashed back into him like ice water.

He had been about to kiss the Duke, hours before his wedding. Him. He jerked backward, stumbling, his hand flying away from Kacchan's chest like he'd been burned. His face was on fire, his heart in his throat, horror and shame flooding through him in equal measure.

"I-" Panic seized him, his voice came out strangled, barely recognizable. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

The title felt like ash in his mouth, a betrayal of their history, but the mask hammered into him since young forced it out anyway as he took another step back, reaching blindly for the door behind him.

"I don't know what I was thinking. That was completely inappropriate. I should go, I-"

He couldn't meet Kacchan's eyes, couldn't bear to see rejection or disgust or worse, pity. He had been here for information gathering, and that damned inferno had made him ruin-

A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him cold.

Izuku's head snapped up in shock. Kacchan had moved faster than thought and was suddenly right there in his space, his grip on Izuku's wrist firm and almost painful. His eyes were blazing with something wild and desperate and completely uncontrolled.

Katsuki growled.

"What did you just call me?" Kacchan's voice was low, dangerous, shaking with an undecipherable mix of barely restrained emotions.

He was a fool, a brute. He had called him by the honourary Kacchan loathed most.

"I- I said Your Grace- I'm sorry, I should-"

"Shut your fucking mouth," Kacchan snarled, and then he was pulling Izuku forward, his other hand coming up to fist in Izuku's shirt, and-

Suddenly Izuku's eyes widened and he let out a short gasp as all he could feel was Kacchan's rough lips on his own.

Kacchan crashed their mouths together with a desperation that knocked the air from Izuku's lungs, backing him up until his spine hit the doorframe. It wasn't gentle or tentative or questioning, nor scared like Izuku's poor attempt had been. It was fierce and claiming and utterly overwhelming, like Kacchan was trying to devour every careful word and formal title and apologetic retreat Izuku had just attempted.

Izuku let out a small moan against Kacchan's mouth, his hands coming up instinctively to grip his broad shoulders, feeling layers of definition behind clothes. His mind went completely, blissfully blank, every thought scattering like startled birds as Kacchan consumed him like he was drowning and Izuku was air.

Kacchan's hand slid from his shirt to cup the back of his neck, tilting Izuku's head to deepen the kiss, and Izuku stopped thinking entirely. Just felt the heat of Kacchan's mouth, the firmness of his grip, the way he was pressed so close Izuku could feel his heartbeat hammering against his own chest, could feel the warmth of their bodies desperately pressing against each other.

When Kacchan finally pulled back, just barely, his eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, his carefully maintained restraint completely shattered.

“Don't," he said, his voice wrecked and raw, his forehead pressed against Izuku's. "Don't you dare call me 'Your Grace' after that. Don't you ever do it again. And don't apologize, don't act like this doesn't mean-" He stopped as his voice cracked, his jaw clenching, his hand still gripping the back of Izuku's neck like he was afraid Izuku would disappear if he let go.

Izuku stared at him, dazed and breathless, his carefully planned information gathering completely forgotten in the wake of having every hypothesis confirmed in the most overwhelming way possible; love and desire and fire being the only things coursing through his body.

"I wasn't-" Izuku's voice came out hoarse. "I didn't mean to-"

"You were going to leave," Kacchan cut him off, something almost like accusation in his voice, though his grip on Izuku didn't loosen. "You called me ‘Your Grace’, and you were going to walk away after- after that."

He stopped, his breathing harsh, and when he spoke again his voice was quieter, more devastating and full of an ancient heartbreak. "You were apologizing for the only real thing in this entire nightmare. For making me feel like I'm not alone for the first time in this godsforsaken life."

Izuku's breath caught.

"I'm marrying Ochako in hours," Kacchan said, and his voice cracked on the words. "I have to. For all of us. But don't-" His grip tightened almost painfully. "Don't pretend this doesn't exist. Don't pretend you regret this."

"I wasn't-" Izuku stopped, his own voice shaking. "I could never regret-" He couldn't finish. Couldn't find words adequate for the enormity of what he felt.

The storm still raged outside, rain hammering against the windows, and Izuku stood pressed against the doorframe with Kacchan's hand still tangled in his hair and his heart hammering against his ribs and the taste of Kacchan's desperation still on his lips.

In hours Kacchan would marry Ochako. In hours everything would become impossible. In hours duty would lock them into roles they could never escape.

But tonight-

“Tonight,” Kacchan whispered against his mouth, his words a desperate plea, raw with want. “Just for tonight, let me have this. Let me have you.”

Izuku's answer was in the kiss that followed, softer but no less desperate. His lips moved against Kacchan's with a tenderness that accompanied the frantic hammering of his heart, tasting the faint bitterness of brandy and something uniquely him. Kacchan's hand slid from his jaw to tangle in his green curls, tugging gently, coaxing Izuku's lips to part. The moment Izuku eagerly complied, Kacchan deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against Izuku's in a slow, deliberate exploration that made Izuku feel like his knees could buckle at any moment.

A sound, half gasp, half whimper, escaped him, swallowed immediately by Kacchan's hungry mouth. The Duke kissed like he did everything else: with absolute focus and an intensity that made Izuku feel like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Izuku's hands, which had been hovering uselessly in the air, finally found purpose. One slid up to the back of Kacchan’s neck, determined fingers pressing against the hot skin there, while the other fisted in the fabric of his waistcoat, pulling him as close as his needy body wanted. The man he loved made a low, approving sound in his chest that vibrated through Izuku's entire body, sending heat pooling low in his belly, anticipation building at a pace so rapid it felt like a dam about to break.

The kiss grew messier, more urgent. Lips and teeth and tongue, breathing each other's air, the world narrowing to the taste of him, the feel of him, the overwhelming bliss of finally surrendering to this. When Kacchan's teeth caught his lower lip and tugged gently, Izuku's rational mind went utterly, blissfully silent.

All his thoughts of tomorrow were lost in the feel of Kacchan's lips against his own, of rough hands pulling at his clothes, fingers working his nightgown with unsurprising dexterity. Izuku's own hands wandered beneath layers of fabric and unto warm, chiseled skin, tracing the alluring muscles of Katsuki's chest, feeling the rapid thunder of his heartbeat that matched his own.

Every kiss, every touch, every desperate, exhilarating moan of the man in front of him shot a spark through every single one of his nerve endings, incinerating every flicker of doubt and replacing it with sheer, overwhelming need.

A need to feel him - as his hands went up to undo Kacchan's cravat, a gasp coming out of the man's mouth. This compelled Izuku to greedily bite and suck on Kacchan's lower lip, feeling the flesh pulse underneath his teeth, the Duke reacting with a growl that made Izuku feel every vibration on his own mouth - profoundly addictive.

A need to have him - as Kacchan responded by yanking Izuku's nightgown off in a desperate single pull, making Izuku actually moan with desire to feel those rough hands in his skin.

A need to make Kacchan his - as Izuku unbuckled his belt with one hand while the other rubbed against the rock hard warmth in his pants, making the other man lean against Izuku's bare shoulder and utter a shuddering moan in his ear, sending shivers over his entire body as breath prickled his skin.

At the feel of his warm, hard cock in his hand, something in Izuku snapped. He needed this, needed Kacchan, every single intoxicating piece of him. Needed to consume him, to feel him, smell him, taste him - to have every sense in his body be consumed and overwhelmed by the man he loved.

Izuku kneeled down in front of him, the rough stone biting his bare knees doing nothing but douse his own arousal.

“Fuck, Izuku, let me-” Kacchan started, his eyes wild, his lips plump where Izuku had bitten, the earlier exhaustion and hopelessness that had plagued his features completely vanished.

But Izuku didn't listen - couldn't, really. Instead, he focused on the now damp spot in Kacchan's pants, the sight of the man's desire for him almost making him drool, and kissed the tip of it like a man dying of thirst. This completely shut the Duke’s mouth right then and there as his words were consumed with what might've been a moan but sounded more like a whimper.

Feeling Kacchan's aroused cock in his mouth, even through fabric, was making Izuku's own cock twitch with want. He needed to leave him whimpering even more, to show him just how good a little baron's son could make him feel.

He started trailing kisses down his pants, making the spot where Kacchan's cock throbbed in his pants damp, desperate to see all of him, making Kacchan whine with desire. Izuku turned his shining, excited gaze up from the mesmerizing outline of the Duke's arousal to that crimson gaze, which darkened with need when their eyes locked.

“Fuck, Izuku, I-” Kacchan's breath hitched, almost like he was afraid of voicing his own desires.

Izuku's rush to undress him came to a halt. No, that wouldn't do. Izuku did not come all the way out here at two in the morning to confront his desires, his own fears be damned, only for Kacchan to not do the same.

“Whatever shall I do for you, Your Grace?” Izuku asked, licking up the fabric where his shaft would be, all the way to the tip of his cock, making Kacchan shiver and clutch at Izuku's green hair. The answering whimper made it clear that Kacchan clearly liked the honourary if used under this context.

“Please, Izuku, please, fuck, I can't-” The other man said as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his own, almost raw at this point, lip.

Izuku moved his hand to fondle at it, slowly tracing his fingertips over the crown of his cock in feather-light motions, earning another delightful whine.

“Yes? What exactly do you want?”

The man growled then, but quickly stopped as Izuku's mouth completely covered what it could, his earlier growl turning into an unbecoming, high-pitched sound.

A blush spread through the Duke's features as he gasped “T-take it off, Izuku, I-”

But Izuku did not listen yet, still staring at the Duke innocently, trying very hard not to smirk. “Yes?”

At that Kacchan opened his eyes, his face a textbook example of desperation, “I beg of you, please-”

Izuku smirked then, and started lowering his pants.

He was really enjoying having the Duke he loved under his control.

The moment Izuku finished lowering his pants, he could see Kacchan's modestly sized, dripping cock straining against his arousal-stained underwear. He went to where his balls would be and sucked, drawing a loud moan out of Kacchan.

He could feel his warmth so much more now, could almost taste him from here. And he desperately wanted to, but he was also enjoying this little game of theirs a little too much. 

Izuku proceeded to slip one hand in below Kacchan's underwear, the fire inside him burning bright as he felt the firmness and warm flesh of the man he loved. Above him, Kacchan let out a gasp as his fingers dug into Izuku's shoulder, his other hand flailing desperately at his side and sending an experiment glass jar crashing to the ground on the other side of the shelf, neither man batting an eye at the distraction.

Izuku started working his cock, his own hand stroking the Duke’s wet, hard shaft as Izuku’s mouth suckled on his head above his undergarments. Izuku's eager, wet tongue felt Kacchan’s tip throb in response, almost tasting him through the fabric. Izuku loved it - loved this overwhelming sensation of being consumed by Kacchan, of his cock twitching with pleasure as the man grinded his hips desperately. But he didn't love it as nearly much as the continuous, needy moan being drawn out of Kacchan - in fact, he doesn't think he loved anything as much as it.

And that's when Izuku had a realization: more than proving any hypothesis or having any debate with Kacchan, this was by far the most addictive activity he had ever done. It was the most delightful sound. And, as he looked up at Kacchan's beautiful, desperately frustrated face, he realized he wanted to draw out those moans forever.

As he started to feel Kacchan tense up and twitch, the hard cock throbbing in his mouth as Kacchan's grinding became a feral thing, his own body started to scream at him that it needed to make this man feel like he reached the Heavens. He ignored it with all the strength he could muster, pulling back, earning the most delightful whine from the man.

“Hell, Izuku, all of it! Take it all off, please!”

Izuku stood then, pressing his own hard cock - also beneath layers of underwear - against Kacchan's. 

The contact immediately sent warmth and electricity through his entire body, making him shiver. But he managed to bite out the gasp that threatened to escape him, just long enough to look at Kacchan’s flushed face - handsome and alluring, with sweat trickling down his forehead, mouth plump, and eyes full of nothing but want for Izuku.

The man he desired most gasped, “Izuku-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, my lord.”

Kacchan's eyes widened then, but Izuku kissed him as he turned them around, pinning Kacchan against the wall as he pressed their cocks together, rough hands clutching desperately at his back. Despite the layers of underwear, it was still enough to make them both audibly gasp at the contact, briefly pulling away to look at each other, both panting and flushed, pupils blown wide.

Izuku continued, kissing Kacchan's neck greedily. He could feel Kacchan shiver against his mouth as he gripped the blond's waist and started grinding their arousals together frantically, at one point accidentally scraping his teeth on Kacchan's pulse from an unexpected tremor of raw, visceral pleasure.

They pulled apart. Suddenly, Kacchan's gaze turned more vulnerable than Izuku thought possible, as his hands slowly lowered themselves from Izuku's back into his underwear. He looked at Izuku quickly, as if asking for permission, and Izuku's breath hitched at it as he nodded.

Kacchan then exposed Izuku's cock, slightly bigger than the blond's. Izuku's teasing games came to a halt as want consumed his every thought the moment Kacchan's calloused hands wrapped around his cock, the texture and feel sending waves of pure ecstasy through his entire body, radiating downwards from his core all the way to his toes, making them curl. The man's movements were unsure at first, then slowly gained confidence as Izuku's head tilted backwards as he let out a moan.

Fuck.

Izuku managed to hold on for a couple of minutes until he was frantically thrusting against Kacchan's warm palms. He could feel his body shivering more violently, could feel his toes curling up, his cock clenching, every wave of pleasure across his body getting more and more intense, more overwhelming, as the pressure inside his core seemed to tighten and grow and expand up to a boiling point until-

Kacchan pulled his hand back, making Izuku gasp and look at him with a mixture of need and confusion.

The Duke's expression turned serious, full of trust and honesty.

“The night can't end here, Izuku. I-I don't want it to.” The man that would get married in a matter of hours took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes raw with a conflicting mix of emotions. “Just for tonight, make me yours.”

Izuku's eyes widened slightly and he swallowed as he nodded, immediately understanding the implications of those words, of the Duke he loved most wanting to be all his for the claiming.

He regained his courage quickly, lacing his tone with all the desire that pooled in his gut at the ask. “Of course, Your Grace”

Katsuki's pupils dilated even more at the words. He desperately launched himself towards Izuku, wrapping one arm around his back and using the other to bring Izuku's hand towards his ass, the man's lips raw and needy against Izuku's own.

The world could go on when morning rose. The sham of a marriage would happen. But here, now, everything was real. Kacchan would be his. He would be Kacchan's. And together, side by side, they would somehow, impossibly, find a way to make them all blissfully happy in the middle of this mess. 

Izuku had found the one, impossible solution. And as he felt his fingers trace a delicate line over Kacchan's hole, the man whimpering with need, he realized it was far more alluring and intoxicating than he had ever thought possible. 

Chapter Text

Kacchan was asleep.

Izuku stood beside the bed for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful lines of his face in the dim pre-dawn light. He looked beautiful like this, vulnerable in a way that made Izuku's heart ache with the weight of everything they'd just shared, everything they were about to face.

He didn't want to leave. Wanted to stay here, curled against Kacchan's warmth, pretending the wedding wasn't happening in a few short hours. But he needed to return to his quarters before the household began to stir, needed to make himself presentable, needed to prepare for the performance they would all have to give.

Quietly, carefully, Izuku found a scrap of paper and a pen on Katsuki's desk. His hand trembled slightly as he wrote.

Kacchan,

 

Gone to freshen up before the household wakes. I'll see you at the ceremony.

I'll be there by your side, always.

 

Yours,

Izuku

He set the note on the pillow beside Kacchan's head, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

He straightened, pulled his nightgown tighter, and slipped out of the room.

The rain had eased since he'd been with Kacchan, the earlier storm softening into a steady, gentle patter against the windows. Izuku moved through the empty corridors in the pre-dawn darkness, his body still warm from Kacchan's touch, his heart still racing from everything that had just transpired between them.

It was half past four in the morning, and he needed to return to his own quarters before the household began to stir. He needed to wash, to make himself presentable for the wedding that would begin soon.

In just a few short hours, Kacchan would stand before a priest and promise himself to Ochako. Today, the impossible solution they had all clung to would either take root or crumble into dust.

And Izuku could still feel his body singing from Kacchan’s touch, the ghost of Kacchan's hands on his skin, could still feel his body ache in a most wonderful way, could still taste him on his lips, could still hear the raw, desperate trust in his voice when he'd pleaded to be claimed, just for one night.

The memory sent a wave of warmth through Izuku's chest. They had found a way. Against all odds, against every rule of society and propriety, they had found a way. Kacchan loved him. He was certain of that now, as certain as he was of his own heartbeat. And if Kacchan loved him, then surely Himiko and Ochako would find their way to each other too.

He found himself in the lower corridors, near the kitchens, having taken a roundabout path to avoid the main halls where early-rising servants might spot him and wonder why the Duke's guest was wandering about at such an ungodly hour. 

He was just beginning to consider heading to his assigned quarters - perhaps he could even manage an hour or two of rest, now that his heart wasn't consuming itself with anxiety - when he heard it.

Voices.

