Moonlit Feathers

by ostentatiouslyrealistic

Summary:

Before they split onto their paths, Fumikage stopped them once more. He grabbed a hold of Katsuki’s shoulder and spun him around before shoving something long and thin into his hands. Even in the faint light, he could feel the familiar shaft prick his fingers and instantly knew what he held.

“As a reminder,” Fumikage said quietly, then turned on his heel and started down the cobblestone road. Eijirou peered over Katsuki’s shoulder and blanched, for Katsuki now held the fateful arrow that’d struck the swan maiden.

--

A Swan Lake inspired AU

Notes:

Happy Friday! This is my piece for the Kacchako Big Bang. I worked with the wonderful NiiArt and too_toohonest! Thank you guys for being patient with my sporadic schedule and for bearing with me as I created this monster of a one-shot.

Check out NiiArt's art from this piece!

“You fucking hag!” Katsuki seethed, glaring daggers toward the desk, where his mother’s knuckles curled under the edge, her fingers practically splintering the old wood in barely contained frustration. She met her son’s fierce glare with one as intense and fiery as his own, and it was no mystery where he’d inherited his volatile temperament. 

His voice seemed to echo along the walls of the small study, where his father sat at the old desk, parchment and books forgotten in the throes of Mitsuki and Katsuki’s argument. Instead, he reclined back, the lines of his face set deeper than when he’d woken with the sun. Mitsuki, on the other hand, stood with her back to her husband, perched against the surface of the desk in a way that would have any noble gasping at her lax etiquette. 

Masaru uttered a quiet albeit exasperated sigh, touching his fingertips to his forehead. But Katsuki barely noticed, all of his attention pinpointed on the woman who he was sure had been plotting his demise since birth. His fists clenched tighter, nails digging crescent moons into his palms, and he resisted the urge to lash out. 

“When were you going to fucking tell me?!” he roared, stalking forward. With anyone else, they’d cower at his brash display of anger, but his parents were used to his volatility. In fact, Masaru just rested his head against the tall back of his seat, fingertips touching each other as he waited for this explosive argument to play out. He’d learned, in his time, that it was best to sit out of these situations and enter only when necessary to calm one or the other in the aftermath. 

At his tone, Mitsuki straightened, and to avoid further destroying her husband’s desk or risk crumpling his parchments, she folded her arms across her chest. Even though Katsuki stood a head taller than her, she held no fear, her small stature holding enough intimidation that matched her respected position in royalty. 

She lifted her chin to meet his glare head-on, her lips pressed into a thin line. A vein visibly throbbed at her temple, a common occurrence when at odds with her stubborn, bullheaded son. 

“I’ve been telling you,” she said, and there was a cold fury that accompanied the fearsome patience that lined her tone. Then, gestured between her and Masaru. “We’ve been trying to tell you, but you shut us out every time we try—”

“What—so you both decided to do it anyway?” Katsuki interrupted, breathing steam through his flared nostrils. Each word dripped with venom that would sting anyone outside of his immediate family. “This isn’t tomorrow’s dinner or next year’s festivities. We’re talking about marriage, which means we’re talking about my fucking life. I don’t give a rat’s ass—”

Mitsuki sliced a hand through the air. “Watch your language!” she snarled, and he returned the gesture with a scowl. “Don’t forget that you’re still the crown prince—”

“How could I forget with you reminding me every damned minute?” 

Her eyes flashed in warning, but she continued even when her arms tensed, “You’re almost three years past marrying age. Your father and I married the year he turned twenty, and we gave you some leeway to find someone you could love—”

“Oh yeah, let me just snap my fingers and magically fall in love—”

“Katsuki! ” his mother shrieked, finally snapping at his acerbic sarcasm. “You’re nearing twenty-three, you’ve shrugged off all of our suggestions—even with all of the maidens in the kingdom vying for your hand. You’re attending this ball, and there, you will choose someone, lest you marry someone your father and I choose for you.” 

She ended this with a finality that left no room for argument, leaving the study with a tension thick enough to hack with an ax and leave fragments of discomfort scattered along the ground. Katsuki’s anger could’ve boiled him alive—who were they to decide something so paramount? A bride that would supposedly rule by his side for the rest of his life? 

This wasn’t a triviality that he could brush off. This was a massive decision that would affect his life and the fate of the kingdom—hell, his future children would be affected as well—and his parents expected him to find and wholly love someone capable of running a castle and managing all forms of diplomatic relations. The pressure sat on his shoulders, weighing them down with the enormity of the situation. 

If not for his pride and obstinacy, he would’ve been bowled over by this responsibility. Alas, he wasn’t some spineless coward; who would he be if not headstrong and unyielding against a challenge, even against one his mother had inadvertently thrown at his face?

“You’re choosing no one for me,” he said lowly, angling his chin to glower at his parents through his lashes. His mother bristled at the metaphorical gauntlet, and his father exhaled slowly through his nose. The simple statement was as clear as glass: he would choose his own partner, and any form of arrangement would be broken with disobedience and rebellion.

With that, he pivoted on his heel and swept from the room, forcing an end to the insufferable conversation. As the banshee began to shriek his name, he slammed the door behind him, muffling her frustrated howl behind wood. Through it, he could hear Masaru’s attempt at placating Mitsuki, could imagine his mother raging to his father about how immature and insolent their son had turned out to be.

