~ Third Person P.O.V ~

"My eyes do what my lips cannot fathom, kissing your skin in delicate flutters. My lips do not speak words they long to taste, locking them in the prison of my tongue . . ."
—Another shitty quote by me, honestly just expect that from now on

Izuku stared in awe as the exited the car. The sun had barely begun to dip below the horizon, creating a glowing yet eerie effect on the scenery surrounding him. Wild stray strands of emerald locks fluttered aimlessly in the wind, his nose dusting a light pink from the bitter cold simultaneously as his feet dug into the gravel below. 

The house was rather large, crafted of white painted wood, metal linings, and stone. It was old, that much was evident by the moss and vines grappling underneath the structure of the porch; or the rust that had accumulated on certain metal frames and linings on the house. A white picket fence encircled around it, digging into the dirt and gravel and grass. A large oak tree stood tall on the house's right side, the branches and leaves cowering over the roof and casting a shade that ran from the tree's trunk to the end of the porch. 

Izuku's head snapped towards the tree at the slow creaking of the tire swing that was wrapped around the largest branch.

"And this is your house?" Izuku asked, still in awe as Shoto led the way up the porch's steps; the wood creaking underneath them. 

"Mhm," his reply was rather strained, Izuku knew that something was bothering him. Perhaps it could be the Monoma situation, that seemed most likely to the younger. 

The elder's hands shook as he reached for the key shoved deep within his pocket, the small trinkets attached to the holder jingling and clinking together as he inserted it into the lock. Just as he was about to open it he stopped midway. Shoto inhaled deeply, knowing that once he opened the door there was no turning back—that he would have no choice but to stay there with Izuku. His reasonings were logical, Monoma had no clue about this specific house a few hours away from the city—it was the perfect place to stay for the time being.

. . . But the memories attached to the house were everything but pleasant.

"Hey—" Izuku placed a gentle hand on Shoto's shoulder. "—if this is about . . . you know who, just try not to think about it. I'm here,"

His comforting words nearly made Shoto laugh. If anything he had anticipated more from Izuku, he was still waiting for the full breakdown that he is certain was rising within the younger. Shoto knew that him crying in the car was only a small part of what was bound to come . . . so, why hadn't it?

"We just ran into your abusive ex merely hours ago and you're comforting me?" Shoto chuckled lowly, using his free hand to gingerly run it through Izuku's curls. "You're . . . how do you say? . . . Ass-backward. You're ass-backward, Izuku,"

A teasing smirk arose to the freckled male's lips, curving them slightly as an unknown glint sparked in his eyes. "You know," he began offhandedly, "You're only proving my whole 'Old man' joke by what you just said, right??"

"And the moments over," Shoto drawled, dragging the 'and' out from the beginning whilst pushing the door open.

Before the younger could tease him any further he was instantly engulfed in an overpowering aroma of a myriad of things. The first, and most distinctive smell, was cleaning supplies—from top to bottom the house smelt as though it had been freshly cleaned. Thoroughly, too. Shoto felt along the wall until he found the light switch, the kitchen, and living both being illuminated with the blinding glow from above.

They were met with a short hallway when they first walked in, the walls plain and decorated with a mirror on the left and an abstract portrait on the right. Down the end of the hallway was the kitchen, which was split down the middle—on one side the refrigerator, counters, cabinets, a sink, and a dishwasher lay. While on the other side a stove, microwave, counters, cabinets, and another refrigerator rested. The flooring and walls of the kitchen all a blistering white.

Next, Izuku's emerald eyes landed in the living room. Three small steps dipped into said room, the entire area an open-floor concept. Unlike the kitchen, it was floored with a polished linoleum—a shaggy carpet resting on top. And while the kitchen smelt of polish cleaner and bleach, the lingering aroma had not traveled down to the plain area at all. No, instead the living room had a prominent smell of lavender and tea.

Izuku's eyes squinted when he found the source of the smell. It was a candle, smoke still whisking shyly in the air around it . . . Someone had been here.

"Shoto?" Izuku prodded quietly, anxiety creeping into his voice. 

The elder gave him a simple grunt in reply, he was far too busy checking the cabinets and fridge for edible food. 

"Someone's been here," Izuku's voice wavered and cracked as he spoke the words, his hand clutching against his chest and feet instantly pivoting as if to run at any given moment.

Shoto's eyes instantly widened, however in worry for the younger rather than fear. "Oh, no, it's okay, Izuku." he instantly reassured, "I have some friends who live a few miles up the road, I pay them to come here and clean every week—I texted them on the drive up here to re-stock the pantry and fridge this time. It was only them,"

"Are you sure?" Izuku asked in a small voice, his eyes resembling that of a Doe. 