Low, hushed, conspiratorial. Coming from somewhere just around the corner, near the servants' entrance.

Izuku froze. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to make himself known, to cough or shuffle his feet or do something to announce his presence. But something in the tone of those voices made him hold perfectly still. 

He shouldn't be listening. He knew he shouldn't. It was improper, it was rude, it was everything a guest in this house should never do. But his feet wouldn't move, and his breath caught in his throat as the voices continued.

"-telling you, it's not right," a voice was saying, male, older, with a rough edge that sent an unpleasant chill down Izuku's spine. "Dismissing a man without even a hearing. The Duke's gone soft, I tell you. Soft."

Another voice responded, younger, uncertain. "Aye, but what can be done about it, Rikiya? He's the Duke. His word is law in this house. And you're not even supposed to be here anymore, if anyone sees-"

"Which is why you're being paid well to make sure no one does," Rikiya cut in sharply, and Izuku heard the clink of coins. "His word is law," Rikiya continued, bitter. "For now, perhaps. But mark me, the whole house has gone soft. Letting that girl run wild, bringing in strangers, making decisions based on sentiment." The word was spat out like something foul. "It's not proper. It's not how things should be run."

Izuku's pulse quickened. The girl… was it Himiko?

"And what would you have us do?" the younger voice asked, and there was an edge of nervousness to it now, as though the speaker was beginning to realize this conversation was treading into dangerous territory.

There was a pause, long enough that Izuku wondered if they'd stopped talking entirely, if they'd moved on or noticed his presence somehow. But then Rikiya spoke again, quieter now.

"Keep your eyes open," he said, and there was something in his tone that made Izuku's skin crawl, something calculating and patient and deeply wrong. "That's all. Just keep your eyes open. Those discarded sketches from the art chamber, for instance. Promising, but not enough yet. He needs more to prove his hypothesis. Something undeniable."

He. Not Kacchan, but someone else. Someone who wanted what? Information?

Izuku's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments, trying to understand what he was hearing. Discarded sketches from the art chamber - Himiko's art. But sketches of what? What could possibly be promising about discarded sketches?

"I don't know," the younger voice said, and there was genuine unease in it now. "This feels wrong-"

"It's not," Rikiya cut in. "It's being observant. It's being loyal to those who deserve loyalty, like him, rather than those who cast aside good men on a whim. Now, are you with me or not?"

There was a long pause, and then a reluctant, "Aye. I'm with you."

"Good, Shin. Now get back to work before someone notices you're missing."

Izuku heard footsteps moving away, but he remained frozen, pressed against the wall, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might crack his ribs. He waited, counting his breaths, until the corridor was silent again save for the gentle rain.

Only then did he allow himself to move, stumbling slightly as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard.

It was wrong. All of it was wrong. The bitterness in that voice, the talk of gathering more, of a him.

A cold, creeping unease settled over him. He didn't know what this meant. Couldn't piece it together, not fully, not yet. It was just fragments, just an odd, unsettling conversation overheard in the early morning hours when his nerves were already frayed.

He couldn't go to Katsuki. Not now, not on the morning of his wedding, not with nothing but a vague, overheard conversation and a gut feeling. And he couldn't go to Himiko or Ochako either, they had enough to worry about without adding this formless dread.

So he would file it away. Tuck it into some corner where it wouldn't consume him, keep an eye out for anything else he might see until he figured it out. Because what could he do, really? He had no proof, just fragments. And he had far more immediate, far more important things to worry about.

Today was the wedding. Today would determine whether their impossible, fragile hope could survive.

That was what mattered. Not the bitter words of a dismissed servant with a grudge. It was probably nothing anyway. Just petty revenge, and Kacchan and Himiko wouldn't have dismissed him without cause. They were too careful, too nice to their staff for that. Whatever Rikiya had done to earn his dismissal, it was surely deserved.

As Izuku turned and made his way back through the silent corridors, he forced himself to push the conversation from his mind. He had a wedding to prepare for, people he loved to support.

The uneasy feeling in his gut would fade with the morning light.

It had to.

The cathedral was magnificent. Not just any cathedral, the Royal Chapel within the palace grounds, reserved only for the most important ceremonies of state. Himiko had been here once before, for another Ducal marriage when she was a child, and she remembered being awed by its grandeur. The soaring arches seemed to reach toward Heaven itself, the light filtering through stained glass windows depicting saints and angels, the carved stone intricate.

It felt like a tomb.

Himiko sat in the front row, exactly where the families were meant to sit, her posture perfect, her hands folded demurely in her lap, her expression one of serene, proud happiness. She had practiced this in the mirror that morning until her face ached from holding the smile. The performance had to be flawless: for Katsuki, for Ochako.

But gods, it hurt.

Yesterday felt like a lifetime ago and also like mere seconds. The memory of it was a fresh wound that kept tearing open every time she tried to breathe: Ochako in the music room, wearing yellow, the color of Himiko's eyes, as though she'd chosen it deliberately, as though she'd wanted Himiko to know. The sketchbook with that clumsy, heartbreakingly earnest drawing, Ochako trying to show her - in Himiko's own way, no less - what their moment Himiko had foolishly panicked upon truly meant to her. The way Ochako had looked at her with such desperate, raw emotion.

And then-

Himiko had watched Ochako lean in, had felt her thumb trace the curve of her lip, had seen the want blazing in those soft brown eyes. Had known, with bone-deep certainty, that Ochako was about to kiss her. That all of it had been real, that her foolish hopes weren't so foolish. That Ochako held some sort of affection for her.

And Himiko had pulled away.

She'd panicked. Fled. Pushed away the one thing she wanted most in the world because Katsuki had said the wedding must happen, that she needed to trust him, that this was the only way to protect them all. 

But understanding and accepting were two different things. And so she'd rejected Ochako the night before her wedding, had watched those beautiful eyes fill with tears and guilt, had left her standing there looking shattered and lost.

All because Himiko had trusted her brother's plan. Because her brother had been the one person - before Ochako, apparently - to accept her unconditionally.

I hope this was worth it, Katsuki, she thought bitterly, her fixed smile never wavering even as something twisted viciously in her chest. I hope your grand scheme was worth rejecting the love of my life.

The chapel was filled to bursting, even more so than a typical noble wedding would have been. This wasn't just the Duke of Rivermoor marrying. This was a wedding demanded by the prince himself, held in the royal palace, witnessed by what might as well be the entire ton. Every noble family of consequence had turned out, dressed in their finest, eager to be seen at such a prestigious event. Himiko could feel the weight of their gazes, some curious, some disapproving, some probably openly hoping to witness the infamous Lady Blackwell cause some sort of scene at her brother's wedding.

She gave them nothing. Just the perfect, placid smile of a devoted sister watching her brother marry in the grandest setting imaginable.

Her eyes swept the crowd once, cataloging faces out of habit. And there, several rows back, she spotted him. Viscount Kai Chapman, dressed impeccably as always, his expression one of polite interest as he waited for the ceremony to begin.

At least he'd learned his lesson after Katsuki and Ochako had dismissed him so thoroughly, he was keeping his distance. Good.

But then, as though he'd felt her gaze, Kai turned his head and looked directly at her. And he smiled. Not polite, not friendly, not even intimidating. A small, smug grin that didn't reach his cold eyes. Almost as if he was the one playing the upper hand, and not the one who had been so utterly defeated.

Odd.

Himiko looked away, dismissing it. She had far more important things to worry about than Kai Chapman trying to get a rise out of her to feed his own shattered ego. Today was about Ochako. About the wedding. About watching the love of her life go toward a future that would never include her. About pretending to be happy while rapturing from the inside out.

A rustle of movement beside her made Himiko turn slightly. Lady Sayaka Underhill was settling into the seat at Himiko's right, and despite the frailty that had settled over her features, she looked radiant. She wore a gown of deep rose silk, and her smile as she met Himiko's gaze was warm, genuine, so similar to Ochako and so full of a quiet joy that it made Himiko's chest ache.

"Lady Himiko," Sayaka said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I'm so glad to be sitting beside you for this. We'll be family now, won't we?"

The words struck Himiko like a blade between the ribs. Family. Sisters-in-law. The exact cage she'd tried to convince herself would be enough and had learned, in two weeks of aching distance, would never be.

But Himiko's smile didn't falter. Instead, she turned the full force of her charm on Sayaka, her expression lighting with practiced warmth and mischief. "Indeed we shall, Lady Sayaka. And I must say, I could not have asked for a finer addition to our family. Your daughter is quite extraordinary. Katsuki is impossibly lucky."

The words tasted like ash in her mouth. She wasn't lying, not at all, she truly did believe Katsuki was impossibly lucky. But what she had desperately wished, was to be having this conversation with Sayaka because she was marrying Ochako, because she was promising the woman that she would always cherish her daughter, that she would move heaven and earth as long as it made the woman she loved most happy.

But she couldn't say that. Would never be able to say that - not in a cruel world like theirs.

Sayaka's expression softened further, and she patted Himiko's hand with maternal affection. "You are such a sweet girl," she said, and there was something in her gaze - concern, perhaps, maybe gentle worry. "I'm certain you and Ochako will be wonderful sisters."

Sisters. There was that word again.

Himiko forced a laugh, light and musical, perfectly calibrated. "Oh, we shall have such fun, I'm sure. I've already been teaching her to draw, you know. She's quite talented, though she insists otherwise."

Once again, the words that threatened to rip out of her mouth were completely different: I've fallen hopelessly in love with her. Every sketch she makes, every improvement I see, every laugh and moment we spend together makes me love her more. And yesterday everything I've ever wished for was offered to me freely, and my cowardice made me push her away because my heart could not fathom that anyone could ever want me.

Sayaka's smile was warm but tinged with something else, mayhaps her motherly intuition. She squeezed Himiko's hand again, gently. "Are you quite well, dear? You seem... troubled."

"Perfectly well," Himiko lied smoothly, her smile never wavering, doing the best to reinforce that familiar mask. "Just the usual wedding day emotions, you know. My brother is getting married - it's all rather overwhelming."

Sayaka nodded, seeming to accept this, though her eyes remained kind and watchful. Before she could probe further, the organ began to play its deep, resonant notes, and everyone rose. Himiko rose with them, grateful for the excuse to turn away from Sayaka's too-perceptive gaze, her movements fluid and graceful, everything her brutal etiquette training had drilled into her. She kept her eyes forward, toward the altar where Katsuki stood.

And for the first time since arriving at the cathedral, she truly looked at her brother.

He stood tall and commanding in his formal attire, looking every inch the powerful Duke. But there was something different about him today. Something in the way he held himself. He didn't look as rigid as he had in the weeks leading up to this moment. There was a lightness to him, subtle but unmistakable, as though some weight had been lifted from his chest.

He looked at peace. As though he knew that this was the right thing to do.

And Himiko felt something crack painfully in her chest. Because of course he did, of course Katsuki looked peaceful and certain. He was marrying a wonderful woman who would make him an excellent Duchess, strengthening his position, securing his future and protecting his family.

A fresh wound tore at her heart as she realized that he was happy about this, but she quickly forced herself to be happy for him. Forced herself to ignore what he had told her about sharing the same curse as her. Forced herself to remember that she loved her brother more than anything, that she wanted him to have this, that she would endure any amount of pain if it meant he could have the life he deserved. Even if it meant watching the woman she loved marry him instead.

Suddenly, the doors at the back of the cathedral opened, making everyone in the audience turn around in almost frighteningly perfect harmony. And then, Ochako appeared.

Himiko's breath stopped, all the noises - the ones from the palace, the ones from the accompanying swell of the organ, and the ones in her mind - were drowned out instantly.

Ochako looked like every dream Himiko had ever had. Like something conjured from a hopeless romantic's most fevered imaginings. Her gown was a masterpiece of ivory silk in a delicate cut, the fabric catching the sunlight coming through the glass windows making her look ethereal, like something not quite of this world. Her brown hair was swept up in an elegant arrangement, a few soft strands framing her face, and atop her head sat a delicate crown of white roses.

Himiko had never known such a sight was possible.

She looked like the perfect bride. She looked devastatingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. She looked like everything Himiko had ever yearned for and could never, ever have - not anymore.

Himiko felt her carefully constructed mask crumble into dust, but she was powerless against it, against the force this woman could inflict upon her. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widening, her entire body going still. She drank in every little detail: the way Ochako's cloak outlined that beautiful face, the way light shining on ivory made Ochako's skin glow, the beautiful contrast made by the soft pink flush on Ochako's cheeks and those beautiful eyes that had charmed her so. She looked breathtaking.

And Himiko knew that anyone looking at her in that moment would see exactly what she felt. Adoration, longing, and a love so profound it threatened to consume her entirely.

She didn't care, couldn't, really. Because Ochako was walking down the aisle, her hand resting lightly on her father's arm, and Himiko couldn't look away. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare at the woman she loved as she walked toward a life-sentence with HImiko's brother. Toward a future that didn't include her.

And then Himiko noticed the slight tremble in Ochako's other hand as she clutched her bouquet, the way her smile was too-bright - nothing like the smiles during their shared lessons - and how it wobbled for just a second before being schooled back into place. She looked terrified. 

Ochako moved with a fragile, practiced grace, her steps measured and careful, her gaze fixed somewhere ahead; not on Katsuki. She looked distant, dreamlike, as though none of this were quite real.

For just a moment, watching Ochako inch closer, Himiko let herself pretend. Let herself imagine that they lived in some other, kinder world. One where Ochako wasn't walking toward Katsuki at all, but toward her. That there would be a real smile painting the brunette's features instead of that dutiful mask; real fire in her eyes instead of distance and resignation. That Ochako would reach her, choose her, promise herself to her for the rest of their lives.

And Himiko would be standing at that altar with trembling hands and a heart full of hope for their future, promising to always love her. Always bake her pastries and give her lessons in anything she ever wished to learn. Always nurture that true, beautiful soul that lay beneath propriety, the one that had enamoured her, until the entire world could bask in her beloved's radiant beauty.

The fantasy was so vivid it hurt. She could almost feel it: Ochako's hand in hers, their vows spoken before everyone, the right to love her openly and completely without fear or shame or hiding. The right to live and love as they pleased, together.

And then reality - brutal as it tends to be - crashed back in, because Ochako's gaze flickered.

Toward her.

And for a single, heartbreaking second that felt like an eternity-

Their gazes locked.

The world narrowed to that beautiful chestnut gaze, to the space between them. Himiko forgot how to breathe, forgot the hundreds of people watching, forgot the cathedral and the vows and the impossibility of their situation. There was only Ochako, looking at her with eyes full of desperate, raw emotion. At that look, Himiko's heart ached so strongly it felt like it was carving itself out from her chest.

Because that look wasn't fear, hesitation, or even familiar appreciation.

It was longing. It was the look one would give when seeing everything they wanted slip right in front of their eyes.

Ochako's carefully composed expression cracked, just slightly, her eyes shining with something that looked terrifyingly close to tears. Her lips parted as though she might speak, as though she might call out, might turn and flee down the aisle and away from this terrible charade.

Himiko wanted to reach for her. Wanted to stand, to close the distance between them, to take her hand and run. Wanted to scream that this was wrong, all of it was wrong, that Ochako shouldn't be walking toward Katsuki, she should be walking toward her.

I love you Himiko thought desperately, the words screaming inside her chest with no way to escape. I love you, I love you so much, I'm sorry I pushed you away, I'm sorry I was a coward, please don't do this, please don't marry him-

But she didn't move. Couldn't move. Could only stand there, frozen in her perfect, dutiful pose, her heart screaming inside her chest as Ochako's gaze held hers for one more second.

And in that second, Himiko saw everything reflected back at her: every sketch she'd drawn in secret, every moment they'd shared in gardens and horses and music rooms, every touch of hands and shared laugh and desperate, unspoken want. Ochako was suffering, too.

The realization should have been a comfort, but it made her feel like her heart was being ripped from her insides. Because it changed nothing. Nothing at all would ever change.

Ochako's father gently guided her forward, and the moment shattered. Ochako's gaze tore away from Himiko's, turning toward the altar, toward Katsuki, and the light that had been burning in her eyes for a fleeting moment extinguished like a candle snuffed out.

Her expression smoothed into a blank, resigned thing. She looked like a woman walking toward her own execution with her head held high, her fate long accepted.

Himiko watched, her own carefully maintained smile feeling like it might crack her face in half, as Ochako reached the altar. As Baron Underhill placed his daughter's hand in Katsuki's. As her brother's large hand closed around Ochako's smaller one with a gentleness that would have been touching if Himiko's heart wasn't actively being shattered.

She saw it happen in Ochako's eyes, the moment she looked up at Katsuki and something shifted. And then she smiled. That too bright smile that lit up her whole face, the kind that would convince anyone watching that she was the happiest bride in all of England. The one that Himiko could easily tell was a performance.