On their own accord, his eyes slid shut as he leaned against the rough surface, letting his head fall into his hand, the other fisted by his side. Despite his mother’s ire, he knew she wanted the best for him, as did Masaru—that was the reason they’d given him more time than necessary to find someone he could love instead of forcing him into a political marriage, one bound simply by duty. 

Sure, Katsuki could be callous and perhaps he enjoyed his independence a little too much, but who could blame him? The moment he took the throne, his life would take a one-eighty, and his time would be filled with advisors, political ties, economic issues, and people trying to wiggle into his good graces. 

And if he were more honest with himself, he liked the idea of loving someone and having that love reciprocated—not that he’d ever admit this out loud. Like any young adult, his mind sometimes wandered without direction, and oftentimes, he wondered about his future lover. Would she be tall? Short? Witty? Kind? Would she have all of the qualities fit for a queen? Would she take his hand and face his challenges with him? 

The prospect of an arranged marriage tore these questions from mind because there wouldn’t be a choice. He’d never find out, and the more he lingered on the thought, the more dismay flooded his veins, cooling the rage that’d ebbed through them moments ago.

“Didn’t go well?” 

Katsuki took a deep breath and pushed his head up to find his longtime friend leaning against the wall, his shoulder propped against stone. Eijirou watched him with the corner of his mouth upturned in a faint, sympathetic smile. As a response, Katsuki gave him a look, and Eijirou understood immediately, whistling at whatever deadpan expression painted his face. 

A crash sounded from the study, and Eijirou flinched. Katsuki, accustomed to his mother’s flaring temper, only shook his head and straightened himself. He pushed off of the door and began his trek down the hall, and Eijirou followed after sending a withering glance behind his shoulder. His footsteps hastened until he caught up to Katsuki’s side, keeping a minor space between himself and the disgruntled prince. 

“So what did they want?” 

“What do you think they wanted?” Katsuki spat, growing more cross the more he replayed the conversation in his head. “They wanted to talk about the fucking ball they’re throwing for my birthday.”

Eijirou’s face scrunched in confusion. “I know you hate those, but it doesn’t seem that bad—”

“—where I’ll have to choose someone to marry if I haven’t found someone by then,” Katsuki grunted, and Eijirou fell silent in realization. “They fucking cornered me about it. If I don’t pick someone, they’ll decide for me, and like hell, I’m going to let that happen.” His declaration, though solid, held an underlying waver of doubt. While he wasn't socially inept—he knew when to hold his tongue, if need be—finding someone to fall in love within the span of one month felt stifling, seemingly impossible.

Every passing day, the noose of his obligations tightened around his neck, and this new revelation only pulled the knot tighter at his nape. If nothing happened by his birthday, his mother would kick the metaphorical stool from underneath him.

"It can't be all that bad, can it?" Eijirou tried in a futile attempt at soothing his friend. They knew Katsuki would take no comfort from his words, but he inwardly appreciated the effort. "People fall in love after marriage too. It's not uncommon."

Katsuki carded a hand through his hair, pausing next to the gardens outside. Without any servants to listen, save the gardener who was hard of hearing anyway, the pair slowed to a stop. The sound of trickling water blanketed their conversation, adding another layer of safety to ward off any potential eavesdroppers. 

"Look, I know that, ok? I've been to enough noble weddings to see that it's possible, but this is different for me. The moment I take the throne, I lose everything—" He shook his head at Eijirou, whose lips had parted in protest. "I can't mess around as much anymore, I'll be guarded at almost all times. I'll lose everything, so if there's anything I can salvage from that…" 

He trailed off, but Eijirou, who knew the prince like the back of his hand, understood. If Katsuki had to lose his youth and independence, then he wanted this in return: no one would take his ability to find a lover. 

Katsuki leaned against the pillar, slouching in a way that would have his mother breathing fire down his neck, but they were alone, so what did it matter? Eijirou simply watched him, mouth pursed in pity, and Katsuki wasn't sure what pissed him off more: the pity or his day so far.

Maybe a combination of both.

An involuntary reaction, his mouth curled into a deep scowl, and he swept his glare onto his friend, who recognized the look and thinned his lips. Eijirou cast his gaze away, evidently not in the mood to challenge his friend, who looked close to launching his fist at the nearest object. Instead, he slammed it against the pillar behind him in repressed anger. 

“Damn it, Eijirou,” Katsuki breathed as pain blossomed along the side of his palms. They’d hurt for the next few hours before going tender in the next few days. The sting didn’t attenuate the ferocity that sharpened his thoughts, directing toward defiance and a need to prove his parents wrong. “Fucking hell.” 

“Someone of your status shouldn’t use such vulgar language.” 

Eijirou’s eyes widened before narrowing as he hunched forward, stance becoming defensive as his hands flexed at his sides. Katsuki recognized the slimy voice that oozed through the air, knew the girlish titter that would follow, even before turning to face the silent newcomers. 

His fist continued to throb as he straightened, and he twisted on his heel to find Dabi watching the pair. The nonchalance that the royal advisor bore toed the line between condescension and arrogance, and it didn’t help that he loomed over most with his lanky build. 

The burns that marked the undersides of his eyes and down his jaw and neck never failed to scare those that resided in the castle, and half of the servants were convinced that he’d been the product of necromancy. Wraith-like and sallow, it wasn’t hard to see why the rumors had arisen in the first place. 

