❁ [ for ;; @Baconsnightmare ] ❁

Sharp sunlight streamed through the shutters, slinging shadows across the darkest recesses of the classroom and steaming the few visible portions of the windows beneath their shields of shades with evaporated dewdrops, evanescent in the stifling heat of the first sweltering day after weeks of winter chills, ushering in a new age of soft buds and blooming petals, green life poking through the watery remnants of white snow, peeking through sidewalks and parking lots and scrambling for the first meager shreds of solar scintillant skies. Every now and then a faint darkness would stain the glass panels, only to flit away moments later in material form as a leaf or bird emerging from their respective fourth-season nests.

Restlessness hung in the air like festival lanterns. Its overwhelming girth was inevitable to touch all beneath it, tugging with anxious claws, jumping with turbulence, pushing this way and that with elephantine hands on infinitesimal bodies; a force larger than an agglomeration of all of U.A.'s class 1-A could ever form. Denki sporadically twitched his leg as though electricity was running uncontrollably through it, Eijiro's foot harshly hit the hardened floor with every other irregular breath, and fingers red with feigned control and forced calmness drummed atop Bakugou's desk. Even Iida, usually stick-straight with respectful attention, seemed to be distracting himself by rocking the balls of his feet back and forth, heel to toe and toe to heel and back again, all very quiet and very discreet, but still present nonetheless.

Izuku made no outward display of noticeable discomfort, however. His hands were folded, undisturbed, neatly atop his polished desk, and his legs seemed as though they were stuck together through some offhanded measure of superglue. Unlike the muffled, husky humming emanating from Kyoka's seat a few desks over, no sound escaped Izuku. His posture was somewhat slouched, and yet simultaneously spoke nonverbal volumes of his vigilance, stuck between the striking distaste of the day and the singular, stupendous image of the person sitting on his mind, sweeping through his thoughts and shoving out space for anything other than her.

Her.

Even just the thought of her name provoked an instinct within him, immersively monumental, a feeling buried beneath every last fiber of his body, until body controlled mind and his eyes, still as curious and wide with innocence as ever, would scan his surroundings, not stopping until his gaze fell once more upon her. She sat only a few rows away from his desk. Still, each and every inch felt like miles to him.

There once would have been a time when, in fear of her catching his gaze, he would've blushed and glanced away only after a second, and, in those few times where she did meet his eyes, would flush absolutely red, and hide his head in his hands atop his desk, embarrassment marring his face into something like a cherry tomato. For a few weeks things continued this way. Until, of course, he caught you doing precisely the same thing.

From there on, the spark laid within both of their hearts had bloomed into a fastidious fire, feasting on the times spent together and tugging intensively at their heartstrings whenever the other was not around. Minutes with each other turned to hours, hours into days, until eventually a balance was reached; an unspoken bond written in the ciphers of sentiments surrounding them both, yelling louder than words that this was no longer just a friendship, but rather something so very much more.

Despite the tangible discomfort in the air, seeing her supervised to soothe him. The day was almost out. Just a few more minutes and finally, he might be able to put his emotions into words, tell her the truth and make it known out in the open air that he was indeed in - ding.

Immediately everyone began to scramble for the door, pouring out into the halls, chatter erupting and polarizing the restlessness as though two opposing sides of a magnet. Class 1-A had nearly all drained out before Izuku could find room to make his way to her, hoping deep within his heart that she hadn't been swept away amongst the crowd.

Surprisingly enough, she was on her feet. Not heading towards the hallway, though.

Headed towards him.

He could feel his heart fluttering in his chest, dancing to some unknown upbeat chorus of careful calamity, just enough to startle him but still keep curiosity lingering in his chest. Something about her determined movements caused his plan to crumble to the ground. Within moments he'd forgotten what he was supposed to do, to say. There was only her and her beauty.

The same could not be said for her. Although her cheeks began to flush and her gaze flitted back and forth between her shoes and Izuku's equally-reddened face, she managed to speak. "I've - been thinking about a lot of things lately," she began, softly, scarcely heard over the beating of their own hearts.