Apparently Himiko was not the only one who could tell the difference - beside her, Himiko heard a soft, almost inaudible gasp. Her gaze flickered to Sayaka, who was looking at her with a look of dawning realization, before the older woman quickly schooled her features into a carefully neutral expression, eyes fixing back on the stars of the show. Himiko was hoping that the woman didn't notice more than she should've.

Himiko sat down with the rest of the congregation, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Her hands picked at the scars under her gloves so strongly they threatened to tear, the pain sharp and ever slightly distracting.

The priest began to speak, his voice echoing through the cathedral in monotone, formal tones. To Himiko, the words were meaningless sounds that had nothing to do with the two people standing before him. He spoke of duty and honor, of the joining of two great houses, of the sanctity of matrimony. He spoke of love.

Himiko wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or both.

She watched instead. Watched Ochako stand beside Katsuki, her posture perfect, her expression serene. Watched her brother look lighter than he had in weeks, as though he was doing exactly what he had to as he held her hand.

The priest asked for objections, the cathedral was silent. Of course it was.

And then came the vows.

Katsuki spoke first, his voice steady and clear, carrying through the vast space with the confidence of a man who had been trained since birth to command attention. He promised to honor her, to protect her, to stand by her side through whatever trials they might face, and to do his best to ensure she was happy. His words were beautiful, carefully chosen, utterly impersonal if not for his last remark.

But when Ochako spoke, her voice trembled.

Just slightly. Just enough that Himiko, who had memorized every inflection of that voice, every subtle shift in tone, heard it immediately. Ochako's words were clear, her vows perfect and proper, exactly what was expected of a dutiful bride. But underneath it all, Himiko could hear the crack, the barely restrained pain of a woman saying words she didn't mean, binding herself to a future that would slowly suffocate her.

"I, Ochako Underhill," she said, and her voice caught, just for a moment, "take you, Katsuki Blackwell, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

Until death.

The words echoed in Himiko's mind like a curse. That's how long Ochako would be bound to Katsuki. How long she would be untouchable, forbidden, forever just out of reach. An entire lifetime of watching her from across rooms, of polite, sisterly conversation, of never, ever being able to touch and love her the way Himiko desperately yearned to.

What a fool she'd been, convincing herself that this would ever be enough.

The priest pronounced them husband and wife. The congregation applauded, the sound thunderous in the enclosed space, echoing off the stone walls until it felt like the very cathedral was celebrating this union.

Himiko applauded too. Her hands came together in a perfect, rhythmic clap, her smile bright and warm and utterly false. She looked like the picture of a proud, happy sister. Inside, every moment since Ochako reached the altar felt like the background noise of her slow, painful death.

Katsuki lifted Ochako's veil, the delicate fabric falling away to reveal her face fully for the first time since she'd entered the cathedral. And when Katsuki mechanically leaned in to kiss her - the traditional, chaste kiss to seal their union, almost as if it was an obligation to them both - Himiko watched Ochako's eyes close, watched a single tear escape and trail down her cheek before she could stop it.

No one else noticed. They were all too busy celebrating, too caught up in the spectacle and the romance of it all. And if they did, they probably thought it was just a tear of happiness.

But Himiko saw. And it broke something in her that she didn't think could be broken any further.

The reception was held in the Grand Ballroom of the royal palace itself, a space so vast it made even the Royal Chapel seem modest by comparison. Soaring ceilings with elaborate painting of celestial scenes, massive chandeliers dripping with thousands of crystals, walls lined with more gold than Himiko had ever seen in her life. The crowd had swelled even further, nobles who hadn't been important enough for the chapel ceremony but wouldn't dream of missing the reception that followed. The air was full of the scent of expensive perfume and imported alcohol, full of laughter, the royal orchestra's music and the rustle of the finest silk gowns in the kingdom.

It was suffocating.

Himiko moved through it all as if it was an out-of-body experience, her smile never faltering, her performance flawless. She accepted congratulations, made polite small talk with the few that dared approach her, laughed at jests that weren't funny, and all the while her gaze kept drifting back to Ochako like a moth drawn helplessly to flame.

Ochako looked radiant. Her smile never wavered, her responses never faltered. She played the role of the blushing, happy bride with a skill that would have been impressive if it weren't so utterly heartbreaking - if Himiko couldn't so easily notice every little crack in her smile or too distant gaze.

The first dance was announced, and the crowd parted to make room. The orchestra began to play a slow, elegant, traditional melody that required perfect synchronization and formal, distant movements.

Just like the first time the now wedded couple danced for the ton, Himiko's mind drifted to the clumsy, breathless joy of teaching Ochako how to dance, the way they'd laughed when Ochako stumbled, the way their hands had fit together perfectly. 

And she tried really, really hard not to compare it to this perfectly executed, hollow performance.

So instead, her eyes scanned the crowd. Izuku was near Toshinori, looking just as relaxed, just as accepting - if a bit pained - as Katsuki did. He didn't love Ochako as much as her, clearly. Well, she was at least proud her friend could now stand near Toshinori without looking like he'll piss his pants without any alcohol to sustain him.

Her eyes went around the audience. Kai was looking at the couple, still looking smug for some perplexing reason. So many lords and ladies were happy and celebrating, acting as if they personally knew the couple and this sham brought them happiness. Not like her and her brother's reputations were secretly slandered by these snakes for years, or like they would've gladly sent Ochako's poorer family to ruin if it meant they got more power. It made her sick to her stomach. She looked back at the dance.

They looked stunning together, the powerful Duke and his new, equally-powerful Duchess born into a world of societal rules. Katsuki led Ochako with practiced ease. His hand rested at the proper place at her waist - not too high, not too low, exactly where appropriate. Ochako's hand lay lightly on his shoulder, her fingers barely touching the fabric of his coat. They moved through the formal steps with flawless precision, their bodies never quite touching beyond the required points of contact. No warmth except friendship, no spark.

But the performance was perfect - it was everything a wedding dance should be. And it felt like watching Ochako disappear forever, as if the Duchess was being buried alive. Watching it made her feel as if the first goal she ever had when meeting Ochako for the first time - to ensure that beautiful light was never snuffed by the world - was a complete, gut-wrenching failure.

It made her heart ache and her eyes sting, and so she turned her gaze around again. Close to the couple, Mr. Underhill looked equal parts relieved - his problems now solved - and absolutely ecstatic for his daughter. He clearly loved her, Ochako and Izuku had both told her about his warmth, and he was probably happy his daughter had found marriage with a good, powerful man who could protect her. 

And Sayaka -

Sayaka wasn't with him.

Huh.

Himiko swung her head around, concerned for the sweet woman Ochako adored, whose health was in a frail state. The music swelled toward its conclusion, the final notes hanging in the air like a held breath. She could see as Katsuki and Ochako came to a perfect stop, bowed and curtsied to each other with impeccable form, and then turned to face the crowd. Still no sight of Sayaka.

Thunderous applause erupted, along with calls of congratulations and approval, then-

"Lady Himiko," a sweet voice said softly, barely audible over the noise of the celebration. "Might I have a word?"

Himiko forced herself to maintain her smile as she turned to her side, noting how the Duke and Duchess of Rivermoor were swarmed by nobles wanting to offer congratulations - probably looking for monetary gain.

The owner of the voice was no other than Sayaka Underhill, who looked as someone who was conserving their limited energy. Her face was composed, though her eyes were bright with emotion.

Himiko then remembered Sayaka's earlier look after she had obviously noted her foolish, uncontrollable look of longing toward the woman's daughter.

Himiko's heart lurched with panic, a familiar fear of having been caught by an older adult, but she nodded, following Sayaka to a slightly quieter corner of the ballroom. The older woman turned to face her, and for a terrible moment, Himiko braced herself for accusation, for horror, for rejection, for words of salvation.

But Sayaka's expression was gentle. Sad, yes, but not angry.

"I saw," she confirmed, and there was no judgment in her tone. "During the ceremony… I saw the way you looked at her. The way she looked at you."

Himiko's breath caught. She opened her mouth to deny it, to laugh it off, to somehow save her own hide, but the words died in her throat. What was the point? Himiko had been a weak fool and had made it obvious for the entire world to see just how deranged she was.

"I don't-" Himiko started, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes gaining a cornered quality. "I never meant any offense-"

"Hush," Sayaka said gently, reaching out to squeeze Himiko's hand. "I'm not here to scold you, my dear. I'm here because..." She paused, her eyes growing distant for a moment before refocusing with fierce intensity. "I'm just glad she has you."

Himiko stared at her, uncomprehending. "What?"

"My time in this world is nearing an end, Himiko, I can feel it.” Sayaka said, a look of calm resignation in her face.

Himiko's heart ached, she knew, Ochako had told her, but it still made her hurt for her beloved.

“My daughter," Sayaka said, and her voice was thick with emotion now, fighting back her tears. "She has always been so strong, so determined to do the right thing, to sacrifice herself for others. It has always been her greatest strength and her greatest burden." She squeezed Himiko's hand tighter. "I'm just glad that even if I'm gone, she has someone who sees her. Who understands her in ways others might not. Someone who..." She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "Someone who makes her feel less alone in this cruel world."

Himiko's mind went blank with shock.

"Lady Sayaka, I-" Himiko's voice cracked. "I would never do anything to hurt her. Or to bring shame upon her. I've never meant to bring scandal, I swear-"

"I know," Sayaka said simply. "I see the way you look at my daughter, Himiko. It's the same look I've always wished someone would have for her." Her smile was bittersweet. "Just... take care of each other, however you can. In whatever ways the world allows."

The words hit Himiko like a dagger to the chest. Sayaka wasn't condemning her. Was she… accepting her? For a brief moment, Himiko felt envy for Ochako, not daring to imagine what growing up with a mother who accepted this part of her instead of forcing her into “salvation” would've done for her. She quickly crushed that thought as she saw the sheer tenderness and love in that gaze.

Himiko felt tears prickling at her eyes, threatening to spill over and ruin her carefully applied cosmetics. She blinked them back furiously, but one escaped anyway, trailing down her cheek.

Sayaka gently reached up and wiped it away with her thumb. "There now," she said softly. "We must both be strong today, for her sake."

"Thank you, thank you so much," Himiko whispered, the words wholly inadequate for the gift Sayaka had just given her. “I promise you I will always look out for her, in whatever way I can.” Even if it's from a distance.

Sayaka smiled sweetly at her, squeezed her hand one more time, and then turned away, moving back toward where her husband stood. She looked frail and tired, but there was a quiet peace in her expression that hadn't been there before.

Himiko stood there for a long moment, trying to compose herself, trying to process what had just happened. At one point, an elderly countess arrived, and Himiko pretended that her jests were the funniest she'd heard in her life.

And then her gaze - as it always did - flickered and looked for Ochako across the crowded room once more.

Himiko watched Ochako's smile grow more strained with each interaction, watched the light dim further in her eyes.

And then, through a brief gap in the crowd, their gazes met again.

Ochako's plastic smile faltered. Her eyes, which had been distant and glazed for the past hour, suddenly focused with fiery clarity. And in them, Himiko saw exactly what she felt reflected back at her: a grief so profound it seemed to hollow out everything else.

Ochako looked utterly alone and trapped. Like someone who had just realized the full weight of the cage she'd willingly walked into and was only now understanding that the door had locked behind her. It was so similar to Himiko's own feelings that she almost wanted to laugh, if it wasn't for the overwhelming pain in her own soul.

The moment stretched, suspended in the noise and chaos around them, a silent scream between two women who yearned to be near each other and could do nothing about it.

And then a familiar figure stepped between them, breaking the connection, his booming voice so loud it reverberated through the ballroom's walls.

"I AM HERE! Your Grace, Lady Ochako, congratulations!"

It was King Toshinori himself, golden-haired and radiant, his smile as warm and genuine as always. He was approaching the newlyweds with his characteristic easy charm, and of course the crowd parted immediately for him, everyone eager to give their monarch space.

Katsuki and Ochako turned toward him, their performances snapping back into place. Bows and curtsies, grateful smiles, appropriate responses.

Himiko was left staring at the empty space where their shared moment of grief had been. She turned away, her chest tight, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She couldn't do this. Couldn't stand here and watch Ochako suffer when the entire point of her earlier, stupid vow was to make her happy. Couldn't keep this ridiculous mask up for one more second without shattering in front of everyone.

And then she saw Toshinori beckon a startled Izuku closer to talk with him and Katsuki, and saw Ochako apologize and move, Toshinori gracefully understanding. Saw her slip away from Katsuki's side, moving through the edges of the ballroom with that same careful grace she'd used all day, getting lost in the crowd, away from Himiko's eyes.

Himiko needed air, needed to flee. Everyone's attention was on Toshinori now, on the King talking about experiments with the two smartest people she knew. No one was watching Himiko. No one would notice if she-

"Excuse me," she murmured to no one in particular, already moving toward the doors, her smile fixed in place even as she felt herself fracturing beneath it, "I need some air."

No one tried to stop her. Why would they? She was just the eccentric sister, after all. Expected to be odd, to slip away at strange moments. They probably thought she was going to flee back into the townhouse before her brother and the new Duchess fled to new estate, away from her forever.

She made it to a secluded balcony before her composure finally, completely shattered.

The cold night air hit her like a slap, a stark contrast to the suffocating warmth of the ballroom. Himiko gripped the stone railing of the balcony with both hands, her knuckles going white, her carefully maintained facade cracking and crumbling until there was nothing left but raw, aching pain.

For a long time, might've been minutes, might've been hours - her mind ran in an endless loop of torture.

She'd done it. She'd watched Ochako marry her brother in the Royal Chapel. Had sat there with a smile on her face while the woman she loved with all her life promised herself to someone else in front of the King, the Prince, half the nobility of England. Had performed happiness while slowly dying inside. Had finally lost her forever.

And for what? For Katsuki's plan? For protection? Such a fool.

"I hope this was worth it, Katsuki," she said into the darkness, her voice brittle and breaking. "I hope your grand plan was worth this agony."

"It will be."

Himiko spun around, her heart lurching. Katsuki stood in the doorway to the balcony, his formal attire slightly disheveled, his expression serious but not unkind. He must have kept an eye on her, which meant she was gone for longer than she thought.

"Don't," she said, her voice cracking. "Don't tell me it's for the best, don't tell me it's necessary. I just watched the woman I love marry you, Katsuki. I just-" Her voice broke entirely. "I rejected her, yesterday. She tried to kiss me and I pushed her away because you said the wedding had to happen, because you said to trust you, that we were the same, and now she thinks I don't want her when I wish for nothing more-"

"Tch. You absolute fool," Katsuki huffed, but his tone was gentle. He crossed the balcony in three long strides and put a hand on her shoulder. "This marriage isn't a cage, Himiko. It's a shield."

Himiko stared at him, uncomprehending.

"It gives you both the protection of my name," he continued, his crimson eyes boring into hers with an intensity and love that took her breath away. "The freedom to be 'sisters-in-law' in the eyes of the world, and whatever you actually are in private. Did you really think I would force you to watch her from a distance for the rest of your life? After you trusted me? After I told you I understood?"

And suddenly, like a light cutting through her despair, dizzying hope flooded through Himiko's chest. "You- you meant for us to be together?"

"Of course I did," Katsuki said, and there was something almost exasperated in his tone. "Why else would I-" He cut himself off, his jaw clenching. "The marriage protects all of us. Gives us all the freedom to be who we are, love who we love, behind the safety of propriety and titles and perfectly maintained appearances."

Himiko felt tears streaming down her face, hot and uncontrollable. "But I pushed her away because of your words. I hurt her. She thinks I rejected her because I don't want-" She stopped, her mind catching on something. "Wait. All of us? But Katsuki, she's your wife. What do you gain from this?"

"I told you, maniac," Katsuki said, his voice low and rough. "Same impossible curse. You're not the only one gaining something from this."

The words hung in the air between them. Love who we love. Same curse. What, who, did her brute of a brother possibly mean-

Himiko's eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. The way Katsuki had never once shown interest in any lady. The way he had looked that night at the royal gala when Izuku had gotten drunk - not annoyed, but protective, concerned. The way he'd carried the man he endearingly called bookworm out of the ballroom with a gentleness she'd never seen from her brother before. The way Katsuki had seemed lighter these past few weeks, more alive, more present and motivated to just live than he'd been in years.

Since meeting Izuku.

And Izuku. Heavens, poor Izuku at that same gala, looking so miserable and alone, watching Katsuki and Ochako's engagement announcement with such obvious heartbreak in his eyes. The way he had that same acceptance as Katsuki in his eyes today, masking pain. She'd thought he'd been in love with Ochako. But what if-

"Izuku," she breathed.

Katsuki's expression didn't change, but vulnerability and a level of tenderness she had never seen flickered in his eyes.

"Of course," Himiko whispered, and despite everything, she felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her chest. "Of course. You brilliant, ridiculous fool. You married Ochako to protect all of us."

"Don't make me regret telling you," Katsuki muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Himiko laughed, hugging her brother tight, tears threatening to fall from her eyes, smiling brightly against his chest. “Oh Katsuki you magnificent brute, I love you so much.”