But it wasn’t the marred skin or the height that raised Katsuki’s hackles. 

It was the utter contempt the man carried for others, the look on his face that read dormancy, as if he constantly had something hidden up his sleeve. There was a keen edge to his intelligence, razor sharp and deadly, and he watched people like he was aware of something they weren’t. 

Despite the secrets that layered his demeanor, his physical appearance carried no threat, and that was enough for his parents and the nobles to keep him in court. His intelligence was a double-edged sword, but the man could barely wield a weapon, preferring to keep a book clamped under his arm, and to others, that meant he was harmless enough. 

Another disembodied giggle fluttered overhead, and Dabi’s scribe flounced into view. Wherever Dabi was, Toga could be found nearby, and she stood as the antithesis of the advisor. With a grin that bordered on mania, she hid nothing. Everything she felt, from giddiness to sadness to anger, cycled across her expressions and sometimes multiple ones flashed across her face within seconds.

She stood a head shorter than Katsuki and Eijirou, who edged back at her appearance. The way she leaned forward and bared her teeth at them caused Katsuki’s eye to twitch, and he resisted the urge to palm her face and push her away. 

“I don’t know,” she simpered. “I like the vulgarity, Dabi. It suits him well.” 

He decided right there and then, he’d never curse in front of her again. 

She leaned back and turned her attention to the flower bed that boasted violets and lavender to celebrate the transition to spring. Crouching down, she tore one from its place and stood. With her gaze set on the two young men, she began to pluck at the petals, letting them rain at her feet. 

There was something vaguely threatening about her actions, especially after she followed up by dropping the stem and crushing the mutilated flower under her foot. At their thinly veiled disturbance, her grin stretched wider, and she swiped her tongue over her bottom lip. 

“What do you want, Dabi?” he asked, straightening further to look him in the eye. The advisor regarded him coldly. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop on others.” 

“Is it truly eavesdropping if you speak loudly enough for others to hear?” Dabi countered. He lifted a wiry arm and waved his wrist in dismissal. “And your lack of romance is of no concern to me. I have more pressing matters to tend to than humor your whims.” 

Before Katsuki could respond, he continued on his way, steps practically inaudible under his cloak. Toga gave them one more coquettish bat of her lashes before following Dabi down the hall. Katsuki and Eijirou watched the pair round the corner and disappear through wide double doors before turning to each other. 

The prince bristled. Per usual, after any encounter with Dabi, his fury increased tenfold. Except, this time, it rose to new heights, and Eijirou startled at the way Katsuki shook with repressed rage. 

“Katsuki,” he started wearily. “Hey, don’t let him get to you.” 

But all Katsuki heard was the blood that roared through his ears. Eijirou’s placation fell on deaf ears, muffled in the indignance and offense that plagued the prince's pride. 

With the news of his upcoming ball, the soon-to-be momentous changes in his life, and Dabi and Toga's appearance, his mood soured to a point where all he tasted was bitterness on his tongue, curdled with Dabi's monotonously scathing commentary.

Whirling on his feet, he trudged the opposite direction with a raging inferno. It could've been raining hellfire, and it wouldn't have mattered because his ire would've gleefully watched the world blaze in tandem. 

Eijirou called out his name in a pitch an octave higher than normal in his panic. But like a man on a mission, Katuski refused to stop. Each heavy step ricocheted along the stone walls, each stride taken with purpose and fueled with an absolute need to blow off the steam that boiled through the sinews of his body. 

And it wasn't until he'd thrown open the door to the armory and slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder that he paused. As expected, Eijirou had kept pace and now settled against the door frame, arms crossed with caution curled at the corner of his mouth. 

"Kat—what are you doing?" Hesitation painted his careful question, causing Katsuki to scoff and shoot him a steady glare. 

"Relax, you idiot," he said, filling his quiver with arrows. "I'm not going to kill Dabi, if that's what you're worried about, even if I'm sorely tempted to shoot an arrow through his neck to end all of our agony." 

Eijirou, who had relaxed at his first words, tensed once more and deadpanned at the prince. "That's exactly what I'm worried about." He released a shattering sigh. "Look, you're angry, and that's perfectly valid, but your explosive temper coupled with your bow and arrow is not the way to go—"

“I’m going on a hunt,” he interrupted. With a satisfactory number of arrows filling his quiver, he slung it over his shoulder. “I don’t plan on bringing the whole fucking cavalry—they don’t let me do shit on a hunt, and it’s not a real hunt if everyone else is doing all of the work.”

“Well, I’m coming with you,” Eijirou said, clutching the sword that hung by his side. Katsuki slid his gaze to his friend, who shrugged and threw a medical knapsack over his back. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t die in the woods alone.” 

Punctuated with a crooked grin, Eijirou cocked his hip and folded his arms in confidence, as if the idiot could drag Katsuki out of trouble when he was the sole reason for some of their past catastrophes. Sure, Katsuki got himself into a fair number of troublesome situations, but it was usually him who pulled the duo from any real problems. With a cluck of his tongue, he brushed past Eijirou, purposefully knocking into his shoulder. 

“No shit. Who else is gonna have my back?” Katsuki snorted, and the light in Eijirou’s sun-like gaze brightened as he guffawed. “Let’s go. I can’t deal with any more drama today.” 