This struck a chord within him. Typically, things like that did not bode well. Rather, they almost always seemed to cumulate into the end of something, or the beginning of something worse than what was once previously available. A shiver slithered across his spine. Now he wouldn't have his chance. She was going to say that she no longer wanted to spend time with him, wasn't she? She'd explain how he was boring, how he was useless, how Deku really did mean fruitless and nothing else, only disappointment and lost promises, forgotten love and wasted days. She would leave him and find someone better, stronger, more capable of providing her all the love that she needed, that she deserved. This would be her final moments with him.

"Izuku..."

Here it came.

"...I really like you."

The ice encased around his heart was immediately shattered by her silky, chivalrous statement, a single welcomed blow to the aches and pains beginning to spread presumptuously throughout his body, destroyed the clock in his mind that had waited, wondering, counting down the minutes and seconds and milliseconds before she would tell him she no longer thought of him the same. But she did. She thought all of it and more. And without even knowing precisely what was occurring, without being fully aware of his feelings or movements or actions or appearance, the blush had spread across his face, forming a butterfly across his cheeks and nose, and he was taking another step towards her, wide-eyed and nervous, mirroring her expression perfectly.

Before he could continue she stole the opportunity. "I - I know you might not feel the same. But I thought -"

"- I do," he murmured back, a small smile spreading across his lips as he watched the same sight bloom across her own face, gentle and graceful, generating goddess-like gorgeousness along the face of what was already an angel. "I like you, [y/n]. I've been meaning to tell you, but I didn't know..."

"I didn't know how you'd react, either," she murmured, a giggle escaping her. "I mean, I felt it was all unspoken, but I wanted to make sure you knew."

Oh, he knew. He knew with all his heart, mind, body, and soul, with every last millimeter of his frame and every movement of his figure. He knew he was in love and she was in love and they were in love and greatest wish had just been granted.

The elation he experienced that day never seemed to leave in the next week or so. The time they spent together increased exponentially, now accompanied by cuddling, hand-holding, attempting to sit as close to one another as possible no matter when or where or why, passing notes during the most dragged-out of classes, hugging and remaining in embraces, never wanting to let go. Never wanting to let go of each other, nor their time, nor their experiences, nor their love. The strings of fate had intertwined and wrapped them up together in their own cocoon of young, flourishing fondness.

Love was in full-swing of early spring blossoming one morning, where, as per usual, Izuku waited outside her house, backpack slung over his shoulder and uniform feeling heavy against the beginning of the sun's heat, knocking on the door and lightly lingering for her to appear on her porch. It had become a bit of a tradition for him to walk her to school. So, of course, even though she'd requested to leave earlier than usual to turn in a bit of extra credit, he still came. The timing was almost precisely like that of their first encounter, all those days ago, where they had spotted one another early, outside the school, hours before it began. Of course, he didn't really presume that hours were needed simply to turn in a spare assignment or two, but often she'd surprise him with a gift, or take him to one beautiful nature reserve or garden or another, and spend her time walking with him, sparking up small talk and enjoying the outdoors in his presence.

Moments later she arrived, looking somewhat harried but nonetheless happy, smiling widely at the sight of him. "Thanks for coming," she nodded, taking his hand and beginning to stroll down the sidewalk. "I'm sorry it's so early. But," she broke off, humming for a moment as Izuku paused to readjust his bookbag, "since it's still early spring, and everything's begging to bloom, I figured we could go to a plant nursery. It's one of the first places I went when I moved here, and everything's so calm and peaceful. I think you'll enjoy it."

Izuku grinned. "I enjoy everything with you," he murmured, tilting his head to the side before blushing and looking away at his own remark.

She laughed. "Me too."

Much like they usually did, their walking continued in relative silence, occasional smalltalk breaking the air but otherwise enjoying the peacefulness of the early spring day, admiring the neighborhoods and houses along their path. Even if the other had nothing else to say, his previous comment was true - silence was beautiful and fascinating with her.

"It's just a ways past school, so I was thinking I could drop my stuff off first?" she inquired after awhile, as they neared the building.

He nodded. "Of course. I may as well do the same; my backpack seems to get heavier with every passing week."

"Because you never clean out your folder," she chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, "and you've always got an extra sketchbook and notebook with you."

Her laughter was infectious. "Yeah, I suppose so. But I'm not parting with any of it. I want to treasure all my memories made here, especially with you."