"Then fix it, don't make this a waste," Katsuki said simply, a smirk on his face. He squeezed her shoulder once. "I promised I would always protect you. This is how. Now go to her, before you both lose your nerve. I'll find a way to cover you."

Himiko's breath caught. She looked up at her brother and felt nothing but relief, gratitude, and a desperate, overwhelming hope.

But it was immediately followed by ice-cold panic.

What if it was too late? What if-

"Go," Katsuki growled, shoving her toward the door. "Before I change my mind about encouraging this madness."

Himiko stumbled forward, her heart hammering, her mind racing. She had to find Ochako. Had to make her understand that last night wasn't rejection, that she wanted her, hell, she wanted her so desperately it hurt.

She took a shaky breath, wiped the tears from her face as best she could, and straightened her spine.

Katsuki squeezed her shoulder once more before heading back toward the ballroom himself, no doubt to maintain appearances.

Himiko waited a moment, composing herself, before following.

When she finally stepped back into the Grand Ballroom, she immediately scanned the crowd for the woman of her dreams. The Underhill family was gone. In fact, the reception was almost empty now, confirming her suspicions - that Himiko was gone for a long time.

Her eyes found Katsuki first. He was already back in position near the center of the room, standing with Toshinori, accepting congratulations from a few remaining guests, looking composed and ducal. Izuku was at his side, a happy grin on his adorable face, looking like a friend to anyone who didn't know any better.

But no Ochako beside them.

Ochako was gone. There was no way she hadn't come back when she got lost into the crowd earlier, the newly wedded Duchess would not have ditched her reception that early. But now the reception was almost empty, so no-one would bat an eye if she fled back to the Underhill's to say goodbye, or straight to the Blackwell townhouse.

Panic intensified, overwhelming her earlier bravery. She had to find her now, tell her how much she loved her, flee in a carriage to their music room together, before this moment of courage fled, before her fears consumed her again, before they lost each other to propriety and expectations and the crushing weight of what they thought they should be.

Himiko gathered her skirts and began her search for the woman she loved.

Duchess Ochako Blackwell. The title sat on her shoulders like a curse, suffocating and inescapable. She stood in the Grand Ballroom, surrounded by gold-framed mirrors reflecting her own false smile back at her from every angle. Her face ached from holding the performance of a lifetime, the smile that fooled everyone when the truth was that she felt like she was being buried alive.

Her foolish heart, however, was not concerned with her new station, still caught in the music room from yesterday.

The relentless guilt over her desires caging Himiko was still there, that hadn't changed a bit. But, and this was the foolish part, the part Ochako knew she shouldn't indulge but couldn't help herself: what if that wasn't the whole story?

Because before Himiko had fled, Ochako had seen something in her eyes. Something that looked terrifyingly like want. Himiko's breath had stuttered, her whole body had trembled. And the look on her face hadn't been revulsion or fear. It had been conflict.

Why did it look like she wanted me just as badly? The mantra had been running through her mind endlessly since then.

Ochako took a fortifying sip of her sherry, probably more than she should've, the wine sending heat through her throat.

What if Himiko had pulled away not because she didn't want Ochako, but because of something else entirely? What if, with the wedding and expectations looming, Himiko had been trying to protect Ochako in her own misguided way? Once again foolishly thinking that she was protecting Ochako from the "danger" her "monstrous" way represented?

It was a stupid hope, Ochako knew that. She was probably just constructing fantasies to ease her own guilt, reading meaning into moments that didn't exist. But she couldn't stop the small hope that bloomed in her chest, fed most by what she'd seen during the ceremony.

As Ochako had walked down the aisle, she had not been able to stop herself from looking at the person she desperately wished she was walking toward. And Himiko's expression, heavens, it hurt to remember it. Devastated. Like someone watching their own execution, like someone accepting a life sentence to the cruelest cage imaginable. She'd looked utterly trapped, as though she were the one being forced into something unbearable.

She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to steady herself. The corset felt too tight, constricting her ribs until she couldn't properly breathe. The royal orchestra played something elegant and forgettable. Katsuki was close nearby, playing his role perfectly, and she should go stand beside him. Should smile and accept more well-wishes and pretend her heart wasn't beating for someone else. As a servant with a tray full of delicacies passed, she placed her empty glass down in it, and went to do just that.

But then she caught a glimpse of movement across the room, and her breath stopped entirely.

Himiko.

She was standing near one of the tall windows, a glass of sherry in her hand, her expression one of perfect, radiant joy as she laughed at something an elderly countess was saying, though her eyes kept darting around, as if searching for something. Her golden hair caught the light, her burgundy gown making her look like something from a painting. She looked beautiful. Stunning, utterly composed.

And Ochako knew it was a lie.

Because for just a moment, their eyes met across the crowded room.

And Himiko's mask cracked.

Ochako saw it: the desperation beneath the performance, the same hollow, aching emptiness she felt echoing in her own chest. The realization removed all air from her lungs.

This is the real cage.

Not yesterday, not Ochako's feelings. This. This performance. This lie. This future where they would have to be sisters-in-law and nothing more, watching each other from across rooms for the rest of their lives, pretending their hearts weren't breaking with every polite, proper interaction. This future Ochako knew would starve her own soul and leave her to dry out in the sun until she died.

A fierce, protective anger burnt hot in her chest. Ochako's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms through her gloves. She needed to think, needed to breathe. Needed to find some quiet corner where she could figure out what to do, how to fix this impossible situation she'd helped create.

She apologized to Toshinori, who had recently arrived, and slipped away from the crowd, moving through the edges of the ballroom with practiced ease, keeping her smile fixed even as her mind raced.

She found a small alcove partially hidden by a massive arrangement of white roses. It wasn't private, not truly, she could still hear the reception, but it was enough. Enough to let her facade crack for just a moment, to let herself feel the full weight of what she'd done.

She'd married Katsuki. She'd bound herself to him in front of God and King and country, had vowed to be his wife until death, had sealed that promise with a kiss she'd barely felt because all she could think about was how her first kiss hadn't been yesterday with Himi. Could not think of anything but Himiko, Himiko, Himiko.

And now Himiko was suffering. And Ochako had no idea how to fix it. Had no idea if telling her she loved her would mean getting her out of a cage or into a worse one. She was drowning in a sham of a marriage while Himi suffered.

"There you are, my darling."

Ochako's head snapped up, her heart lurching. Her mother was standing at the edge of the alcove, moving slowly, carefully, one hand pressed lightly to the wall for support. She looked beautiful in her rose silk gown, her hair elegantly arranged, a soft smile on her face.

She also looked exhausted. Pale. The effort of attending the ceremony and reception clearly taking its toll.

"Mama," Ochako breathed, immediately moving to her side, offering her arm for support. "I only needed air. You should be resting. You didn't have to-"

"Hush," Sayaka said gently, waving away her concern even as she gratefully accepted Ochako's arm. "I wouldn't miss this for anything. My daughter's wedding day." Her eyes shone with emotion, with pride and love and something else that made Ochako's throat tighten painfully. "You were beautiful up there. So radiant. So happy."

The words were like a knife twisting in Ochako's gut. Because she had been lying. Had been pretending with every smile, every vow, every moment of this entire day. And her mother, her dying mother who wanted nothing more than to see Ochako happy, believed it.

"Mama, I-" Ochako started, but the words caught in her throat. What could she say? I'm not happy. I'm miserable. I love someone else. I've been lying to you. How could she possibly burden her dying mother with that truth?

But Sayaka was looking at her with those too-perceptive eyes, the same eyes that had always seen straight through Ochako since she was a child pretending scraping her knee didn't hurt. And slowly, gently, she reached out and took Ochako's hand in both of hers.

"Sit with me a moment," she said softly, guiding Ochako to a nearby cushioned bench tucked into the alcove.

Ochako sat, her heart hammering, wondering what her mother was about to say. Sayaka settled beside her with a soft sigh, still holding Ochako's hand, her thumb rubbing gently over it.

For a moment, they just sat there in silence, the sounds of the reception a distant murmur around them. And then Sayaka spoke, her voice quiet but clear.

"My darling," she said, "I need to tell you something."

Ochako nodded, waiting.

Sayaka took a breath, seeming to gather her thoughts. "Your father and I- we have a true love, Ochako. Real and honest and something I thank the heavens for every day." She smiled, warm and genuine. "But before I met him, when I was very young, I was terrified of making the wrong choice. I was so afraid of disappointing my family, of not being proper enough, of not fitting into the perfect mold they'd created for me, that I nearly let that fear consume me entirely."

She squeezed Ochako's hand. "I spent years building walls inside my own heart. Convincing myself that what I wanted didn't matter as much as what was expected. That duty was more important than happiness. That I should bury the parts of myself that didn't fit neatly into society's expectations."

Ochako stared at her mother, seeing something vulnerable in her expression.

"And then I met your father," Sayaka continued softly. "And he loved every part of me. Even the parts I'd tried to hide. Even the parts I thought were too much or too strange or too improper. He saw me and loved me anyway. That's when I realized I'd been building a prison for no reason at all."

Her gaze grew fierce. "Time goes by fast, my darling. Far too quickly to build a prison inside your own heart. To lock away the parts of yourself that the world tells you to."

She reached up with her free hand, cupping Ochako's cheek with all the love in the world. "Whatever choices you make, make sure they let your soul breathe. Your happiness, your real happiness, is all I have ever wanted. Not a performance of it.”

Had she noticed she had been performing? Had Ochako's act been inadequate?

The tears spilled over then, trailing down Ochako's cheeks in hot streams. "But Mama I-”

"You've done what you thought you had to do," Sayaka said gently. "What you thought I wanted. And I love you for it, for your strength, for your selflessness. But that doesn't mean the life you've chosen has to be a prison, Ochako. Marriage can be many things, a cage shouldn't be one of them."

She leaned in closer, her eyes boring into Ochako's with an intensity that took her breath away. "Find a way to breathe, my darling. Find a way to be happy, truly happy, even if it's not in the way the world expects. Life…” She paused then, looking at Ochako with a sad, knowing look in her eyes, “... is too short, darling. Be brave, find a way to always pursue your own happiness, whatever form it takes. There is not enough time in this world for anything else.”

Ochako's breath caught. All she wanted was to be brave, for Himi, for their only chance at happiness in a world like theirs. And maybe her mother didn't know the specifics, but-

"I love you," Sayaka whispered, pulling Ochako into a gentle embrace. "I love you, and I want you to be happy. That is my only wish. My only prayer. Even if it's in a way that society doesn't accept. Promise me you'll try. Promise me you won't spend your life wondering what if."

Ochako clung to her mother, breathing in her familiar scent of lavender, feeling the frailty of her frame, knowing with bone-deep certainty that this was one of the last times she would be able to hold her like this. And she made a promise to herself.

She would find a way. She would find a way to be happy, to let her soul breathe, to love the way she wanted to love. She didn't know how yet. Didn't know if it was even possible. But she would try. She would be brave.

For her mother. For herself.

For Himiko.

When they finally pulled apart, Sayaka was smiling through her own tears. She reached up and gently wiped Ochako's cheeks with her thumbs. "There now," she said softly. "Fix your face, my dear. The Duchess cannot return to her reception with tear-stained cheeks."

Ochako let out a wet laugh, nodding. "Yes, Mama."

Sayaka stood slowly, Ochako immediately moving to support her. But before they could return to the reception, her mother paused, turning to look at her one more time.

"Katsuki seems like a good man," she said quietly. Then, she smiled at Ochako. "And my seat was next to Himiko. Lovely lady, she is really sweet and charming. I am honoured to have her as part of our family now, and I'm glad she gets to be by your side.”

Ochako's breath caught in her throat, an almost imperceptible blush rising in her cheeks.

Did her mother somehow know-

Then she shook her head. No way.

And then her Mama was gone, moving slowly back toward the ballroom, leaving Ochako standing in the alcove, her heart pounding, her mother's words echoing in her mind like a prayer.

Ochako took a deep breath, wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks, straightening her gown, fixing her smile back into place. The performance would have to continue. The Duchess would have to return to her reception, would have to play her role for the rest of the night, or at least until it was safe enough to disappear.

But something had shifted inside her.

She didn't know how to navigate this impossible situation. But she knew one thing with absolute certainty:

She had to find Himiko, she had to be brave. Had to tell her the truth. Had to make her understand, before Ochako spent her entire life wondering what if, that what she always saw in her wasn't a monster, what she felt for her wasn't fear.

It was love. It had always been love, from the moment she got to know her.

And Ochako was done hiding it.

So Ochako straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and walked back into the reception. Her smile was still fixed in place, her performance still flawless, but now it had a purpose.

Because beneath the silk and the vows and the title, Ochako Blackwell's heart belonged to a woman - the most wonderful one she'd ever meet.

She scanned the crowd, searching for that familiar golden head, that mischievous gaze. Her heart racing with desperate hope.

But Himiko wasn't there.

Ochako's chest tightened as her eyes swept the Grand Ballroom again, more frantically this time. The space was so vast, filled with so many people in their finery, but earlier that day she had always been able to find Himiko.

She'd been there earlier, hadn't she? Talking to that elderly countess near one of the windows.

But now the spot where she'd been standing was empty.

And so Ochako waited, next to Katsuki, to Toshinori and Izuku, and all the nobles who approached them.

And waited.

Until the crowd started clearing, her parents had left, and the three men were far too consumed to notice her leaving.

The minutes that followed were torture. Ochako moved through what remained of the reception, searching every corner of the vast ballroom she could access without drawing attention. She checked alcoves, peered down corridors, her desperation growing with each passing minute. The remaining guests were beginning to take their leave, the palace servants starting their cleanup in earnest, Katsuki even left for a long moment himself.

And still no Himiko.

Panic rose in Ochako's throat. Had Himi left? Had she fled the palace entirely? Was she even now back at the townhouse, convinced that Ochako didn't want her anymore?

No. No, she couldn't let that happen.

But where could she be?

Ochako found herself back near the center of the ballroom, her breathing unsteady, her carefully maintained composure beginning to crack. Katsuki was back now, most people were gone, and still no sign of her love. She needed to find her. Needed to tell her. Time was running out, soon the reception would end entirely, everyone would depart, and she might lose her chance-

"Ochako."

She turned quickly. Katsuki stood beside her, having approached so quietly she hadn't noticed. His formal attire was slightly rumpled now, his expression unreadable as he looked at her.

"Third floor," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the remaining chatter and the sounds of servants cleaning. "East wing. Blue door. Toshinori has a guest study."

Ochako's breath caught. "What-"

"She used to go there," Katsuki continued, his crimson eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her heart stutter. "After our father died. When the spectacle was too much. It's private, safe." He paused, and something shifted in his expression, now full of what might've been understanding. "Go."

Ochako stared at him, her heart hammering. He was telling her where to find Himiko, helping them. Does he know?

"Katsuki, I-" she started, but he shook his head.

"I'll handle things here," he said simply. "The bookworm will help me. Go to her. Before you both lose your nerve."

Tears prickled at Ochako's eyes, but she blinked them back. Katsuki really was full of surprises. She reached out and squeezed his hand once, a gesture of gratitude, and then she gathered her skirts and ran.

Third floor.

East wing.

And finally-

Blue door.

As she stood at the closed door, getting ready to open it, she decided that no matter what, she would find Himiko.

She would tell her everything, even if Himiko rejected her, even if Himiko decided she wanted to keep her freedom. It wasn't just that she didn't want to spend the rest of her life wondering what if - she couldn't stand the thought of spending one more second without knowing if Himiko knew how much she loved her.

It was finally time to talk to the woman she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Chapter Text

The small study was dark and quiet and achingly familiar.

Himiko sat curled in the window seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, her burgundy gown pooling around her like spilled blood. Outside the window, the city stretched out below, its lights twinkling in the darkness. But she wasn't looking at the view. She was staring at nothing, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her carefully arranged hair completely undone and falling around her shoulders in tangled waves.

This room. She knew this room so well.

It was tucked away on the third floor of the palace, in the east wing where few courtiers ever ventured. A small private study with walls lined with books, comfortable chairs and a lit fireplace. The door was painted a distinctive blue, Toshinori using it as a way of marking a private space - of letting servants and guests alike know that they shouldn't enter unless explicitly told.

He'd brought her here after her father died.

Himiko could still remember that day with perfect clarity. Standing in the palace during some formal reception, performing her role as the Duke's daughter while her mind screamed with the memory of watching her father collapse. Of feeling relief that he was dead. Of hating herself for that relief even as she couldn't deny it.

Toshinori had seen her facade cracking. Had quietly pulled her aside, led her through corridors she didn't know existed, and brought her here. To this small, safe room where she could finally break down without the entire court watching.

She'd come back here several times over the years. Whenever the world became too much, whenever she needed to escape the suffocating weight of propriety and expectation. Toshinori always knew. Would sometimes leave the door unlocked for her, a silent invitation.

Tonight, she'd fled here after hours of frantic searching through the palace had yielded nothing.