The elder simpered, crossing the space between them and encircling his arms securely around Izuku's waist—still mindful of certain areas he knew he could not touch. "Hey—" one arm unwrapped from his waist, his finger curling underneath Izuku's chin. "—as long as I'm here, I'll keep you safe. You know that, don't you?"

Izuku nodded, his tensed muscles relaxing as he leaned into Shoto's touch; nearly melting in it. "I know," he murmured.

Damn it, it was happening again. Shoto was beginning to be fed up with these reoccurring thoughts of his, the ones that wrapped around his mind so tightly he could hardly think straight. He should have kept the hug short, minimized the touching of their skin, kept a distance between them. The elder was well aware he had a soulmate, somewhere in the vast sea of humanity—this was hardly fair to them, that he was commencing to feel so strongly for another.

But being here . . . Izuku's small frame wrapped ever so delicately around him, the boy's breath fanning across the open path of his collar bone . . . His lips . . . So close to his neck—

"I should probably go get the bags from the car," Shoto announced, throwing off the solace yet electricity that surrounded them. 

His arms began to unwind themselves from the younger, heterochromatic eyes fluttering downwards onto the floor. Shoto could not bring himself to meet Izuku's intense gaze, for he knew if he did that would be the end. He was already falling, slipping, descending into the pools of love his heart had not known for the past . . . two-hundred-odd-something-years. The mere concept of romantic love was a sensation so foreign to him; something he knew he'd feel one day. However, when he envisioned that fateful day it was always with his soulmate, not someone else.

And at the worst possible time, too.

Quickly, he darted outside. His sneakers pounding with vehemence against the creaky wood of his front porch then the dirt dusted gravel of the front yard. Shoto's head swirled at the word: soulmate. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he allowed himself to fully think of it . . . his soulmate.

It was hard to give such a thing a simple thought in the past month, for his life had been turned upside down—but in the best possible way. He was on a constant high every day, even on the bad where Izuku wanted nothing more than to curl away and cry. Because despite it all, when he was with Izuku he felt free—free from the shackles life had bestowed upon him. Free from the life sentence he had been given by some greater power above. 

*See arc one Prologue in case of perplexity*

Oh, no . . .

Shoto's heart pounded as he continued to let his mind wander about, certain revelations slowly making themselves more clear. He had been there for other people's blood-surging, joyous, moments when the met their soulmate. Found their other half, the missing piece to the complex or basic puzzle. The elder had noticed the looks on their faces, their words, how they responded, reacted, he had noticed it all. Predominantly, it was brought about from plain jealously at first—the overwhelming need to examine their every move when someone had met their soulmate, that is. Jealous because their life had been complete, they found their purpose.

He yearned to experience what they were feeling at that moment, to know what it felt like to be enclosed by their soulmates presence. To comprehend the warmth and love that would adorn their eyes, features, words, and actions—there was nothing he desired more in life.

Shoto's fingers stopped their slow movements of gathering their bags, fingertips curling underneath the hem of his sleeve. 

He hadn't looked at his soulmark in quite some time now . . .

As his fingers drew upwards, time seemed to have stopped around him. Everything becoming more clearer as the seconds passed painstakingly. His eyes traveled up to where his hair rested, the locks of scarlet and snowy white more evident than they had been a month ago. Strands twisting and fumbling in the wind right before him. Obviously, it had grown . . .

How could I have been so stupid?

A surprised laugh escaped his lips as he felt his fingernails graze his skin, as he still slowly pulled the sleeve upwards—which had yet to reveal the soulmark. He purposefully cut the length of his fingernails decades ago, to the point where he would barely feel it . . . Just in case they grew.

08.27.2020

It didn't take him long to figure out that the date was exactly a month and a day ago . . . The day he met Izuku.

"Hey, I see some chicken in the freezer—" Shoto's heart swelled at the sound of Izuku's voice sounding from the porch. "—I don't know about you, but I'm starving. And fried chicken sounds like heaven!"

Shoto swallowed thickly, for the first time in a long time warmth crept to his cheeks. He was blushing! The scarlet hue ran smoothly across his conflicted features, scattering across the premises of his high cheekbones and down to his nose. God, how could he have been so blind?

"Of course," he replied automatically. Giving nothing away to the war being raged inside of his mind.

After a few minutes so recollecting himself Shoto had retrieved the bags, slinging them effortlessly around his shoulders. His mind could never continue on the same path twice after this revelation of his. 