In a split second she'd spun around, starting, startled by something Izuku didn't, couldn't see, despite turning with her and craning his neck, straining his senses for any sign of what had stunned her. But he couldn't find anything. "[Y/n], what's going on?" he breathed.

"I - I don't know," she relayed, "but something made my music...change. I don't think I've ever heard this song before..." and then she trailed off, reaching for Izuku's hand and digging her nails into it harder than she realized, stumbling back and gaping, pointedly, at something.

And this time Izuku saw it.

Out of the corner of his eye, just beyond a turn outside the angular school, the grasses brushed and parted, revealing an all-too-familiar figure.

Greasy, tousled sky-blue hair fell in an uncoordinated manner down a pale, porcelain face, obscured by a gloved hand, a black coat partially shading the rest of him from sight, but failing to do so entirely. Besides - someone like that, Izuku would never forget.

[Y/n] wouldn't know him. After all, she hadn't yet arrived at U.A. before the attack on the U.S.J.'s plaza. Hadn't seen his strength, his intellect, his touch of putrefaction and how it could melt skin and muscle and bone.

Hadn't ever fought Tomura Shigaraki.

"Run," Izuku whispered, frantically, tugging on her arm and speeding off in the opposite direction.

Frightened, she followed, cautiously casting glances behind her shoulder to ensure they weren't being followed. Her heart was racing in her chest, faster than her legs could pump, drowning out the crescendo of orchestral drama playing in her mind, her quirk on overdrive, blaring trumpets and flutes and making a ruckus, projecting warning signs as clear as day. And yet even as they ran, the song did not change. Nothing changed. It still remained as loud and sinister as it had been the first time she'd seen him. He must've been a villain. But how had he gotten there? How had he surpassed the barriers? Who was he?

This was suddenly interrupted when her song went dead silent.

She stopped, panting, falling to her knees and gasping for air, just a yard behind Izuku, who paused as well, sensing her tiredness. They'd strayed far off campus grounds. What felt like miles. What may have been miles. Surely they'd lost him. After all, he hadn't seen them; couldn't have seen them.

And then a touch.

Soft and gentle and slow, tracing across the side of her head, running from her forehead across her ear and her neck, down to her shoulder.

And then Izuku screamed.

Pain, unimaginable agony, began to prick her skin, plucking it apart, cutting deep into it and growing, swelling, bursting, just like the abrupt return of the music in her head, dark and slow, feeling like decades passed with every second, tearing her flesh from her bones and vanishing her skin, her muscle, reaching deep within her body and roaring as it ravaged her, knives stabbing across her body and revolvers firing, breaking her skin and her shape and her song.

Her song.

She was screaming now, raw and primal, the cry of an animal slowly dying at its hunter's pleasure, ripping up her throat and burning against her already-injured neck, chin, cheek, face, the world spinning and falling apart just as she was, drowning out all noise except that of Izuku, and something like a battle, and oh god no no no no no.

She could only hear from one ear now.

Her song was slowly decaying, just like her body, just like her ear. If it was gone...she couldn't fight. Not with the decay spreading deeper and deeper, burrowing into her torso like termites to a tree, worming around and wrecking her insides; not when the only thing she could concentrate on was her quirk. And that, too, was no longer functioning properly.

Breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe. Focus on the song. She could still hear it, faint and vicious, villainous and hateful and swollen with prideful rage. Barely, just barely, she felt around, searching for the right chord to pull, the right music to start up in rebellion.

Nothing was coming.

Her body was breaking.

She couldn't see a thing now.

The world was crumbling in on itself.

And so she made her song just as broken.

She changed none of the instruments. Instead, she reserved every twinge of pain, every appearance of agony, and with every passing second she transferred them from her body to her mind, focusing on instrument after instrument, shattering their strings and their necks and their bodies, breaking them, one by one, watching them recoil and die, soundless now, the song falling sideways on its own scraping composition.

And then she was falling sideways on her own scraping composition, hitting the ground and breaking, blackness overtaking her.

There were no more instruments left to destroy.

♥️

The first thing she saw was Izuku. He was hunched over in a chair, sleeping, fluffy hair falling in cute clumps across his round face, framing his eyelashes and his peaceful face, a small, soft snore escaping his chest as it rise and fell. His arms were in casts, and bandages were thrown all around him, here and there and everywhere, as if nearly his entire body had been ravaged.