 

--

 

So maybe leaving mid-afternoon hadn’t been the best idea, but Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision. His blood sang at the freedom that he felt deep in the woods, and the deeper they traveled into the dense forestry, the more he could breathe. Compared to the stifling atmosphere that swathed the castle and the bustle that followed the surrounding town, having trees surround them at every twist and turn was liberating. 

There was no one to judge him like they did in the massive castle halls, no one to watch his every move, no one to remind him of obligations that’d been embossed in him since youth. Here, the trees remained silent, towering over them with their own sense of regality. They loomed overhead, revered and undisturbed, giants that stood tall, strong, and proud.

Unfortunately, Eijirou didn’t feel quite the same. His friend kept gazing toward the sky, eyeing the setting sun with trepidation, but as much as it annoyed him, Katsuki couldn’t blame him. Getting lost in a sea of trees in the eve of night, where shadows swam in and out of view wasn’t something either of them appreciated, for they as hunters could easily become the hunted. 

There was a reason the townspeople avoided entering the woods too late in the day. It came from a natural instinct to avoid the unknown, and the foliage and low-hanging branches hid many secrets. Bandits, thieves, and other nefarious villains shrouded themselves in the dead of night—at least, that’s what they’d been told after multiple nearby villages had been looted, then razed to the ground, leaving no survivors behind. 

“We should turn back.” Eijirou gestured toward the sky, pointing toward the sun, which had sunk halfway into the line of treetops. Streaks of fire and gold blazed through the sky, setting what’d once been lilywhite clouds on fire. Soon, night’s creeping fingers would fold over the land, slipping through small spaces and trapping them in her chilled palms. 

As he parted his lips to respond, a crack sounded just off to the side, and Katsuki held up a hand, freezing them both in place. There came another, then another. 

An animal, perhaps? 

Silently, he reached over his shoulder and pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocking it into place. Eijirou's sword hissed as he drew it from the scabbard, and the metal seemed to be made from fire, reflecting the setting sun. They glanced at one another in muted, mutual understanding: after they caught something, they would begin their trek back to the palace, in time for them to sneak back in and avoid Mitsuki's wrath.

Years of sneaking out of the palace, away from the watchful eyes of Katsuki’s guards, gave them enough stealth to avoid making any unnecessary sounds or movements. Their steps crunched softly in the grass, but the soles of their boots against soft soil cushioned any further disturbances. 

And so, they played this little game of cat and mouse, pausing to listen for sound before heading in the same direction. Whatever they chased was almost as surreptitious, ducking under branches and leaping over fallen, moss-covered logs. 

Katsuki’s heart slammed against his ribcage at their luck. The anger that'd been pervasive throughout the day spurred him on, even with his aching calves and burning thighs. Sweat dotted his brow, gliding over the hills of his cheeks and dipped down the curve of his jaw. 

Their excitement didn't last long. At their next pause, the animal they'd been tracking had disappeared—vanished without a trace. Somehow, it'd evaded them, possibly tipped off by the sounds of their excursion, or through pure, dumb luck.  

"Damn it," Eijirou cursed. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and tilted his head back, gazing into the rapidly darkening sky. "Hey, we should probably get back. They'll have noticed our absence by now. You don't want the king and queen to send out another search party." 

The thought caused him to blanch, and Katsuki pulled back the arm that held the arrow, fingers loosening from the nock. The first time Mitsuki and Masaru had sent out the cavalry, it'd been, to say the least, humiliating for both Katsuki and Eijirou, who had been paraded through town, flocked by guards that surrounded them for 'protection,' though Katsuki knew their intentions were more aligned with making sure neither of them could slip away a second time. 

"You're right," he said begrudgingly. Prepared to slide the arrow back into his quiver, he paused at a rustle that fluttered through the air. It was faint, barely noticeable, but he tensed once more, cocking his head. "Do you hear that?" 

Eijirou paused, sword halfway into his scabbard. His face contorted in concentration. "I think so?" There came a second flutter. "It sounds like...feathers?" 

They glanced at one another, brows knitted. "It doesn't sound like a flock of normal birds," Eijirou said, words stilted in hesitation, as if unsure about what they were hearing. "They sound bigger?" 

Curiosity piqued, Katsuki nocked his arrow back into place, and Eijirou pulled the sword to his side. They crept along the dirt paths, mindful that it grew more and more difficult to see through the trees, let alone the ground beneath their feet. 

The flapping grew louder, accompanied with a gentle cerulean glow that shone ahead. It couldn’t have come from fire, nor could it have come from anything the sun reflected as it continued to sink into the treetops. Soon, the paths grew wider as the giants that towered over them grew sparse, and as they continued forward, the blue glow only intensified. 

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder to find Eijirou staring straight ahead, curiosity clashing with caution as they snuck forward. At the slight movement, his friend met his gaze, and fear creased at the corners of his eyes, mouth pursed into thought. 

Are you sure you want to go on? We can and probably should turn back. The message was evident in the way Eijirou arched a brow. 

Katsuki shook his head, nodding toward the light, and Eijirou watched him for a careful moment before relenting. They knew that while Katsuki didn't have as much brawn as Eijirou, he still matched his friend in strength and exceeded him in agility. 