She'd given up. Had finally accepted that the Ochako was gone for the night. She had probably gone to either the Underhill’s or Blackwell’s. Either way, she clearly didn't want to be found - didn't want to see Himiko.

And Himiko couldn't blame her. Not after yesterday.

So she'd come here. To this safe, quiet place where Toshinori had once helped her process grief. Where she could fall apart without witnesses. Where she could finally stop performing and just break.

The tears had stopped some time ago. Now she just felt empty.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, her reflection staring back at her: a ghost of a woman in a beautiful gown, looking utterly destroyed.

"I'm sorry, Ochako," she whispered to her reflection. "I'm so sorry I was such a coward."

The door opened.

Himiko didn't turn. Probably Toshinori, checking on her like he always did when she hid in this guest study. Come to offer quiet comfort and understanding without judgment.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice hoarse from crying. "I'll leave soon. I just needed-"

"Himiko."

That voice.

Himiko's entire body went rigid. Her breath caught. Her heart, which had felt dead in her chest, suddenly roared back to life with painful intensity.

She turned slowly, hardly daring to believe, and-

Ochako stood in the doorway.

She was still in her wedding gown, the ivory silk slightly rumpled now, the elaborate hairstyle beginning to fall apart. Her face was flushed, her breathing uneven, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She looked like she'd been running through the palace corridors, searching desperately.

They stared at each other across the small study, the silence stretching between them like a held breath.

"How did you-" Himiko started, her voice barely a whisper.

"Katsuki," Ochako said simply, her voice trembling but clear. She took a step into the room, then another, her eyes never leaving Himiko's. "He helped me find you."

"I looked for you too," Himiko whispered. “I searched everywhere. I thought you'd left. I thought-"

"I was with my mother," Ochako said, and she was crying openly now, moving closer with each word. "In an alcove. And then I came back and you were gone and I panicked. I thought I'd lost you. I thought-"

She was right in front of Himiko now, close enough to touch. Close enough that Himiko could see every detail: the tear tracks on her cheeks, the desperate hope in her eyes, the way her hands were trembling.

"Ochako-"

And then, before Himiko could speak, before she could breathe, Ochako got even closer, as if she was going to kiss her-

Ochako stopped, her eyes wild, her chest heaving.

"I have to tell you something," Ochako said, her voice shaking with such raw desperation it stole the words out from Himiko’s tongue. "And I need you to let me finish before I lose my nerve."

Himiko opened her mouth, but Ochako's hand came up, hovering near her lips, a clear plea for silence.

"Yesterday," Ochako started, and her voice was rising now, gaining volume and passion with each word. "When I tried to kiss you, when you pulled away, I saw the way you looked at me. I saw the desire in your eyes, those monstrous appetites you think frighten me. I know you wanted me to kiss you too, Himiko. I know you did."

Her voice broke, tears streaming freely down her face now, but she didn't stop.

"But I also know what you told me!" The words were nearly shouted now, raw and desperate. "You said you were no one's! You said you never wanted to be caged! And I-" A sob tore from her throat. "I understand if you tell me to leave. If you tell me to stop this. If you tell me that what I can offer you - a secret, stolen life - isn't what you want. I understand if my love feels like a prison!"

She was trembling now, her whole body shaking with the force of her emotions. Himiko tried to stand, to reach for her, to tell her that Ochako could never be a cage, but Ochako stepped back, shaking her head frantically.

"No! Please! I need to say this! I need you to know!" Her voice cracked, desperate and aching. "I cannot fathom to stand another moment without you knowing how much I love you!"

The words struck Himiko like lightning. Her breath stopped. Her heart stopped. The entire world seemed to tilt on its axis.

"I love you!" Ochako said again, and she was nearly shouting now, the words torn from the depths of her heart. "I love you so desperately I can barely breathe! And I cannot live another moment without you knowing it!"

Himiko's hands gripped the edge of the window seat, her gloves straining from the force, the only thing keeping her from collapsing entirely under the weight of those words.

Ochako's voice broke, but she kept going, relentless. "Every part of yourself you call monstrous? Every piece you think is too dark, too much, too frightening?" Tears streamed down her face. "They shine with so much beauty it makes me ache! The way you see beauty even in misery - it's the most profound thing I've ever witnessed! You make me laugh and feel so much warmth in my heart that I forget every rule of propriety I've ever been taught! The intensity with which you love made me accept that my true self was full of beauty and not something to be ashamed of! Every moment with you makes me feel real for the first time in my life! Like I can finally breathe!"

She pressed both hands to her chest, as though trying to hold her breaking heart together. "I married your brother today. I stood before God and King and promised myself to him. But Himi-" Her voice dropped to a raw whisper that somehow felt louder than her shouts, "My heart was claimed from the moment I first heard your laugh. Being with you… that's when I feel most myself. Most alive. Most free. And nothing will ever change that."

She was crying openly now, her carefully arranged hair beginning to fall loose around her face, her wedding gown crumpled where she'd clutched at it. "So if you want me to leave, if you want me to go and never speak of this again, I will. I'll be your sister-in-law and nothing more. I'll lock this away forever if that's what you wish. But I had to tell you. I had to. Because the thought of spending my life without you knowing how devastatingly much I love every little part of you… it’s agonizing.”

She took a shuddering breath, her eyes locked on Himiko's with such fierce love and intensity it stole the breath from Himiko's lungs.

"I just needed you to know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "So I could finally let you be free, if that's what you wish."

The words washed over Himiko like an answer to every prayer she'd ever had, drowning out every terrible thought, every fear, every certainty that she was too much and not enough and destined to ruin everything beautiful.

Ochako loved her.

Ochako loved her.

"Oh Ochako," Himiko whispered, her voice thick with tears and wonder and overwhelming relief. "You absolute, wonderful fool."

She stood from the window seat, her legs shaking, and reached out to cup Ochako's face with both hands, looking at her beloved’s eyes with all the love she had felt during every waking moment of these past months.

"You think my freedom means being without you?" Himiko asked, and a laugh escaped her despite the tears streaming down her face.

Ochako's eyes widened, confusion and desperate hope warring in her expression.

"I said I was no man's," Himiko said, and her voice was steady now, clear and certain and full of every ounce of love she'd been too terrified to voice. "But I've always been hopelessly yours."

Ochako's beautiful brown gaze impossibly widened even more, her lips trembling in shock.

It seemed as if time itself stopped for her lovely Duchess as she processed the weight of Himiko's words.

Then-

"Himi-" Ochako started, happy, disbelieving tears stinging her eyes, a smile beginning to paint her delightful features.

Himiko leaned in and kissed Ochako, tender and reverent, pouring everything into it. Every sketch she'd drawn, every moment they'd danced, every time she'd looked at Ochako and thought about how badly she wished to be hers - even when she'd been too terrified to say it.

It was everything she had ever dreamed of and more. Ochako's soft lips against her own, lighting up every single one of her nerves from the sheer love being poured into the gesture. That sweet vanilla scent she had memorized perfectly wrapping around Himiko like an embrace, making her feel as if nothing else in the world mattered. And heaven's, that smile, that beautiful smile Ochako was making against her own lips - soft and trembling and full of such a tender love that it carved open something in Himiko's chest.

It was too much. She felt an uncontrollable sob tearing its way from somewhere deep inside of her, forcing its way past the knot in her throat. A sob of pure happiness and relief and the overwhelming enormity of being loved and chosen by the woman she loved.

When Himiko pulled back due to the sob, Ochako's concerned gaze instantly melted when she saw her. Himiko was smiling through her tears so intensely her flushed cheeks hurt, and she saw Ochako staring at her with wonder written across her face, looking absolutely smitten by her.

"Your smile," Ochako breathed, and then she was smiling too. It was a wide, slightly goofy grin that made her look young and carefree and wonderfully radiant. She reached up to trace her fingers along Himiko's jaw, as though she couldn't quite believe she was real. "Have I ever told you how lovely your smile is?"

Himiko's chest tightened with emotion so overwhelming she thought she might shatter from it. All her life, she'd been told she was too much. Too morbid, too intense, too improper. She'd been called mad, monstrous, a scandal waiting to happen. Her father had tried to beat the defiance out of her. Society had whispered behind fans about the wild Blackwell daughter who would never find a place in their carefully ordered world despite being born into power.

And here was Ochako: proper, sweet, beautiful and perfect Ochako. Looking at her like she was something precious, telling her her smile was beautiful. Like every part of Himiko that the world rejected was exactly what Ochako wanted.

She thought about all the pain she'd endured. All the years of feeling like she didn't belong anywhere, with anyone. All the times she acted like she didn't care about others just to cover up the fear that she would spend her entire life alone because no one could accept the truth of who she was.

And she realized, with absolute clarity, that as long as she had this - as long as she had Ochako looking at her like this, speaking to her like this - she would be okay. Whatever the world thought of her, whatever problems still waited for them beyond this room, whatever impossible challenges they would face as two women trying to love each other in a society that would never understand… she could survive it all.

As long as she had this love forever.

"You've never told me that," Himiko whispered, her smile impossibly wider, her thumb tracing the curve of Ochako's cheek, feeling the dampness of her tears. "But I hope you'll tell me again. Every day."

"Every day," Ochako promised, her own smile breaking through her tears, ticking a strand of golden hair behind Himiko's ears. "I'll tell you every day how beautiful you are. How extraordinary. I'll give you all my love, for the rest of my life.”

Himiko let out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed and overjoyed and so desperately in love she could barely contain it. "We're going to be ‘sisters-in-law’," she said, wagging her fingers mockingly, and despite everything, she couldn't help the slightly manic edge to her laugh. "The scandal of it - the absolute madness. Two lunatics together."

"Let them think we're lunatics," Ochako said fiercely, a loving smile still on her face, her hands sliding down to grip Himiko's waist, holding her close. "Let them see the proper Duchess and her eccentric 'sister-in-law'. Let them think whatever they want. We both know that's not, and will never be, what we are. Here-" She pulled Himiko closer, until their bodies were pressed together, until Himiko could feel the rapid beating of Ochako's heart, until their closeness sent waves of heat through her entire body. "Here, we know the truth of how much I love you."

Himiko looked at Ochako as she uttered her declaration. Both had red-rimmed eyes, but both were beaming, their expressions full of love and certainty that they were right where they wished to be most.

Finally. She could finally love Ochako freely, show her how much she yearned to always be by her side.

She pulled Ochako into another kiss, and this time there was nothing gentle about it. This was hunger and need and months of desperate longing finally unleashed. Her hands tangled in Ochako's hair, once carefully arranged for the wedding, now coming completely undone beneath Himiko's fingers. Ochako gasped against her mouth, the sound sending heat racing through Himiko's entire body.

Ochako's hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer still, and the kiss deepened, became something consuming. Himiko had read about this in her novels: the passion, the desire, the overwhelming need to be as close as possible to the person you loved. But reading about it and experiencing it were entirely different things. The reality of Ochako in her arms, of her strong arms holding Himiko close, kissing her back with equal enthusiasm, was more intoxicating than anything she could have imagined.

She walked them backward until Ochako's back met the wall beside one of the bookshelves, and the small sound Ochako made, one of surprise and want tangled together, made Himiko's head spin. She kissed along Ochako's jaw, tentative but eager, learning what made her love’s breath catch, what made her hands tighten in the fabric of Himiko's gown.

When Himiko pressed a kiss just below Ochako's ear, Ochako let out a soft gasp that sent shivers down Himiko's spine. Encouraged, Himiko smirked against her neck and continued trailing kisses down the side of her throat, reverent and exploratory, and-

"Wait- what are you doing?" Ochako's voice was breathless, surprised, but not at all displeased. If anything, she sounded delighted and confused in equal measure.

Himiko pulled back immediately, suddenly worried she'd overstepped, but Ochako's hands were still gripping her waist and her eyes were wide with pleasant surprise rather than alarm.

"I was-" Himiko started, and then stopped, really looking at Ochako's expression. The genuine confusion mixed with flushed cheeks and rapid breathing. It made an endearing warmth flow through Himiko’s chest.

Of course Ochako didn’t know - women weren’t supposed to learn about sexual intimacy until the night of the wedding. Well, she supposed Ochako was learning about it during the night of her wedding, wasn’t she?

Himiko grinned at the thought, though she couldn’t hide the look of endearment in her eyes. "Oh, love, you don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Ochako asked, a small blush and goofy smile in her face at the endearment, tilting her head in that pretty way she did when she was trying to puzzle something out.

Himiko couldn't help it. She let out a genuine, delighted laugh that bubbled up from her chest. "Oh, my sweet, proper, wonderful Chako. I love you so, so much."

"Don't laugh at me!" Ochako protested, but she was beaming, even as she blushed furiously. "How was I supposed to know? No one tells us these things! They just say," she continued, also wagging her fingers, making a mocking voice, " 'be dutiful to your husband' and ‘consummate your matrimony on your wedding night to have an heir’ and that’s it! I’m surprised you know something I don’t!"

"I know, I know," Himiko said, still laughing softly as she cupped Ochako's face with both hands. "I'm not making a jest of you, I promise. You're just so-" She pressed a quick kiss to Ochako's nose, making her scrunch it adorably. "-so perfectly you."

"Well, are you going to enlighten me or just keep laughing?" Ochako asked, trying to seem offended but failing miserably as her smile kept breaking through.

"I learned from my romance novels," Himiko admitted, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "The ones society says proper ladies shouldn't read. Turns out there's quite a lot they don't teach us - I even have an entire sketchbook of scandalous drawings."

Ochako's eyes widened even further. "Your novels taught you about- about what happens after kissing?"

"Amongst other things," Himiko said, her voice dropping to something softer, more intimate. "Would you like me to show you?"

Ochako bit her lip, her blush deepening, but her eyes were bright with curiosity and trust. "Yes," she whispered. "Please."

"We can go slowly," Himiko said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Ochako's face. "We can learn together. Just because I've read and drawn about it doesn't mean I know how it actually is. How you feel, and how to make you feel good."

Ochako nodded, her face still volcanic. Then, her features were painted with that typical determined grin; the one she got whenever she wanted to master something Himiko was teaching her. "But I want to know everything. Eventually. All of it. Every scandalous thing those novels taught you. I want to make you feel good, too. So good."

Himiko laughed again, joy and love bubbling through her, mixed with anticipation and desire. "Every scandalous thing?"

"Every single one," Ochako confirmed, and then she grinned that goofy grin again. "I married into the Blackwell family. I might as well embrace the scandal, don't you think?"

"Oh, I adore you," Himiko smiled, and kissed her again, slowly moving her lips towards her cheeks, then her jaw, and then right below her ear again.

“Did you like it when I kissed you here?” She whispered softly against Ochako's ear.

Ochako gasped and nodded, her fingers fisting through Himiko’s golden strands as she got kissed there.

“It’s supposed to be about making men feel good, dutiful wives, as you said. But… there’s no men here.” Himiko continued, her mouth lowering down Ochako’s throat, her tongue leaving a trail through her path, ripping a soft moan out of Ochako.

She smirked as the object of her desire squirmed and whimpered beneath her, shockwaves extending into Himiko through her mouth. “Which means, it’s about making each other feel good. Learning our bodies together, how they like to be kissed, to be touched.”

She ran a hand up Ochako’s body, leaving phantom touches that made the Duchess shiver, before resting her hand on the other side of Ochako’s neck, gripping chestnut locks at the back of her head softly.

“And I believe,” she continued, pressing her mouth against Ochako’s pulse, feeling her heartbeat pump at a frankly insane rhythm, Himiko talking against her skin. “That you would absolutely love if I tried something here. May I, Your Grace?”

This time, Ochako left out a needy moan, making Himiko greedily kiss, suck, and lick at her lover’s pulse. Each touch made Ochako squirm in bliss so strongly that Himiko was struggling to maintain her position.

Oh, how she loved making Ochako feel just an ounce as good as the other woman did to her.

“H-Himi!” The other woman let out a moan, pushing Himiko back slightly as she got overwhelmed, her face flushed, her eyes darkened with want. Her neck was slightly red, but Himiko had not dared to leave a mark when they were still in the palace and Ochako was the bride. 

Himiko looked at her, concern in her gaze, “A-are you alright? Did I push too much?”

Ochako shook her head, “N-no, not at all, it felt amazing, I just wasn’t expecting it and I…” she turned her gaze sideways shyly, “I want to try something too, something I’ve wished to do for a while.”

Himiko gave her a wicked smile, cupping her cheeks to force Ochako to look at her. “Oh, and what is it you want? Anything you want, Chako, you can trust me.”

Ochako’s face went volcanic at that, and she stuttered, “I w-want-,” she took a deep breath, before blurting out, her voice going so low Himiko struggled to hear it. “I want to claim you.”

Himiko sputtered, her mind actually going blank because what did you mean Ochako had been wanting to claim her for a while at this point. Desire pooled in her gut, extending down into her legs.

This woman absolutely was going to be the death of her.

Himiko kept her bravery up, though she was blushing and absolutely melting on the inside, “Oh Chako, I would absolutely love it.”