And then she remembered.

Tears grew hot in her eyes and she tore her gaze from him. Instead, she slowly, steadily began to move her arm, only to be racked with pain, stinging like it was ablaze. She tried the other - this one worked fine. She reached to the side of her face, and felt, with an ever-present feeling of horror, that over half of it was encased in hardened bandages, running from her forehead all the way across the side of her body, reaching her lower thigh before disappearing into unscathed flesh.

The only thing keeping her from screaming was the fact that her music had returned.

It was soft. Peaceful, even, the calm after a storm, the dawn after the darkness. Simple wind instruments and the occasional violin, playing lightly, a tune of restoration and romance, like something at the end credits of a romance film. This was the singular sound that reminded her she was alive, no matter the consequence, and Izuku was here, with her, battered but breathing.

Somehow this brought even more tears to her eyes, puffing her cheeks with redness and overflowing her lacrimal canals. Had she failed? Were Izuku's injuries because she was unable to do anything? Was she still really that inexperienced? That useless? That much of a failure that she couldn't even protect the ones she loved most?

Her train of thought was interrupted by the curtain to her small room being drawn back, revealing a small frame moving towards her. Recovery Girl?

"Ah, you're awake," she remarked, a small, rare smile spreading across her face. "Good morning, Ms. [l/n]."

When [y/n] spoke, her voice was hoarse from lack of use, and each word took pains to choke out. "Is - is everyone okay?"

The nurse nodded. "Luckily for the two of you, the teachers happened to be in a meeting. They heard the ruckus you were making and managed to shut the villain down. Just a few minor injuries among staff. Of course, Midoriya overexerted himself as always..." she broke off with a sigh. "I'm glad you were there. Apparently you dealt some major damage before passing out. Without you, chances are Midoriya would've done something even more reckless."

Though her tone was admonishing, [y/n] could tell she was glad for their presence, even if it had inadvertently led to a fullblown battle. Something like relief was laced between her words.

"Alright, dear, I'm off. You may need another night before heading home, but I'll check on you again later. I've got some poor sap with burns all over." And with that, she left.

Only a second passed before Izuku jolted awake, hitting his head against the wall behind him and wincing, but pausing as soon as he noticed her opened eyes. "[Y/n]...!" His voice was coated with joy, reprieve, excitement, love. "D - does it hurt? Do you need me to get Recovery Girl? What can I do to help?" His anxiousness seemingly sparked after noticing the tears streaming down her face.

She shook her head. "No...please, just stay with me," she whispered, wiping at her face with her uninjured hand. "I need to see you - t...to know you're okay..."

Something like sadness spread across his face. "I'm fine," he murmured, a remorseful smile spreading across his lips. "I'm safe because of you. And now that you're up, I'm better than ever."

"You still...you're hurt."

He paused. "I wanted to stop you from getting hurt, and I guess..." he chuckled. "Well, you know how it goes. I do everything a little bit too much. I'm still not perfect at controlling it."

Something about his self-degrading humor but overall pleasant attitude about the awful occurrence made her feel more at ease. Not perfect, but at least less self-loathing, less useless, less of a failure. She could see nothing but admiration in his eyes, and she knew, undoubtedly, that he saw the same in hers. And she, too, was better than ever, as she used her spare arm to prop her up and lean into him, an armless embrace, her head against his chest, listening to the most beautiful song of them all, his heartbeat. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in, feeling her movements against him, knowing that she was alright, would be alright, despite it all. They remained like that for minutes upon minutes, safe against each other, reminding one another that they were still breathing, injured but alive, hurting but victorious.

"I love you," she whispered into him.

His heart fluttered, beating a million times faster than before, and she heard it, she felt it, and her heart, unbeknownst to him, was doing the exact same. The violins were sweetly rising, the piano playing in a high major key, sweet and loud and growing with every passing moment.

"I love you, too."

She lifted her head from his chest, slowly, as though it pained her to part, but then supported herself by her fingertips, raising her head higher, until their faces were almost even as he hunched down to meet her. She felt his breath, warm and even, comfortable, against her face, and she closed her eyes. The chorus burst out with joy, butterflies and flowers and all pure and good blooming throughout her mind as his lips met hers, supple and sweet and tasting like home, like belonging, like love in its true form.

Yes. They were better than ever.