And so they continued to creep forward, careful not to make too much noise and expose themselves. The distance between them and the oddity closed with each cautious step until they reached the line of trees that wrapped around the clearing. There was no time to marvel, for Katsuki yanked Eijirou down and hid them behind a fallen log, peering over the edge in case danger decided to present itself to their weary forms. His friend flailed at the unexpected tug but fell neatly by his side, hands braced on the soft surface. 

As they peered over the fuzzy fringe to find a lake, Katsuki curled his fingers over the bed of moss, fingertips acutely aware of the velvet coating that lovingly wrapped over the rough wood. The smell of petrichor filled his senses, rich and earthy, and he noticed at first glance that the grass that carpeted the clearing was lush and thick—unnaturally so, compared to the rest of the forest.  

His gaze traveled further to pause at the shore of a lake that bloomed over the grass, waters lapping gently against dirt. Fluttering caught his attention, and he swiveled to find four swans gliding on the surface, their feathers whiter than any snow he’d ever seen. Beside him, Eijirou’s breath hitched in amazement. 

“What are you doing?” Eijirou hissed as Katsuki began to rise. He lifted his bow over his shoulder and nocked the arrow, feeling his calluses brush against the taut string. Heart hammering in his chest, he shut one eye and began to pull his arm back, feeling the string stretch and protest at his strength, his other hand clenching on the grip. With his gaze centered on the flock, he aimed at one of the smaller swans. 

Inhaling sharply, he held his breath, letting the earthy tone fill his lungs and clear his head, and prepared to release the arrow. If he wanted to bring one home, he had to get this right in one shot; after all, the sun had practically begun to set, and night began to swamp the forest. If he lingered any longer, they would never find their way back in the darkness, so he took aim, and just as his fingers released the arrow— 

“NO!” The cry came before the impact, and something hard collided with his side as the arrow flew from its place. The world tilted on its axis as Katsuki fell, dropping his bow as he tripped over the log and slipped, landing on his side, and all the air was promptly knocked from his lungs. He wheezed in pain, clutching his ribs. To his side, a young man had fallen next to him, but his attention wasn’t focused on Katsuki. 

No—instead, it was directed toward the lake. As the sun’s cradle finally sank below the horizon and stars peppered the midnight canvas, the light from the lake flashed, its crystalline surface reflecting over the clearing and illuminating the trees, their sturdy trunks and quivering leaves, turning them into blue gems.

Katsuki tilted his head to find a flurry of feathers twirling and pirouetting through the air, disintegrating like raindrops as soon as they hit the ground. Three panicked cries rose in tandem, and he watched as three maidens fell to their knees around a figure. 

His heart clenched—where had they come from? Deep down, he knew the answer to his own question, but it wasn’t possible. Where they’d appeared, the swans had vanished, leaving no traces of existence, save for the women who seemed to have taken their place. Their expressions splayed panic, illuminated by the lake’s eerie glow that subsided into a gentle radiance, enough to illuminate the small clearing. 

“Katsuki!” Eijirou’s shout pierced the thin veil of shock and bewilderment as he leapt over the moss-covered log. He knelt by Katsuki’s side, who felt his friend’s hand flutter over him in alarm, checking for any injuries he might’ve sustained in the fall.

“I’m fine,” Katsuki wheezed, then pushed himself up, still gaping at the swans. Eijirou whirled to the young man who’d tackled Katsuki, fury sitting high on his brow. 

“Are you insane?!” He shoved the stranger onto his side, who grunted at the gesture, and his dark eyes flashed in retaliatory anger. “Do you know who he is?!” 

“No, and I couldn’t care less. Do you know what you could’ve done?” The man shoved himself up and dusted his clothes off, wiping the back of his hand across his face. Sweat lined his temples, and there was a simultaneous calm and wild that sat in his onyx irises. He glared at them both, and Katsuki felt his temper flourish; he’d dealt with enough anger in one day. “I was trying to throw you two idiots from my trail, but you proved to be more troublesome than I expected—”

“Fumikage!” One of the young women dashed to his side, her sea-green hair, silken and smooth, swung at her back in stark contrast to her bright gown. She latched onto the young man’s arm, yanking on him with urgency. Scarlet stained her white dress, lined fingers and dirtied her palms. “Fumikage, please. We don’t have much time. She’s bleeding too much!” 

With that, she began to tug him toward the other maidens, who crowded along a fallen figure. Just before Fumikage allowed himself to be pulled away, he glanced over his shoulder at the two. “You should leave.” A clear warning billowed from his gaze before he turned back around and rushed after the young woman. 

Katsuki watched their retreating backs, heart still racing through his chest—this time, it wasn’t from the thrill of the hunt. This time, it came from the dread that he might’ve killed someone. Eijirou leaned down and offered a hand, which Katsuki took without thinking. He let himself be hauled up, still staring at the small group. Fumikage had pulled out a small dagger, and the one who’d dragged him away stayed at his side, whispering soothing but shaking words. 

“We can’t just go,” Katsuki breathed, still taken aback by their change in situation. Eijirou, who normally would have insisted they head back, nodded solemnly. He sheathed his sword and pulled the knapsack from his shoulder, slinging it to his side. 

“We can help them,” Eijirou said, and with a determined purse to his mouth, started for the group. Despite Fumikage’s silent warning, he moved with purpose. Katsuki, shaken from the prospect of killing another person, enchanted or not, could only follow with stilted steps. At their approach, one of the maidens glanced up and threw them a hard glare, murmuring under her breath.