Ochako lightened up at that, looking at her expectantly. Himiko raised an eyebrow. After a moment of no answers, Ochako blushed again, “I- I do not know how I can do that, I just knew I wanted to do it.”

Himiko let out an endearing laugh then, absolutely wishing to show her every single way she could. “Oh, my most beloved Ochako”, she said, running her fingers down Ochako’s cheeks into her throat, then down her chest, over her heart. “There’s many such ways you can do that to me. The simplest one-”

She tilted her head, exposing her neck, Ochako’s eyes widening with desire, “Is similar to what I just did. I couldn’t keep going with more intensity, couldn’t just mark the new bride on her neck, but-” she continued, a wicked glint in her golden gaze, “-you can absolutely claim me. Kiss me here, as much as you want, until my entire skin is ravished and marked by you.”

She saw Ochako’s pupils dilate at that. Oh, her little duchess was possessive, wasn’t she?

Her grin widened, “Until anyone who sees me knows, with absolutely no doubt in their mind, that you did this to me. That I’m yours, and only ever yours." She paused, tilting her head and using her other hand to caress Ochako's jaw softly, "Would you like to do that to me, Your Grace?”

She could feel the way Ochako’s heart quickened underneath her fingertips, could see the heat in Ochako’s skin at her words. Ochako nodded once, her eyes hazy with need. Himiko didn’t need the confirmation to know, not really. But asking her was worth it, because the feeling of Ochako’s mouth getting closer to her pulse - shy at first, then desperately -, the feeling of her hot breath quickening against Himiko’s neck as she inched nearer-

It sent so many sparks through Himiko’s nerve endings that she had to swallow down the cocktail of nerves and anticipation that flooded her every thought.

And then Ochako kissed her neck. Gently at first, reverently, drawing a blissful, quiet moan out of Himiko. Saints, being kissed by Ochako felt so good-

Her thoughts were violently shaken as Ochako started to intensify everything, pinning Himiko against the nearby shelf, her tongue greedily lapping up at Himiko’s pulse. Her early quiet moan quickly turned into a sound that would’ve been a shriek if she hadn’t somehow remembered herself. Soon, the only thing that went through Himiko’s mind was sheer desire, raw need for nothing but Ochako, Ochako, Ochako.

One of Himiko’s hands grasped at Ochako’s hair, her other hand - the one that had been on top of Ochako’s chest - going limp at first, then clawing at Ochako’s thighs through her gloves, Himiko doing anything, anything, she could to anchor her body before she died on the spot. 

Ochako suddenly stopped at that. Himiko let out a needy whine that she quickly covered, blushing. Ochako was looking at her with a little, unexplainable frown.

The woman she loved shook her head, “No, I don’t like that,” she said. Then, before Himiko could ask what exactly she hadn’t liked, the Duchess reached and took off her own gloves, shoving them to the ground, then did the same to Himiko’s.

“There, much better,” Ochako said with a smile, interlocking her hands with one of Himiko’s, then moving the blonde’s other hand back into her thigh, letting out a pleasant exhale as the skin touched her body. 

She leant over Himiko’s neck, flicking her gaze up at hers, “May I?” she asked.

“Oh bloody hell Ochako, please.” Himiko answered, trying to control just how desperate her voice sounded.

Ochako chuckled, before pinning the one hand they had interlocked toward the bookshelf and continuing her assault against her neck, smiling at every moan Himiko let out.

And as Himiko lost herself to the pleasure, to the feeling of warmth and lips and tongue against her rapidly pulsating pulse, her nails dug into Ochako’s thighs.

And Ochako let out a moan that accidentally made her teeth clench slightly at Himiko’s neck and-

Fuck.

The novels did not do it justice. The sensation of pain and pleasure intertwined was so intense that this time Himiko could not have kept the shriek down if she tried, making Ochako actually pull back with concern.

“Himi? Are you alright, my love? I’m sorry, I did not mean to-”

Himiko interrupted her, panting, “Oh, I’m more than alright, fuck, Ochako, that was-”

But Ochako wasn’t looking at her. The moment Himiko confirmed she was fine, the concern melted from Ochako’s face. She was looking at Himiko’s neck now, a goofy, proud smile on her face, softly tracing her fingers over the now sensitive skin, making Himiko shudder.

They definitely needed to let that side of her neck rest.

Himiko peeked at the nearby mirror and gasped. Ochako looked at her and asked if it was alright. Himiko nodded.

Fuck, the sight of herself marked by Ochako was intoxicating. Knowing that anyone who looked would know-

“All mine. And I’m all yours. And I want you to do it to me, too. Even if it’s in a place covered by clothes. Could you?” Ochako was looking at her with such hopeful, glinting eyes that Himiko almost forgot the context around them for a second.

Himiko gulped and nodded.

She reached up and placed her shaking hands near the back of her gown, anticipation sending warmth and wetness through her legs at the thought of undressing the love of her life. 

“This is usually the next step, Ochako.” She said, her voice trembling with her own nerves. “Undressing. Surrendering ourselves thoroughly to each other. May I, my love?”

Ochako blushed and nodded, pressing closer against her. But Himiko’s nervous, stupid hands were trembling too much to undo Ochako’s dress-

Ochako grabbed her wrists, smiling at her lovingly. Then, the brunette helped guide her, slowly revealing her beautiful, perfect body - an image that would surely stay in Himiko’s mind for all of eternity.

First her beautiful, slightly toned, unmarred shoulders. Then it kept lowering, revealing the corset squeezing her beautiful body. Himiko could feel heat building as it kept going lower and lower.

Once the dress was discarded, she reached over, placing her hand over Ochako’s corset. She looked up at her, asking for permission, and the other woman nodded, running her hand through Himiko’s jaw tenderly.

Himiko discarded it, leaving Ochako completely exposed, revealing her beautiful, perfect, chest. Heavens, it was mesmerizing, the way the flickering candlelight caught in the plump curves, the way her erect nipples stood - Himiko had to do everything in her willpower not to drool.

Ochako giggled at Himiko’s ogling, the brunette brave despite the blush, moving her arms to hold Himiko’s waist. “So? What’s next? Just staring at me, or are you going to do what I asked?”

Himiko blushed and tentatively reached a hand out to cup Ochako’s breast. “N-next i-is, exploring each other’s bodies,” she gathered some courage and left small kisses over her bosom, going around her nipples, making Ochako exhale in bliss. Then, with a surge of bravery, she kissed one of her nipples while her left hand brushed the other.

Ochako let out a loud moan at that, pulling Himiko’s waist closer until her entire mouth engulfed her tits. “Fuck, Himi I-” she paused for a second, Himiko not sure what to do with her mouth but sucking gently, Ochako shuddering in pleasure. Being this close, Himiko could feel the heat radiating from between Ochako's legs and fuck she was going to lose her mind soon if this kept up.

“Can you… can you claim me near there, like I asked, while your other hand keeps doing-” she stopped to let out a gasp as Himiko’s thumb brushed over her right nipple, “that?”

Himiko pulled her mouth away, she didn’t have any experience but she was certain Ochako’s sensitive nipples were not the spot. She went toward Ochako’s left breast, placing her mouth near her heart, Ochako’s thundering heartbeat comforting her and exciting her further at the same time. Then, she started to kiss, suck and nip at it, utterly intoxicated by the delightful moans Ochako was leaving, by the way her ever increasingly warm thighs quivered. Heavens, she was sure she was a wet mess by now, too.

“F-fuck, Himi, please-,” Himiko looked up at Ochako’s words, maintaining eye contact with that warm, ruined gaze. “I want you to-” her plea was interrupted by a gasp as Himiko’s other hand cupped the back of Ochako’s ass and squeezed, the blonde not able to contain herself.

“Himi- I want you to bite me too, just like I did, please!”

Oh, holy fuck.

Himiko happily obliged, her thumb quickening it’s pace, biting at Ochako and seeing her let out the most addictive moan, her face scrunching up in pleasure, her hips beginning to rock forward, toward Himiko. At one point, the movement of her hips caused Himiko's hand which was in her ass to slip ever slightly, and feel the ridiculously alluring wetness and heat there.

At that, both of them let out a moan, though Ochako's was so strong she pulled back, panting.

Himiko's face was flush, her mind wishing nothing more than to bury itself in-between Ochako's legs, to learn what her body enjoyed, to play with her until her moans sounded like the most heavenly symphony in the world. There was so much heat building inside of her that she could feel her own cunt pulsing violently, wetness starting to leak down her thighs.

Ochako's chest was absolutely destroyed, and yet the woman was grinning like a deranged maniac who had just been proclaimed the jewel of the season.

Himiko then realized that she had just marked the Duchess of Rivermoor.

In the Royal Palace.

Where she was the bride.

And Ochako looked positively radiant at that fact. Himiko giggled at that, her eyes blown wide with want, and began to trail kisses down her chest, her stomach, ready to trail downwards and teach Ochako how much more they could learn together-

A hand placed itself at the top of her head. Ochako was looking at her with a happy, determined look, and quickly beckoned for her to stand up.

Himiko, of course, obliged instantly at whatever her Duchess asked.

“That's my good girl,” Ochako whispered, pushing her toward the shelf and making her whimper with need.

Fuck Ochako had remembered Himiko's foolish slip of the tongue from so long ago and was now using it against her.

“You did something I really enjoyed, even if it was overwhelming. So before you do it to me, I want to try doing it to you, I want to make you feel good.” Ochako placed her hands over Himiko's gown, undoing it slowly at first, before it fell to the ground all at once - Himiko not sure if the shiver that ran through her spine was due to the cold night air or the lust crawling through her veins as her beloved exposed her. As Ochako reached her corset, she asked. “May I, my lady?”

Himiko whined and nodded fervently. Ochako took off the last of her coverings and absolutely worshiped her naked body, brown eyes full of wonder, peppering kisses over her perky, smaller breasts. Each soft, loving kiss increased the wetness and desire in Himiko's legs as waves of pleasure rocked every nerve ending in her body, her mind desperate to know what Ochako wanted to try on her.

Ochako suddenly stood up and swallowed Himiko's resulting whine with a kiss, placing one hand near her nipples and the other near Himiko's entrance, frying her nerve endings, making Himiko pull away and gasp against Ochako's ears.

Ochako continued, tenderly. “When you touched me there, I felt so wonderful it was honestly a little frightening. I want to make you feel just as wonderful, to see your pretty face full of pleasure. May I?”

Himiko panted against Ochako's ears, her vagina throbbing where Ochako's fingers hovered near. “Fuck Ochako, please, I beg of you, don't even ask me again. Just do whatever you want with me, ruin me for all I care, I'm all yours.” 

Ochako let out a soft giggle, then proceeded to kiss the other side of her neck, nipping at it - more carefully this time. Himiko started moving her hips forward, desperate for those fingers to touch her, to make her whimper for the woman who had her wrapped around her finger.

As if reading her thoughts, Ochako started rubbing near her entrance, then at her folds and lips, not sure where to touch yet but still making Himiko see sparks. Her head rolled back with a moan.

“Is this okay, Himi?”

Unlike most women, Himiko had actually pleased herself before. With all the strength she could muster, she moved one hand from Ochako's back unto the brunette’s hand and guided those magical fingers toward her clit, shuddering at the simple touch.

“F-fuck!” she yelled.

Ochako licked her lips in anticipation and started to rub her thumb over her clit in circles, hesitant at first, then increasing in confidence as Himiko begged at her for more, every inch of her body quaking at the sensations going through her. Whenever her head rocked back too much, Ochako's other hand would stop touching her nipple to nudge her back, ensuring Himiko was as close as possible while her love absolutely destroyed her.

At one point the brunette went too fast, and Himiko let her know. Eventually, she found a steady rhythm, those circles feeling like the weapon that would surely kill Himiko and take her to heaven.

Ochako whispered against her ear, her hot breath electrifying her insides. “Want to make you feel so good, my love.”

Oh heavens she was absolutely ruining her.

And as more and more pleasure built in her core, and the entire world felt as if it was reduced to the waves rocking her body, her mind started going blank. Every sense of her was overwhelmed with Ochako-

Ochako's fingers in her cunt.

Ochako's mouth sucking and gently biting at her neck.

Ochako's other hand playing with her nipple.

If she really focused, she could possibly make out the sounds coming out of her own voice - needy whines begging Ochako to keep it up.

Eventually, that pleasure got so overwhelming that it felt like a physical thing, rattling every nerve ending in her body with ever increasing in intensity waves, her eyes rolling to the back of her head in bliss. Her blank mind was starting to fill with sparks. Her body feeling as if it was catching on fire. It got stronger and stronger until-

“Fuck! Ochako!”

Himiko bit down on Ochako's shoulder as shockwave after shockwave of pleasure lit her up, her entire world narrowing to this.

She slowly started to come back to life, Ochako peppering loving kisses over her cheeks and bruised neck.

Bloody hell.

She had no idea it was possible to feel this good.

She felt like a carriage ran her over, but in the most wonderful way.

Ochako giggled. “Did I make you feel good, Himi? Did you like surrendering yourself to me?”

Himiko grumbled, playfully glaring at her. “Shut your mouth. It almost looked like you were the one enjoying it more.”

Ochako raised her hand, covered in wetness, and greedily licked it clean while humming happily and nodding, the sight making Himiko's arousal spike up again.

The woman smiled at her, “Oh, but I was. It was so enjoyable, making you feel so good, seeing you come undone. Knowing that all this time I had been a complete fool, and that you had always been all mine, while I've always been all yours. And knowing that something this wonderful is kept a secret from women, and that I get to enjoy learning all about it with you.”

Himiko swallowed, unable to comprehend that this was actually real and not just a dream she’d wake up from any moment now. 

Ochako's smile softened then, and she gave Himiko a tender kiss, before leaning their foreheads together. “I love you so much, Himiko Blackwell. You are the love of my life.”

Oh, this woman.

Himiko giggled. Then, her smile turned into a wicked grin as she lowered her hands into Ochako's ridiculously wet sex. She placed a finger near her entrance, making Ochako gasp.

“Oh Ochako, there's still much you need to learn from me. And I can't just let you one up me while I'm supposed to be the one teaching you, can I?”

Her beloved’s face darkened with lust again, and Himiko smiled as she began kissing down her body.

Her lover’s body.

For Ochako loved her just as much as Himiko loved Ochako, and these moments would always be theirs, and theirs alone. 

Himiko Blackwell had no idea how she ever got so lucky. But she knew that she would do anything to make the love of her life happy. And, as she placed a kiss over Ochako's clit, making her love gasp and grasp at blonde hair, she realized that the day that had started out feeling like her burial was now definitely the happiest of her entire life.

Chapter Text

Ochako Blackwell awoke to an unfamiliar and yet not warmth curled up on her chest, her entire being feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

Her eyes stirred with the golden rays of the first sunny morning in weeks, the first image to welcome her that of blonde hair disheveled and pooling all over her chest, the first sensation that of slender, scarred arms holding her tight with surprising force -  as if afraid Ochako would suddenly disappear if those arms ever let go.

A smile tugged at her lips before she could think, her heart feeling too big for her chest as her senses were invaded with that intoxicating scent of pomegranates and charcoal and Himiko.

She moved slowly, carefully, trying to avoid waking the sleeping beauty in her chest. It was surprisingly difficult due to her lover's strength, but eventually she managed to get a better vantage point - one where she could easily see the face she loved most in the world.

Her heart stopped for just a second. And then it came to life back violently, doing little flips in her chest that could be felt up her throat. Himiko looked radiant. She always did, of course, she was the prettiest woman - the prettiest person -  in the entire world.

But like this? Innocent, peaceful, none of her usual worry stretching across her features, unconsciously burrowing deeper into Ochako's warmth? It was ridiculous, it was simply unfair how precious and gorgeous this woman was.

Unbelievable.

And what was even more unbelievable was that Himiko was hers.

Hers.

The thought landed with a strange mix of utter disbelief and a sense of rightness.

She brushed a strand of gold from that serene face as she let her mind wander to the events of last night. The way every feeling that had felt too big for her chest for the past fortnight, all the love and worry and pain, all the guilt of not accepting that Himiko wished to be no one’s,  had washed away into shock the moment she heard the words that would be etched in her soul forever: I’ve always been hopelessly yours.

The way Ochako had believed Himiko’s wall of ice had been because of that when in reality it was caused by her beloved thinking her feelings would ruin Ochako. As if being the recipient of Himiko’s love would ever be anything other than the most precious gift she’s ever been given.

The way that shock quickly melted into a love so profound and absolute and right that her entire body sang when she thought of soft lips on hers, of pretty moans and pants and sounds as they explored each other’s bodies and learned the language of intimacy together.

