~ Third Person P.O.V ~

"Lips blood red, opening a call for you, teeth chattering against the cold in a tuneless song. My heart beats mellifluously in its shackles, each pump of blood it sends for you . . ."
―BisexualCricket, Poetry Journal

*I'm running out of poems, I gotta start writing again XD*

Sweat shined slickly across the nape of Shoto neck, gliding down his now shirtless torso as he moved the last of the boxes in an organized pile on the left side of the attic.

The two had started off with cleaning the dust, grime, and dirt-filled attic; which had ultimately taken up most of their night―early morning. After they had successfully wiped the place spotless they had begun the process of neatly organizing certain artifacts, boxes, clothes, and pictures in order.

Over the course of the past few hours, they had thankfully taken breaks. Going to eat, use the bathroom, etc. 

Izuku knew it was the elder's way of stalling, for he could tell this was quite a hefty load of events he was about to unload on him―so, he gave Shoto his time for he had done the exact same thing for him. And as he handed the boy he loved the final box, he could faintly hear the hammering heartbeat Shoto's heart sounded off as he gripped the cardboard. He observed as the light rush of pink patches blooming and unfurling, painting the pale white canvas of his skin in discolorations.

He had been quiet for most of the time, barely uttering a word when they first began in the dead of night; and saying even less when the sun had flickered above the horizon, flooding light into the small window in the corner. Again, all of which Izuku had respected. For the two knew the burden of anxiety the bubbled within someone when they were about to share something they were reluctant to.

It was silent between the two―as it had been for quite some time―while Shoto sat down on the creaking floorboards. He captured his long-forgotten shirt in between his fingers, however, instead of putting back on he merely wiped some of the perspiration from his body. Of course, it didn't do much, there was no ventilation within the ramshackle walls of the attic; so as the sun rose so did the temperature, replacing the cool night air with humid sultry ones.

Izuku sat down in front of him, neatly folding his legs underneath himself as he stared at the man expectantly.

"What do you want to start with?" Shoto asked hoarsely, his voice taut and strained as he motioned around them. "Just pick up something and I'll tell you about it,"

The younger's green darted around the attic, somewhat appreciating the beauty it reflected. There was something about all the objects in the room that made him oddly feel a lot younger, like when he visited his grandparents at the small age of five, or being dragged to a thrift store by his mother. Finally, his eyes settled on a small, wooden, design engraved jewelry box.

"What's that?" he asked as he picked it up, running his fingers along the cracks and engravings―which appeared to all be handmade. 

Shoto's gaze softened as his muscles relaxed, staring at the box intently as Izuku twisted it in his hands. "It was my mother's," he said softly, crawling closer towards the boy so there was little space between them.

Deftly opening the small metal latch to the box, the box revealed a plethora of jewelry items in it. A shiny pearl necklace, earrings with jewels in them, pristine white gloves. However, there was one piece that stood out the most: It was plain yet beautiful just the same. The band was a bar shiny gold, as if it had just recently been cleaned, gold strips had curled upwards―a small diamond nestled in between them.

"This was her engagement and wedding ring . . . my father didn't have enough money to buy both. But she loved it anyway. After she died my sister, Fuyumi, inherited it . . . Then my brother had given it to his wife after Fuyumi died, and then my little sister, Eri," he explained, melancholy tickling his throat.

"And then you?" Izuku guessed, as he continued to twirl the ring in between his fingers. 

Shoto nodded wordlessly gazing at the boy with an unknown glint surfacing the duel-colored lakes of his eyes. For a moment, a short, sweet, moment―Shoto imagined what it would be like if Izuku had slipped the ring onto his own finger.

Setting the box and ring aside, Izuku scans over the other myriad of items shrouding them. "How about that container over there?"

Leaning behind himself, Shoto retrieves the container while setting it down in front of them with a huff. Opening it, he smiles to himself, it was more clothes―his old military uniforms to be exact―which brought an onslaught of nostalgia to hit him. He watched quietly as Izuku reached forward, tentatively touching the medals and pendants the adorned some of them; he could practically hear the questions swirling in the boy's brain.

". . . How many wars have you fought in?" 

Shoto sighed, having expected that question. "Three or four maybe . . . forgive me, my memories a little hazy. But even after the wars I still served my time dutifully," he explained as Izuku picked up one of his hats from the container, Japan's military crest imprinted in the middle.

Sensing Shoto's shift in mood, Izuku places the hat on tip of his head―outgrown curls of green fanning across his features―while he made a funny face. "How do I look?" he chuckled, trying to lighten the male's mood.

"Utterly dashing, my dear," Shoto drawled, as he patiently awaited the series of teasing and taunting that would follow after his words. However, they never came. "What? I thought you'd call me an 'old man' or something," he snickered.

A wry smirk appeared on Izuku's lips as he took the hat off, placing it neatly back in its spot. "Are you admitting that you love my nickname for you?" he asked mock-innocently, batting his eyelashes for extra emphasis.

"Love is a strong word," Shoto laughed, "Hate, maybe . . . but not love." albeit the smile the rested on his lips gave away to his lie effortlessly.

"Can we look through your pictures?" Izuku asked carefully after a few beats of silence.

Shoto nodded, his tense and nostalgic mood spreading thickly through the atmosphere around them as he went over towards the piles and piles of photo albums―bringing them all over back towards an expectant Izuku. The first album wasn't filled with many pictures, a few baby photo's of him and his siblings, his parents the day of their wedding, and one family photo which had been chipped on the edges. All of them colored in black and white.