At once, Fumikage was on his feet, his hands covered with blood. The dagger sat rigid in his grip, and they knew, without a doubt, that he would strike at them if necessary. 

Eijirou held up a hand and lifted the knapsack, trying to placate him. Slowly, he lifted the sheathed sword from his hip and dropped it to the ground. Katsuki pulled the quiver from his back and tossed it next to the discarded sword and gestured behind him at the abandoned bow. “I have supplies that may help her,” Eijirou added slowly. “Please, I’ve trained my whole life to tend to accidental wounds like this.” 

The same young woman who’d caught Fumikage’s attention reached up to touch his hand. Her cheeks glistened with tearful streaks. “Fumikage, please. If they can help, let them.” 

“They’re the whole reason she’s injured in the first place,” Fumikage protested, but she shook her head.

“And the one who shot her feels remorse. Look at him; the regret is plain on his face.” Her wide eyes swung to Katsuki, assessing him even in her dismayed state. She blinked at him, and the guilt forced him to turn away from her penetrating gaze. By the time she spoke once more, she’d turned back to Fumikage. “Let them help.” 

Fumikage regarded them for a stony moment before relenting, moving to the side. Instantly, Eijirou fell to his knees and began to rummage through the bag, pulling out an assortment of things from the infirmary, not limited to salves and bandages. 

“Tsuyu…” Fumikage started, and the maiden held onto his forearm, burying her head against his shoulder. She shook her head, silencing him before they returned to watching Eijirou handle the wound with swiftness. 

From his place, Katsuki couldn’t see the young woman on the ground, but he had the perfect vantage point for all of the others. 

Tsuyu stood a head shorter than Fumikage; willowy and elegant, she looked to be made for the water with her long limbs. One stood at the foot of the fallen maiden, her short, violet hair dangling by a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. She clasped both hands to her chest, worry causing her mouth to wobble as her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. The other knelt across from Eijirou, her hair a vibrant shade of pink, and she clasped a blood-stained hand in her grasp.

With hesitation lining his steps, Katsuki moved closer and closer, each thud of his heart growing louder as he neared the group. The first thing he noticed was a head of chestnut hair, short and rich, that led to a round face, cheeks full and pale. Her lips were a light shade of pink, slightly parted as she puffed out strained exhales. Like the others, she wore a knee-length white gown, the only difference being the spreading pool of scarlet from the arrow embedded in her side. 

“Fuck,” he breathed and dropped to his knees. Shuffling forward, he paused when the one with pink hair shot him a glare. “Let me help,” he croaked.

“Give me the dagger,” Eijirou demanded, holding up a waiting hand. When Fumikage didn’t move, Katsuki pulled the one from his waist and handed it to him. “I’m not going to kill her,” Eijirou grunted as he positioned it against the arrow. “I need to cut it out of her. We can’t just yank it out.” 

As he continued the work, Katsuki threw caution to the wind and moved next to the fallen maiden. Though her companions’ gazes bore holes into the side of his head, no one stopped him when he lifted his hands to hover over her face, fingertips brushing over her forehead. 

“I didn’t know,” he said, lifting his head, bafflement and guilt lining his tone. “I had no idea that—” 

Tsuyu crouched down, ignoring the noise of protest Fumikage made, and set her hand on his shoulder. “It was an accident. You couldn’t have known—”

“What?!” The shrill cry came from the one kneeling across from Eijirou. “Have you gone insane?” 

“Mina.” Tsuyu was firm. “They couldn’t have known. They’re doing their best to help—”

“But it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” This came from the one with violet hair, whose gaze felt sharper than any blade. “Mina’s right. What if he can’t save her?” 

“I can save her,” Eijirou growled, looking too tense for Katsuki’s comfort. “It looks bad, but it’s a shallow wound.”

“That’s shallow?” the angry one scoffed. 

Tsuyu exhaled and slowly closed her eyes. “Kyouka, please.” 

“No, if it weren’t for them, Ochako would be all right. Look at how pale she is—that’s not natural,” Kyouka snapped. She leaned down and touched Ochako’s forehead. “Feel her skin. Feel how clammy she is.” 

Eijirou threw the dagger to his side and slowly pulled out the arrow, barely wincing at the sight of blood. In contrast, Mina balked and turned her head away, jaw clenched. “She’ll be all right,” Eijirou repeated. “Is the lake safe? Is it clean? I need to clean her wound before I can apply salve and bandage it.” 

Mina stood, wobbling on her feet, and nodded. “We don’t have anything to collect the water—”

Before she could finish speaking, Katsuki unhooked the waterskin from his waist and held it out to her. “Use this,” he muttered gruffly, gaze still locked with Ochako’s unconscious face. When she took it from him, his hand dropped, touching the back of his fingers to her forehead. 

Ochako’s skin was cool and damp, and beads of sweat glistened against her skin like diamonds. Her ragged breath billowed against his wrist, a sign of life, and he finally released a breath of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

She was alive, and for now, that was all that mattered. 

When Eijirou finished his aid, he sat back heavily, leaning back on the heels of his palms, and threw back his head, huffing a deep sigh. 

“Well?” Mina demanded, crossing her arms. Kyouka followed suit. Whereas Mina’s face displayed hot anger, Kyouka’s gaze held cold fury, and Katsuki knew nothing would save him and Eijirou if they decided to retaliate. 