She slowly and reverently reached her hand up, her face full of wonder, pressing two of her fingers over her still kiss-swollen lips, as if she could keep the sensation forever if she tried hard enough. As if she could always remember the first night her and her wife-

Her breath caught at that thought, her heart doing a frantic little jump that felt like a bird fluttering its wings inside her chest. But it was the truth was it not? Himiko was her wife in all but name. For in their world, there were only really three types of marriages -

The first were arranged, marriages of convenience. The lord and lady would meet for a couple of days, if that, and then sign it. A simple contract, a commodity where Lady Luck would have to bless them directly for love to bloom.

The second were the fast, passionate and exhilarating ones. Meet at some point during the season, marry some weeks later. 

And the third, the most respected one with the most spectacle, the ones that were the talk of the ton - court from beginning of season and marry at the end. And that’s what hers and Katsuki’s was, to the eyes of the world. 

Except that she had been, even if unconsciously at first, courting Himiko from the beginning of the season in that drawing-room. Drawing together, dancing together, riding together, laughing and eating pastries and teaching each other secret languages of love and protection through the art of simple handholding gestures. She had declared her vows and promises of understanding Himiko and falling by her side if need be the very same night she publicly got engaged to Katsuki. 

Then there was the one thing all three types of marriages shared: consummating the relationship during the wedding night.

A small blush coloured her cheeks at the thought. That’s exactly what had happened with her and Himiko when she ran to that blue door. The confessions of the undying love and complete surrender to one another, them not being able to keep their hands off each other even after attempting to leave the palace. Katsuki and Izuku had helped them return unseen, guiding them through the servants' entrance before slipping away together. That was the moment Ochako understood the reason for why the two men had helped them out so desperately: they were the same. Two impossible loves, all protecting each other in the face of a world that would condemn them.

She smiled as Himiko stirred with a small sound of contentment, her eyes fluttering. This precious mask had somehow, impossibly, given her a sacred little family. Even if the world thought something else, Ochako knew the truth of what she held: her wife in all but name, that lovely woman’s fierce, protective brother she was learning to call her own, and the man who had been her truest friend since childhood. It was everything she had ever wanted, a dream she wouldn’t have dared believe only three months ago - and no rule of propriety or whisper of society could make it worth any less.

Even if a small part of her heart felt like it was breaking at the prospect of never being able to call Himiko her wife openly.

Himiko’s honeyed eyes opened, unfocused at first, then recognition as she saw Ochako smiling down at her, her gaze sharpening with terrifying speed into a look of such profound love and adoration that every single dark thought vanished from Ochako’s mind like a brittle candle being blown. Her heart lurched with the knowledge that this was her new, blissful reality.

“Hi,” Ochako whispered, a goofy loving smile on her face, her mind unable to summon any other words.

Himiko hummed “Hi you,” she nuzzled into Ochako’s chest and tightened her hold. “Mmm, I knew it! It wasn’t just the best dream I’ve ever had, it was far too good for that.”

She couldn’t believe this was real, but she was so, so thankful for whatever force out there blessed her with a love like this.

Ochako giggled, wrapping her own arms around Himiko’s waist and squeezing, a goofy loving smile on her face, “All real, every bit of it. Including the part where I now get to do this-”

She used her hand to gently tilt Himiko’s face up, kissing her soft swollen lips tenderly, pouring all the love and gratefulness she felt into it. It was a kiss different from the desperate wanting ones from the previous night, it was soft and sweet and full of certainty. She melted into it and felt Himiko’s hands come up to cup her face, felt her beloved smile against her mouth - and judging by the pain in her own cheeks she was sure it was the case for her, too.

They pulled away, doing nothing but stare at each other. Cheeks flushed slightly, smiles so big they hurt and so goofy they’d probably laugh they were on anyone else, eyes shining with so much love it made her disbelief swell up again. 

They stayed like that for a moment, just admiring each other’s features. From this close, Ochako could see every little freckle and crease in Himiko’s face, the way her dimples were highlighted by her smile.

Suddenly, the little universe that was built in that space was interrupted by a sharp, short knock on the door.

Ochako immediately felt her body freeze with panic, quickly looking at Himiko’s face to see if she knew anything. Himiko’s eyes were full of fear for just a second, before she relaxed and sighed.

“It’s Katsuki, that’s his knock, don’t worry.” Then, she inhaled deeply and raised her voice, moving her arms up and down theatrically, “Katsuki you brute! What in the bloody hell do you want?”

Katsuki’s scoff was audible through the door. “The Underhills are here, we had agreed upon it. They want to have breakfast with their entire new family. That includes you, maniac. The bookworm is entertaining them, you have ten minutes.”

Ochako’s eyes widened. Of course her parents would be there, they’d want to see how her daughter was doing after her wedding, to make sure everything was proper.

But oh, heavens. Everything was decidedly not proper. She was in Himiko’s bed, in Himiko’s nightgown that didn’t fit her well  - when had that even happened? She looked thoroughly rumpled and like… like someone who’d spent the night doing very improper things with the wrong Blackwell sibling.

Ochako sighed and started to move up, reluctantly. “I should-” she pointed at her crumpled hair. She was already mentally cataloging all the things she’d had to do to be demure, to look like a newly wed duchess and not like someone who spent the last twelve hours being thoroughly compromised and enjoying every second of it.

As she finished getting up, she felt a hand grasp at her wrist, tight. Himiko was looking at her, pouting - adorably, if she said so herself. “One more minute!” Himiko whined with a delightfully petulant voice, tugging at Ochako’s wrist insistently to convince her to come back down.

Ochako giggled, the sight of Himiko’s petulant expression crumbling her resolve like a sandcastle hit by a wave. She settled back under the covers, rolling her eyes with mock annoyance, the smile never leaving her face. “Alright, love,” Ochako murmured, making Himiko squeal excitedly, pulling her close again. “One more minute”.

They lay there, wrapped up in each other, and Ochako felt herself relax despite the ticking clock, despite the urgency of needing to move.

But all too soon, Ochako pressed a kiss to the top of Himiko’s head and reluctantly pulled away, “We must make haste, Himiko. We need to make sure we don’t look like we spent the night together.”

Himiko grumbled but reluctantly accepted, getting ready to have breakfast with her parents-

Wait. That thought made Ochako grin giddily, Himiko looking at her puzzledly.

“What?” The blonde asked, tilting her head.

“Mmm nothing, just thinking about how delightful it is that you’ll be having breakfast with my parents after our wedding night.” Ochako confirmed, her grin widening so much her cheeks wrinkled and her teeth showed.

Himiko blushed and sputtered, but then started giggling. “Our wedding night?”

Ochako blushed, suddenly shy, and looked sideways, “Well… I was thinking about it earlier today, and we basically courted during the season. Besides…” she started twisting her own fingers as her face went volcanic, “we did also do what couples tend to do during their wedding nights so…”

Himiko cackled, fully standing up to place her hands around Ochako’s waist, making her look at those molten eyes and radiant smile. “Well, if you put it that way…” Himiko leaned in and gave her a quick, chaste kiss. “You would be correct! Wife in all but law.”

Ochako shook her head even as warmth filled her insides. “Mmm no, I like wife in all but name better. Sounds nicer, I think.”

Himiko giggled, “Well if that makes you happy, then I’m fine with it. Now-” she pulled back, Ochako immediately missing the warmth, “let’s go get ready. Be proper and duchess-like, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

It was then that Ochako noticed. Himiko’s neck, on both sides, was very much improper.

And by God, she had done that hadn’t she? When she asked Himiko how she could claim her. And Himiko did look so beautiful like this - but oh, Saints.

“H-himi,” Ochako blushed even further, “your neck uhm- it’s not very… proper.”

Himiko’s eyes widened before she doubled over in laughter, clutching her sides. “Oh bloody hell Chako, maybe I went too far yesterday. Well, guess I won’t be able to properly meet your father, huh?”

Ochako laughed with her, hiding the small disappointment at the fact. “Well, I will inform my parents about the poor cold that you caught because of the storms of the recent days.”

Himiko groaned, dropping back into her bed with a thud, before grinning up at her mischievously, “Fine. But then you must make sure you come back to check on your patient after you are done. You wouldn’t leave a poor, sick woman by herself, would you?”

Ochako laughed, reaching for the door, stopping and turning one last time before she opened it, “Oh, I shall do more than just check up on you, Himi, don’t worry.”

She left, laughing as she heard a sound that might have been a squeal or a nervous sputter come out of her lover’s mouth. She looked around, making sure no servants were close, and went to go get ready to start her performance of nobility.

Ten minutes later, Ochako descended the stairs looking every bit the proper newlywed duchess. Her hair was arranged in a hasty but passable style, her dress a fresh and appropriate yellow, and if her cheeks were slightly flushed and her smile perhaps too bright and giddy… well, that could be attributed to wedding night happiness, could it not?

The dining parlor was already full of warmth and chatter when she entered. Her mother was the first to spot her.

"Ochako!" Sayaka Underhill was on her feet immediately, crossing the room with surprising speed for someone in such elaborate skirts and perilous condition. She pulled Ochako into a fierce embrace that smelled of lavender and home and safety. "Oh, my darling girl. Let me look at you."

She pulled back, hands gripping Ochako's shoulders, brown eyes so like Ochako's own scanning her face with that particular maternal intensity that could see through any lie. That had seen through her biggest lie.

Ochako felt her cheeks heat. Could her mother tell? Could she see the evidence of last night written across Ochako's skin like invisible ink?

But Sayaka's face only broke into the widest, most genuine smile Ochako had seen from her in years. "You look radiant," she breathed, and there was something knowing and approving in her voice that made Ochako's throat tight.

"Thank you, Mama," Ochako managed, proud her voice came out steady.

Her father, Chamaru, was next, sweeping her into one of his bone-crushing hugs that always made her feel like a little girl again. "My daughter, the Duchess," he said, voice gruff with emotion. "Can hardly believe it."

"Neither can I, Papa," Ochako admitted with a laugh, and oh, if he only knew the half of it.

When he released her, she finally took in the rest of the room. Katsuki sat at the head of the table, posture perfect as always, but when their eyes met she caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Beside him, Izuku looked slightly overwhelmed but pleased, those green eyes bright as he gave her a small, encouraging smile. Her dearest friend. Her brilliant, sweet friend who was apparently as much a part of this arrangement as she was.

"Please, sit," Katsuki said, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. "Cook has outdone herself this morning."

A servant materialized immediately to pour her tea. Ochako wrapped her hands around the delicate cup, using the warmth to ground herself, no need to clutch her palms when she knew she could go back to Himiko’s waiting, steadying hand whenever she needed. The performance of the happy newlywed should have been exhausting, but today it was easy. Because she was happy. Deliriously so.

She just had to make sure no one realized her happiness came from upstairs rather than the man beside her.

"So," her father said, settling into his chair with a contented sigh. "We're eager to meet the whole family. Where's Lady Himiko? Ochako told us so much about her after her visits!"

Ochako felt heat flood her face. Saints, she'd probably been embarrassingly obvious about her feelings, hadn't she?

"Ah," she said, trying to appear concerned. "I saw her briefly this morning. The poor thing seems to have caught a cold from the storms of the last few days. She's feeling quite under the weather."

"A cold?!"

The exclamation came from the doorway, making everyone jump. Jin Baker appeared, looking absolutely devastated, carrying a tray laden with what appeared to be every remedy known to mankind. "My lady has a cold? I must attend to her at once! She'll need- no, wait, I shouldn't disturb her rest! But what if she needs- I should definitely- or should I not-"

"Jin," Katsuki interrupted, voice dry. "I'm certain Lady Himiko will ring if she needs anything. Perhaps leave the tray with a maid?"

Jin looked physically pained by this suggestion, torn between duty and desire. "But Your Grace, what if-"

"She specifically said she needed rest," Ochako added gently, fighting back laughter. "I'm sure she'll appreciate the remedies when she wakes."

Jin deflated but nodded, bustling off while muttering about "stubborn nobility" and "proper care".

Ochako caught Izuku's eye and saw her own suppressed amusement mirrored there, so clearly not believing Ochako.

"Well," Sayaka said, and when Ochako looked at her, she found her mother watching with those eyes that seemed to read her perfectly, a small smile playing at her lips. "I do hope she recovers soon."

Under the table, Sayaka reached over and squeezed Ochako's hand warmly. Her eyes held Ochako's, warm and understanding, and Ochako felt her breath catch.

She did know, approved even, yesterday wasn’t just Ochako making connections in her head - Sayaka’s advice had been about the woman waiting for Ochako upstairs.

Ochako squeezed back, unable to speak past the lump in her throat, but hoping her mother could read the gratitude blazing in her eyes.

Breakfast progressed in pleasant chaos after that. Her father regaled them with stories, Sayaka asked polite questions about the townhouse, and Izuku provided thoughtful commentary that made everyone smile.

At one point, Izuku tried to excuse himself. "I should probably return to the laboratory," he said, already rising. "I’ve overextended in here, I don't want to intrude on family time-"

"Nonsense!" Chamaru interrupted, voice firm but warm. "Sit down, Izuku. You're family, have been since you were a boy - you’re practically the son we never had! Though in fact, with this marriage, we have two sons now!"

Ochako watched Izuku freeze, eyes going wide and then soft with emotion. "I- thank you, Chamaru- Mr. Underhill, sir. That means more than you know."

"The Underhills are right," Katsuki said. His voice held a warmth and softness that Ochako had never heard in public. His eyes were on Izuku, and the look in them was so openly fond it made Ochako's breath catch. "Stay, Izuku."

Just two words. But the way Katsuki said them, the way he was looking at Izuku, made them feel like a declaration wrapped in the thinnest veneer of propriety.

Izuku smiled brightly, "Alright," he said softly. "I'll stay."

The exchange lasted maybe ten seconds. But in those ten seconds, Ochako saw everything. Their deep affection and comfort between them, the way they always chose each other. How had she never caught that before?

When breakfast finally concluded, her parents rose to leave.

Sayaka pulled Ochako into one more embrace, voice dropping to a whisper only Ochako could hear. "Nothing in this world could make me happier than seeing you shine like this, my darling. This is the best wish I could have ever asked for. Be happy, Ochako, continue to do so. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you."

Ochako felt the lump in her throat grow, making it hard to even speak. "I am, Mama," Ochako whispered back. "I'm so happy I can barely stand it."

Her mother squeezed her tighter, Ochako clinging tight one last time before they pulled away.

Her father said one last thing before he left, raising a smile on Ochako’s face: “Oh Ochako! We forgot to bring Mon over, we’ll be visiting soon to drop the tiny hound off and finally speak to the whole family!” 

After her parents departed, Ochako found herself alone with Izuku. He was gathering his ever-present notes, looking up when he realized they were alone.

"Ochako," he said softly. "I'm so glad you're happy… you deserve it."

She crossed to him and pulled him into a fierce hug. "So do you," she whispered. "You deserve every bit of happiness you can find."

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for understanding."

"Always," Ochako promised, and she meant it. "We're all in this together now."

When she pulled back, his eyes were bright with unshed tears, but he was beaming at her.

"I should probably-" Ochako gestured upward with a grin. "Check on my patient."

Izuku's expression turned mischievous, an unfamiliar look for him. "Yes, I'm sure Lady Himiko is suffering oh so terribly from her cold."

Ochako felt her face heat but laughed. "Dreadfully. She may need the most extensive care."

"Well, you'd better attend to her then," Izuku said, grinning. "I'll make sure Jin doesn't storm the bedchamber."

"You're a saint, Izuku Milverton."

Ochako made her way back upstairs, eyes teary when she recalled her mother’s words. She had done it, had somehow managed to make her mother’s wish come true - Izuku had been right, as he tended to be, her mother really did just want her to be happy no matter with who.

She passed Jin in the hallway, still looking distraught, clutching another tray of remedies.

"Your Grace," he said, stopping her immediately. "Lady Himiko- her cold must be terrible! I brought her the finest ginger tea, but she wouldn't even let me in! Said she was contagious but then when I offered to call the Physician she said she felt fine! I don't understand!"

"Jin," Ochako interrupted gently, placing a hand on his arm. "She needs rest, remember? I'm heading to her chambers now, I’ll make sure she doesn’t pass it to me. I'll check on her myself and make sure she has everything she needs."

Jin looked at her with profound relief. "Oh, Your Grace, thank you! I’m so glad you’re our new Duchess, Himiko looks so much happier since you’re around! The Duke too!"

She smiled and continued down the hallway. She couldn’t believe only an hour had passed and yet she missed Himiko so much. Her pulse quickened as she approached the familiar door. She didn't bother knocking and simply stepped inside, wanting to see her beloved’s face light up in a smile from the surprise.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Himiko beamed and moved.

She was across the room in seconds, moving at speeds Ochako did not think possible of her, launching herself at Ochako with such force that Ochako's back hit the door. Arms wrapped around her, fierce and desperate, and Himiko nuzzled her face into Ochako's neck, sending happy tingles crawling through the brunette’s body, Himi breathing her in like she'd been starved of air.

"You came back," Himiko mumbled against her, exhaling happily. "I know it's only been an hour but it felt like forever and I started wondering if-"

"Himi," Ochako interrupted softly, her arms wrapping around Himiko just as tightly, her lips pressing to the top of that golden head. "I'm here, and even if it was only breakfast I missed you too. So much."