Izuku, the perfect, beautiful reincarnate, sarcastic Izuku was his soulmate . . . He was the luckiest man alive right now, and yet he hadn't even realized it until a month later. What did this mean? Obviously, the thought of starting a relationship was not something that would be advised, especially with what was happening. Did Izuku know? Sure, he had noticed some growth within him as well?

He had to have, Izuku—not only was he intelligent, but he was also perceptive—possibly more so than Shoto was. Did Izuku know they were soulmates? If he did . . . and he hadn't said anything . . . Well, Shoto could understand why. After having at least a little bit of insight into his previous relationship with that bastard, he could comprehend why the thought of having a soulmate, a possible significant other would frighten him. And he could not hold it against the younger if he chose to keep quiet about his knowledge.

If the roles were reversed, Shoto would have done the same.

As Izuku cooked and made his way across the kitchen, the elder could not help but stare. Watching in wonder as the freckled college student slowly eased into the house and all its features. Watching in wonder at the beauty, grace, and fluidity of his movements. Watching in wonder at Izuku.

"What?" Izuku asked sheepishly, a light blush smearing across his freckled cheeks. The food was done by now, the two were seated at the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen. 

"Hm?" the elder had been so enthralled, time seemed to go by more briskly while he stared at the boy.

Izuku chuckled lightly, taking a small bite from his food. "You're not so subtle when you're staring . . . Do I have something on my face?" he teased, trying to make light of his questioning.

"No," Your face is absolutely perfect, were the words Shoto so desperately wanted to add after that.

". . . Is it because of Monoma?" Izuku felt a shiver go down as he finally spoke the name. 

An old notion reappeared into the forefront of the elder's mind at the name, his features hardening. "No, but I wanted to talk to you about that," he said with a sigh. "I still stand by what I said earlier, I won't force you to tell me anything. But I'm worried about you—don't take this the wrong way—but I'm kind of waiting for a breakdown still,"

Izuku went silent at his words, his face twisting up in confliction as he suppressed a sigh. "I still don't know about a breakdown," he chuckled humorlessly, "I'm . . . I'm just so tired, Shoto. I'm trying to keep it in, out of sight out of mind almost. If I'm being honest, I can't handle it . . . another breakdown,"

"But what good has it done you in the past to keep in your emotions?" Shoto countered, albeit his voice was soft and caring.

"I know," Izuku mumbled, "But at this point, I'm fucked either way! If I let out my emotions now I'll feel horrible, and if I do it later . . . If I let it fester . . . I'll still feel the same way,"

Shoto deliberated his words silently as he chewed his food. He wanted nothing more than to take away the younger's pain, to shroud him with his body and take it all in for himself. If given the chance, he would. 

"What if you wrote them down, instead?" he prompted.

"What, like in a diary?" Izuku snorted dismissively. "Been there, done that,"

Duel-colored-eyed narrowed in mock-annoyance as he gazed at Izuku. "No, I know that doesn't work for everyone. But writing isn't always so simple as just . . . black and white. There are so many forms you could take on, song lyrics, poetry; it may take a little time to figure out your preference, but it may help you," he explained, seemingly getting lost in thought momentarily.

"Do you do that?"

"Mhm," Shoto admitted, "Poetry, which I love because there are so many forms of it. You're never reduced to one thing. I think you'd be good at it,"

"But doesn't it have to rhyme?" Izuku questioned, he hadn't paid much attention to the English class he had taken a few years back in high school. 

Shoto smiled, a genuine, adoring, smile. "No, that's only for certain ones. You should try it, though,"

Izuku nodded thoughtfully, already losing himself to his mind as he thought of the new notion. The thought of writing poetry nearly made him smile, he didn't think he'd be very good, but the fact that Shoto suggested it meant he wanted to try it. He better now than to distrust the elder's perception or judgment on certain things; if Shoto thought he'd be good than it was worth giving it a shot, right?

"Thank you," Izuku whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Shoto's cheek before getting up to place his dishes in the sink.

The duel-haired male froze, a buzzing sensation lingering in his skin where Izuku's lips had once been. Fuck . . . this boy would be the life of him.  

Hello Cricket Cultists!!

Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittt why we goin' so fucking fast- whooaaaaaa.

*Ahem* I'm going to enjoy these chapters with them at the farmhouse . . . We're gonna have angst, we're gonna have fluff, we're gonna have smu-

Anywho!!!! I think I've figured out a system now that I have school. In case Y'all haven't noticed, I've been posting every other day. Which will probably be like that from now on, on SCHOOL DAYS. On weekends the same rules apply, however, sometimes I'll take breaks on Sundays and sometimes I won't.

Are we ready?

Until we meet again!!!