Eijirou didn’t notice—whether it was because of the sudden exhaustion that filtered through his features or because his eyes were shut, Katsuki didn’t know. “She’ll be fine,” he breathed. “The salve should soothe the inflamed skin, and the wound was much more shallow than we initially thought. If she’d been hit with the full force of it—well, that’s not something I want to dwell on.” 

“Eijirou’s experienced when it comes to these things,” Katsuki muttered, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. Lifting his head, he gazed up at the trio of maidens and Fumikage. “I’m sorry.” His apology was hoarse, still stricken at the idea of nearly killing their friend. 

“I’ll forgive you when Ochako does.” Mina’s words were scathing, rightfully so. She whirled on her heel and headed toward the lake, where she buried her face in her hands, taking deep breaths to calm herself. 

Kyouka was even less merciful. “You hurt Ochako, my friend and sister. I’ll forgive you when hell freezes over.” With that, she made her way to Mina and touched her upper arm before slinging an arm around her waist, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

Swallowing heavily, Katsuki nodded, thinning his lips at their anger. Except, anger wasn’t strong enough to embody the fear, grief, and distress they felt for their wounded companion. This was warranted, even if Tsuyu thought differently. 

She gave him a thoughtful hum. “They’re right to be angry, but more than that, they’re worried. We’ve all been together for so long, it would destroy us if Ochako were to die.” 

“She won’t,” Katsuki ground out. “She can’t—Eijirou said she’d be all right—she’d be ok.” He clenched his jaw and stared up at her. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, hoping the two words would be enough to convey the remorse he felt toward the companions. “I hadn’t known…”

“How could you have known?” Fumikage exhaled, lines around his face smoothing out as he finally began to calm down. “It was partially my fault—” At that, Tsuyu fluttered to his side and set her hand on top of his, lightly brushing his knuckles. “No, don’t, Tsu. I was trying to lead you two away, but you’re much better trackers than I gave you credit for.” 

Eijirou sat up. “We thought we were going after an animal. Perhaps a deer? That would’ve explained how swiftly it moved, but I don’t think either of us expected it to be a person, let alone someone who almost threw us off his trail. Are you a hunter, Fumikage?” 

Hesitatingly, he nodded. “Ironically, that’s how I met them. I had the same idea, but before I released my arrow, they turned into humans. I had the luck of time on my side—you didn’t.” 

“You tried to stop me,” Katsuki said, and as if his body remembered it’d been tackled to the ground, he felt his arm throb, sore from the impact. There would be a nasty bruise on his shoulder to accompany the one on his hand from his earlier encounter with Dabi. “You knew.”

“Yes,” Fumikage admitted. “You had your arrow pointed at Tsuyu, and I couldn’t...I couldn’t let you hurt her—hurt any of them. Are you two hunters as well? Not many are able to track me.” 

Eijirou opened his mouth to answer, but Katsuki beat him to it first. “In a way, we are,” he said, hearing the audible snap of Eijirou’s jaw at his answer. “We don’t do much hunting, but we’ve been told that we’re not bad.” 

“Not bad may be an understatement.” Fumikage offered them a weary smile. His gaze fell on Ochako, whose shallow exhales feathered over her lips. “I’m glad she’ll be all right, though. And I’m glad she wasn’t conscious when you pulled the damned thing out of her.”

“She must’ve passed out from the shock and pain,” Eijirou said, wincing at the thought. “But overall, yes. I’m certain she’ll be all right. Though, she shouldn’t move very often, and her bandages will have to be changed daily to avoid inflammation. I don’t quite know how this—” He motioned toward the lake, then around the clearing. The crystallic imprints made Katsuki feel as if he’d been imprisoned in a gem. “—the whole magic ordeal works.” 

At that, Tsuyu exchanged a look with Fumikage, and a mutual understanding passed between them. She leaned forward, suddenly serious. “This probably doesn’t need saying, but you can’t tell anyone about this place—about us. No one can know we exist. It’s far too dangerous, and you’d be better off forgetting this ever happened.” 

Stunned, Katsuki’s back straightened, and his fists clenched at his knees. “No,” he spluttered. Fumikage, Tsuyu, and Eijirou looked taken aback by his declaration, even if it’d slipped from his lips on instinct. They couldn’t just expect him to forget the mystical lake, the swans transforming into maidens, that he’d almost killed someone. No matter what, the memories were embossed in his mind.

He’d never forget this magical environment, eerie and full of secrets.

He’d never forget the feathers they’d shed, barbules disintegrating right as they fluttered into the grass. 

He’d never forget the arrow flying loose from his fingers, soaring through the air to embed itself in one of the swans.

Within moments, he rose to his feet, staggering after kneeling for so long. Eijirou rose with him, movements hesitant as he tried to gauge the thoughts that cycled through Katsuki’s mind. That clear warning that’d first gleamed from Fumikage’s eye emerged once more, and he pushed himself up. 

“You can’t—I can’t pretend this never happened,” Katsuki said, throwing a hand out, his other hand splayed across his chest. “I can’t just—no. I can’t, nor will I forget that this ever occurred. It’s my fault that this happened. At the very least, let me atone for my mistakes.”