Himiko's smile pressed against her neck, and they stood there for a long moment, just holding each other.

"How was breakfast?" Himiko finally asked, pulling back to look up at Ochako.

"Lovely," Ochako said. "Your brother played the perfect host perfectly. And Izuku kept my parents thoroughly entertained."

"And Jin? He seemed very worried when he came here."

Ochako laughed, humming once she controlled herself. "He tried to stage a medical intervention, the poor man is still beside himself."

"Mmm," Himiko hummed with satisfied amusement, her eyes crinkling with that teasing glint that did something to Ochako’s insides. "Well, I am feeling rather weak and in need of extensive care." Her hands slid down to Ochako's waist, her touch deliberately slow. "I was quite undone last night, after all. Perhaps you should tend to me, Your Grace."

The title, said in that low, teasing purr, sent heat shooting through Ochako's entire body. "Himi," she managed breathlessly. "It's barely mid-morning." Though she couldn’t pretend the thought didn’t make her entire body thrum with excitement.

"And?" Himiko's grin was absolutely wicked. "Are there rules about when one can properly worship one's beloved?"

But before Ochako could respond, or possibly combust, Himiko's expression shifted to something softer, more vulnerable.

"I have something for you," Himiko said, suddenly shy. She took Ochako's hand and led her deeper into the room. "I… I really hope you like it."

She retrieved her most private sketchbook and opened it to a new page.

Ochako's breath caught.

It was her. Captured in charcoal and love, rendered with exquisite detail. Her from last night, at the very moment of her confession in that palace study. Face tear-streaked, eyes blazing with desperate love and fierce determination, fireplace crinkling in the background. She looked wild and beautiful and absolutely radiant - in a way Ochako so rarely saw in herself. The sketch made her feel the same as the first time Himiko entrusted her with the sketchbook of love, but the feelings were so much stronger now that she knew for a fact that the drawings were born out of love.

"Himi," Ochako breathed, her eyes stinging with tears, her expression brought to life by love.

Himiko, who had been looking at her tenderly and expectantly and with the tiniest hint of nervousness just… melted with joy. Ochako was so consumed by joy that she almost didn't notice as her beloved turned the page, revealing another drawing. It was both of them, kissing, tears on both their faces, hands desperately clutching at one another wherever they could. It was intimate and beautiful and so full of love and theirs.

At the bottom of the page was a little scribble, one that said: "Wives in all but name." The date, September 28th 1812, written beside it.

"I started these last night…" Himiko said softly. "I was too excited and happy and- and I couldn’t sleep properly. So after you fell asleep, I couldn't help it. I needed to capture it somehow. This time during your breakfast came in helpful, it allowed me to finish it properly, with the care the happiest moment of my life deserved."

Suddenly, even through the wave of happiness that flooded her every sense, a thought went through Ochako’s head. This was monumental - Himiko was sharing these drawings and notes without fear, without shame. She was excited to share them. Proud of what they represented, even.

"They're perfect," Ochako finally managed, “they always are.”

Then, she looked up at Himiko, eyes teary with happiness again and grinned, “The happiest moment in your life yet.”

She set the sketchbook down carefully, without closing it, and threw herself at the woman she loved, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was messy with tears and overwhelming emotion. One that was enthusiastically responded.

When they finally pulled apart, Ochako's eyes fell back on the sketchbook. She turned the page back, wishing to reminisce over every moment. And that's when she noticed it.

The jagged edge of a torn page. The absence of the pressed violet.

Her smile faltered. "Himi," she said softly. "What happened to the violet?"

Himiko's expression suddenly crumpled sharply, tears filling her eyes. "I-” she took a shuddering breath, Ochako wishing nothing more than to stop whatever made her sad. “Oh, Ochako, I'm so sorry. That terrible fortnight when I thought you were horrified by me, I was so devastated that I took that page with your violet and I- I ripped it out. A-Along with a drawing of us looking at the sunset blissfully after riding our horses- I drew you with so much love for me and at that moment I was so in my head that I couldn’t let myself believe it had been real-"

Himiko continued, tears streaming down her face. "I crumpled them, the drawing and the flower both. Just crushed them and threw them on the floor of the art chamber. I destroyed the most precious thing I had because I was convinced you hated me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

But Ochako found herself laughing. Softly at first, then more fully. She framed Himiko's face with both hands, brushing away the tears, Himiko’s expression one of pure disbelief.

"Himi, my love, don't you worry about that," she said firmly. "Don't you dare waste another second feeling guilty about one pressed flower and drawing."

"But-"

"But nothing," Ochako interrupted. "Listen to me. We have an entire lifetime of living together now. An entire lifetime, Himiko. We can fill a hundred sketchbooks with memories, can press so many flowers the pages won't close."

She pressed her forehead to Himiko's. "Our love is so much bigger than one pressed flower, don’t you think? And you know what? In the future, this will just be a funny little story we tell each other, one about how stupid we were to ever doubt this when we so clearly love each other this much."

Himiko stared at her, golden eyes wide. "A funny little story?"

"Absolutely," Ochako confirmed, grinning. "Can you imagine? Years from now, surrounded by endless evidence of our love, laughing about that one time you crumpled up a violet because you thought I didn't love you back because of how ‘odd’ you were? All the while my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest due to the sheer intensity of my feelings, mind you!"

A delightful little sound - the beginnings of a giggle - escaped Himiko, and then a moment later she was crying and laughing at the same time. "You're right. We're both so stupid, catastrophically so."

"Mmm, the most foolish, weirdest women out there," Ochako agreed happily, rubbing their noses together, perfectly content to always be foolish as long as this woman was by her side.

"I thought you were horrified by me," Himiko said, her expression full of adoration, even through the few tears that still hadn’t fully disappeared.

"I thought you were horrified about my love being a cage," Ochako shot back.

Himiko let out a pure, genuine laugh at that, no more sadness dwelling in it. One that let Ochako know exactly how foolish Himiko thought she was for ever believing it - not like she hadn’t already made that clear last night after Ochako confessed.

"Oh bloody hell, we really are idiots," Himiko finished, shaking her head.

Ochako hummed, nodding, before she was kissing Himiko again.

When they pulled apart, Himiko's eyes were still wet but she was smiling, the most adoring look Ochako would surely ever see directed at her painting her features. "I love you," Himiko whispered. "I know I didn’t give this whole big speech like you it’s just-” Himiko grabbed Ochako’s hand fully, her secret little love gesture, and rubbed her thumb across the duchess’s knuckles ”-it’s just that I love you so much I don't have words for it."

"I love you too," Ochako whispered back. "I love every peculiar, beautiful, maddening part of you, Himiko Blackwell, and I will never stop loving you. Not in this lifetime or whatever comes next."

They kissed again, slow and deep and full of vows. A kiss that, at least to Ochako, felt like sealing everything she had just promised between them.

"We should probably make you presentable at some point, see if cosmetics can cover that-" Ochako said reluctantly, pointing at the pretty evidence of their love that she was quickly growing fond of. "People will start to worry."

Himiko groaned and flopped backward onto the bed, pulling Ochako, who was helpless against anything that originated from this woman, down with her. "Five more minutes," she whined, slamming her hand against the mattress like a crying child. Her voice softened, "Just five more minutes where the world doesn't exist and it's just us."

Ochako giggled adoringly and settled against her, tucking herself into Himiko's side. "Alright. Five more minutes and I’ll go fetch something to eat for you. Then after that… one more hour.” She burrowed deeper into the warmth of her basically-wife and grinned. “Maybe two."

Himiko giggled back and held her tightly, humming in approval.

They lay there together, wrapped in warmth and serenity and the quiet certainty that nothing would change this.

Because they had time, they had love, they had a lifetime. And nothing, not even what the world or society expected, could take this away from them.

For they were hopelessly each other's.

And that was all that mattered.

Later that afternoon, Katsuki Blackwell stood in his laboratory, staring at a piece of equipment he'd been meaning to calibrate for the past twenty minutes without actually doing anything about it.

His mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was stuck on a moment from the last hours of the previous night, replaying it over and over like his brain had decided to torture him.

He and Izuku had been closing the door to Himiko's chambers, having just deposited two thoroughly and blissfully compromised women who could barely keep their hands off each other, when he'd heard it through the gap of the door. Clear as day, bright as sunshine, easy as breathing:

The maniac's voice, giggling like a queen who’d just won a war, had said ‘I love you’ to Ochako.

Just like that. Those three stupid words, said like they were the simplest thing in the world. As if they cost nothing, as if saying them was as natural as inhaling.

Katsuki had stood there in the hallway for a full five seconds, hand still on the door handle, feeling something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

Because he couldn't do that. Had only ever been able to say it to his sister.

He'd spent the night before the wedding with Izuku. Had let the bookworm see him completely raw, vulnerable, pleading and desperate in ways he'd never been with anyone. Had touched and been touched, had gasped out Izuku's name like a prayer, had felt things so intense he'd thought his heart might actually burst from his chest.

And he hadn't said it.

Not once.

Not even when Izuku had looked at him with those captivating green eyes, soft and loving and so full of devotion it had made Katsuki want to simultaneously crawl under a hole and never leave. Not even in the aftermath, when they'd been tangled together, breathing hard, Izuku's hand tracing patterns on his chest.

He'd wanted to say it, damn it all. The words had been right there, pressing against his teeth, demanding release.

But they'd stayed locked behind his jaw like prisoners he was too much of a coward to free. Because, unlike his sister, unlike any of them, he was a coward. His sister had spoken those words with terrifying ease. Ochako had looked for Himiko in the middle of her own damned wedding. And Izuku, despite being a trembling wreck just two nights ago, had been the one to storm his laboratory, the one who seized a future Katsuki was too afraid to even name.

The laboratory door opened, pulling Katsuki from his spiral. Izuku stepped in, arms full of books and papers as usual, that familiar slightly overwhelmed but beaming expression on his face. The one that told Katsuki that the man in front of him had more enthralling ideas going through his mind than any common fool ever could. The one that held his stupid heart hostage.

"Sorry I'm late," Izuku said, crossing to his usual workspace. "Ochako dragged me into a very healthy Himiko's chambers on my way here. Apparently Himiko wanted to discuss some artistic theory about light refraction and couldn't wait, your sister insisted I was the only one who could properly explain the physics, since you were probably too busy ‘staring at some meaningless equation’, which isn’t true! I tried to tell them it’s not-" He looked up and stopped mid-sentence, eyes sharpening with concern. "Kacchan? Are you alright?"

Katsuki realized he was still holding the same piece of equipment, still staring at nothing. "I’m alright," he said automatically.

"You're not ‘alright’," Izuku said, his eyes softening, setting down his armload and crossing to him. "You've got that look. The one where you're thinking too hard about something and it's making you angry at yourself."

Damned bookworm since when could he read Katsuki like one of his scientific journals. Had he been able to for a long time now and was just keeping it secret?

"I'm not-" Katsuki started, then stopped. Because he was. He was absolutely furious with himself, and trying to deflect wasn't going to help. And as much as it cost him, he couldn’t just lie to Izuku, not after what they went through together.

He set down the equipment with more force than necessary and turned to face Izuku properly. "I heard Himiko last night, after we left them."

Izuku's expression shifted to something knowing and slightly flustered, apparently having heard her too. "Ah."

"'Ah'?" Katsuki repeated. "That's all you've got?"

"Well," Izuku said carefully, "I assume you heard her say something that's making you spiral into self-recrimination about our own emotional communication abilities?"

Katsuki glared at him. "I hate how well you know me. When the fuck did you get so good at it?"

Izuku laughed sheepishly, placing a hand behind his neck. "Ah, sometime in the past month, probably. But I wasn’t sure if I was right or just making stuff up. Besides, you don’t hate it," Izuku said, smiling slightly. "You like it. You told me so! Two nights ago, actually, in this very laboratory, right before you-"

"Don't," Katsuki interrupted, feeling heat creep up his neck. "Do not finish that sentence."

Izuku's smile widened, but he mercifully stayed quiet, just watching Katsuki with those patient, slightly hopeful eyes that somehow made everything worse and better at the same time.

Katsuki took a breath. Then another. This was ridiculous. He'd faced down his father's rage, had protected their family despite his young age, had orchestrated an entire elaborate marriage scheme to protect the people he cared about. He could say three simple words.

He could.

He would.

He had to be the brave one for once and say them before the bookworm did.

"I'm bad at this," he said abruptly, the words coming out rougher than intended. "At feelings. At talking about them. You know that."

"I know," Izuku said softly, not moving closer but not retreating either.

"And I-" Katsuki felt his jaw tighten, forcing himself to push through. "I like having you here. In the laboratory. In my life. I like that you offered to be my side, that you chose this, chose me, despite everything. Despite how shit I am at saying things I should say."

Izuku's expression softened further, but he stayed quiet.

"Two nights ago," Katsuki continued, and he could feel his heart hammering now, could feel sweat starting to bead at his temples like he was facing down a duel instead of just trying to spill out the truth of his own heart. "What we did. I said it was just for that night, but that wasn't just- it wasn't casual. It wasn't just convenience or need or me wishing for a single night-"

He stopped, clenching his fist, frustrated with himself, with words, with the whole damn concept of having to speak them.

"I'm bad at words," he said, meeting Izuku's mesmerizing eyes with effort. "I'm sorry I haven't said it before now. But I'm pretty sure… No, fuck that, I'm certain that I love you."

The words hung in the air between them, and Katsuki felt simultaneously like he might pass out and like a massive weight had just lifted off his chest, and he was certain the heat in his cheeks signified a blush.

Izuku's face transformed. That soft expression bloomed into something radiant, those green eyes going bright and shining and getting that absolutely addictive glint Katsuki loved more than science, his smile so wide and genuine it made Katsuki's stupid heart leap in his chest.

"I love you too," Izuku said, and his voice was thick with emotion but completely calm, like it came easy to him. "And honestly it hasn't even been that long since I realized it, but I already can't recall what living without loving you was like. Can't even fathom what living without you by my side would be like now."

He crossed the distance between them then, reaching up to cup Katsuki's face with both hands. "And Kacchan… it's fine that it took you longer to feel comfortable saying it. More than fine. That's what we're partners for, in every sense of the word. In our research, in our lives, in everything. So you can take your time with anything you need, and I can be patient, and we can figure it out together."

"You say that, but you deserve more, I'm not good at-" Katsuki started, but Izuku shook his head.

"You're better at it than you think," Izuku interrupted gently. "You show me every day. In the way you make time for our research even when you're drowning in ducal responsibilities. In the way you tended to my wounds or told me you wanted me here. In the way you remember how I take my tea when you bring some over while I’m working myself to death trying to solve an equation. In that longing way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t paying attention." His smile turned into a slight smirk. "In the way you kept checking on me two nights ago to make sure I was comfortable, like you were conducting careful research on exactly what I liked."

Damned infuriating bookworm.

Katsuki felt his face flame. "Shut your fucking mouth."

"Never," Izuku said cheerfully, and then he was pulling Katsuki down into a kiss.

It was different from the desperate, hungry kisses of two nights ago. This was softer, sweeter, full of certainty and promise that they had time. That this hadn’t just been one night before everything fell apart, but rather the beginning of something they were building together. It was a kiss that filled Katsuki’s entire soul with warmth.

When they pulled apart, Izuku was still smiling at him, thumbs brushing along Katsuki's cheekbones in a gesture so tender it made Katsuki's chest ache.

"I love you," Katsuki said again, and it was easier this time. Still not easy, but easier, like a muscle he was learning to use. He glanced sideways, "just so you know. In case the first time wasn't clear."

"It was very clear," Izuku assured him, eyes shining. "But I'm happy to hear it as many times as you wish to say it."

"Don't push your luck," Katsuki muttered, but there was no heat in it.

"Too late," Izuku said, grinning. "You love me. You said so- twice, in fact!. I'm going to be insufferable about this."

Katsuki scoffed, "You're already insufferable."

"Yes, but now I'm insufferable and loved," Izuku pointed out. "That's a highly relevant constraint."

Despite himself, despite everything, Katsuki felt a smile tug at his lips. "You damned bookworm, you’re embarrassing."

Izuku chuckled, "And you love it," Izuku repeated, like he was testing out the words, savoring them. Then his expression shifted slightly, going thoughtful. "We should probably wrap up soon, though it’s not like we got much work done. You're supposed to make an appearance with Ochako at dinner, since you’re newlyweds and all that."

"I don’t care," Katsuki said, pulling Izuku closer by his coat, but he knew the bookworm was right. They had to be careful. He and Ochako needed to play the devoted newlyweds, at least for a while.

"Five more minutes?" Izuku suggested, and there was something hopeful in his voice that made Katsuki's chest warm.

"Fine," Katsuki agreed, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulled Izuku back in for another kiss.

And Katsuki knew that no matter what happened, having Izuku by his side, as his partner in everything: research, peril, life - would be enough.

It was far more than enough.