As they moved through the pictures Shoto explained the meanings behind the ones he could remember. A picture of him in the early 1900's next to the first house he had bought, him on a boat he had just learned to navigate, him on the farm horseback riding. 

"Who's this?" Izuku asked as they flipped the next.

The minute Shoto's eyes landed on the picture his vision had blurred, numb tears creating a and thick film over his eyes as a watery smile shaped his lips. "That's Touya," he whispered huskily, as Izuku wiped a stray tear that slid down his cheek.

"It's okay . . . take you time," Izuku soothed, planting a gentle peck of Shoto's bare shoulder. "We can always stop if you want."

"No," Shoto shook his head firmly. "It's okay. Me and Touya had met in military training back when World War Two was happening, we were bunkmates. God, he was crazy as hell but we became friends almost instantly,"

The duel-haired male let out a laugh as he recalled a distant memory. "One time, we snuck into Commander Aizawa's quarters and filled the place with everyone's dirty clothes," he chuckled, shaking his head as he envisioned how red Aizawa's had been.

Izuku joined in with his laughter, not being able to help himself with how contagious the sound was. It sounded like pure euphoria, and euphoria sounded heavenly coming from Shoto Todoroki's lips.

"What happened to him? If you don't mind me asking," Izuku probed, cambering his head as he carefully observed Shoto's facial features.

"Well, when we got drafted he had met his soulmate―Tomura Shigaraki―that kid was amazing. The three of us did everything together, four of us if you include the rare times Levi's ass would come. . . Anyway, after a few months of us being on the frontlines Tomu died―" Shoto sucks in a ragged breath as his eyes slip close. "―we were patrolling and we didn't know there was a minefield up ahead. Then a week later Touya died . . . he got shot,"

By now the elder's voice had sounded more far off and detached, his eyes glossy and red yet no more salty liquid threatened to escape them. Izuku's mouth pulled into a frown, he knew that voice anywhere―it was the voice of someone who blamed himself for something he couldn't preclude. It used to be Izuku's voice at some point in time.

"Shoto," Izuku said vehemently, grabbing the boy's face in between his hands. "It's not your fault. Don't you dare blame yourself for something that couldn't be helped . . . I never had the privilege of getting to know your friends, but I do know they wouldn't want you to do that,"

The elder snorted as he nodded his head in agreement, wrapping his arms tightly around the Izuku's waist. "Since when did you become my therapist?" he joked.

"Well, someone's gotta keep your ass in check," Izuku shot back as Shoto nuzzled his face in the crook of his neck.

As time went on the two went through every single piece of paper, every box, container, notebooks, and photo album there was. Izuku laughed as Shoto had spoken of times when Levi and Touya would argue over who was Shoto's best friend; or how they all went drinking at one point and ended up getting thrown in jail overnight for starting a bar fight. 

They read through Shoto's journal's, Izuku marveling over the neat handwriting and deeply intellectual poems he would come across. The duel-colored-haired man would break down certain poems Izuku failed to understand, yet loved just the same, telling him the reasons behind him writing them. It was strange reading through them―for as his eyes swept over the cursive letters and soaked them in, it almost felt as if he were there with Shoto at that specific point in time.

Izuku had never felt closer to the boy than now.

Of course, they touched more heavier topics. Like how his father had become abusive after losing his job―which put their family in a lot of financial debt at the time. Izuku had learned of the origin of the mysterious scar that laced over his eyes, for his father had burned him when he found out about Shoto's soulmark. Apparently back then if you had to wait more than a decade to meet your soulmate it was considered dishonorable to your family.

It could be punishable by death.

Except, back then they didn't know that dying was impossible for someone who had not met their soulmate.

Finally, they had finished. The two of them heading downstairs only to find that the sun was already setting; prompting them to do their nightly tasks.

"I know we haven't really come up with any good ideas on how to approach Monoma," Izuku began as Shoto stepped out of the bathroom while brushing his teeth. "But do you think we can go back home, tomorrow?"

"Are you sure?" Shoto asked, doing a spit take in the sink before coming back to join Izuku on the bed.

"Yeah,"

With that, it was settled. As the elder began going over plans for the tomorrow to come in his head Izuku stalked off into the bathroom to take a shower, locking the door behind him. While he knew coming up with a full plan on what to do was what they initially came here for . . . Izuku couldn't help but feel as though it wouldn't be needed. For he had grown so much in the past week, month, every single second he had spent with Shoto since he first met him. 

He knew for a fact no matter what he'd be okay.

Which meant he was ready to do something; to conquer a fear yet a desire he had been thinking about for a while now. As he got out the shower he walked over towards the fogged mirror, wiping the moisture off as he stared at himself. Before, he would have found his naked boy do be . . . more than unsightly. But now? Now he wanted nothing more than to share parts of it with the man he loved. And while he still wasn't ready for sex, he was ready for something close to it.

Hell, it was their last night at the farmhouse . . . they might as well make it worthwhile.       

Hello Cricket Cultists!!

*WARNING* Next chapter will be A LITTLE BIT 'saucy'. But I feel as though it is needed for the type of growth Izuku has, plus I lowkey wanna see how this turns out.

Questions? 

Comments?

Until we meet again!!!