Tsuyu breathed out a sigh, and with the grace of a dancer, rose to her feet. She placed a hand on Fumikage’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly, and he relaxed, stepping back to let her handle the situation. With a half-smile, she regarded Katsuki with interest. 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” 

“I’ll take care of Ochako,” he declared, and the leadership that’d been ingrained in his upbringing seeped into his tone. It was a mix of Mitsuki’s determination and Masaru’s gentle promises, both blended into the perfect vow. “I’ll make sure she recovers fully. Until then, let me take responsibility.” 

“Katsuki—” Eijirou choked out. This would conflict with his palace duties, but Katsuki wasn’t one to complain. He’d rather decipher the mystery and magic of this lake and its inhabitants, than deal with whatever royal duties his mother would force on him. A part of him wanted the raging guilt to be soothed, toned down until it became a distant memory—a lesson learned from a pivotal mistake. 

Tsuyu cocked her head at him, then leaned back, crossing one arm under her chest as she cradled a thoughtful hand to her chin. “You genuinely feel bad.”

“Yes,” he ground out. “I do.” Crouching down, he observed the wound at Ochako’s side, resisting the urge to flinch at the pain she would feel the next day. If her body changed and shifted in transformation, then it would be pure agony by the next evening. He shifted to gaze at her face, eyes still shut, lips slightly parted, then moved to brush a lock of damp hair from her cheek. 

Her skin was softer than he’d expected, round with youth, and he wondered what she would be like if Tsuyu allowed him to return. Would her anger blister him, as Mina and Kyouka’s fury had? Would she forgive him for his potentially life-ending blunder? Would she even allow him to take care of her? 

With the harshness and protection that came from the three other swans, he knew they were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Kyouka, in particular, could and probably would skin him alive if he so much as hurt a hair on one of her sisters. And though Tsuyu’s nature was gentle, he could feel the iciness that frosted over the edges of her gaze. 

Eijirou was right to be worried. The swan maidens could’ve been a coven of witches, and Katsuki could have inadvertently signed his soul away. But something about their reaction and their camaraderie felt genuine. If they meant harm, then one of them would’ve done something by now. 

“Too many people already know,” Fumikage protested. 

Tsuyu whirled to him. “And what are we supposed to do? What can we do?” She glanced over her shoulder at Katsuki, quirking the corner of her lip. “It goes without saying—”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Katsuki said firmly. Eijirou made a wounded noise at the back of his throat, but Katsuki ignored him. He turned to Fumikage and stared at him head-on. “Let me help them. Let me help take care of her until she’s better.”

Fumikage dropped his head into his hand, cradling his forehead in exasperation. “I don’t have any say over them, but Tsuyu believes you to have good intentions. That’s enough for me to trust your word.”

The relief was palpable, and Katsuki relaxed. He turned his gaze back to Ochako and ran a hand over her forehead before brushing his knuckles down the slope of her nose. She didn’t stir at the faint touch, deeply unconscious. 

“May I come back tomorrow evening?” Katsuki asked, unable to tear his eyes from the sleeping maiden. Her slight exhales were warm against his fingers, and in the back of his mind, he wondered what color would shine in her irises, what life would look like on her brow. Even slumbering, he admitted to himself that she was beautiful. If they’d met under different circumstances, she’d have been radiant. 

Tsuyu nodded.

“Um, Fumikage,” Eijirou started weakly, not looking the least bit happy at Katsuki’s decision. The three of them glanced up at him. “Would you mind leading us out of the forest? We don’t know how to get back to town.” 

The admission pulled up the corner of Fumikage’s mouth into a tired half-smile. “Of course.” 

 

--

 

“You seem to know the forest well,” Katsuki commented as he ducked under a low hanging branch. The hunter grunted as he touched the tree bark, head raised as he gazed into the darkness, peering at something Katsuki couldn’t see.

“I would hope so,” Fumikage answered, stepping over a rotting log. “I grew up in this forest. My father was a hunter as well, so I spent a good part of my youth in these parts of the woods.” Katsuki made sure to take the same steps the hunter took, taking care to avoid the fragile wood that he knew would splinter at his weight.

Somehow, Fumikage managed to make stealth look easy, his dark cloak melting into the shadows. His movements were swift, steps practically silent, save for the occasional whisper of fabric against foliage. Katsuki and Eijirou were practically giants in comparison, twigs snapping and grass crunching under their boots.

The cover of night revealed their true clumsiness, and more than once, Katsuki stumbled over something shrouded in night, over gnarled roots and tangled bushes. Eijirou had it worse, and each splinter of wood or rustle of foliage resembled thunder in the dense forest. 

At one point, Fumikage paused, rounding on them. The moonlight illuminated the displeasure that crossed his features, and Katsuki had seen it enough times from his mother that he bristled in response. 

“Are you trying to attract bandits? Because that’s what happens when you plow through like a herd of cattle,” he hissed, cocking a brow. “I’ve slowed down enough for you two. Any slower, and we may as well take a stroll and befriend any robbers we meet along the way.” 

Sensing Katsuki’s rising anger, Eijirou stepped forward, nearly tripping over a patch of ferns—effectively proving Fumikage’s insulting implication that they were bumbling idiots. “Look, can we please just go? I swear, we’ll know the path better after a few nights. Just bear with us for now.” The weariness in his words was evident, and Katsuki was reminded that he’d been the one working in a rush to save Ochako. The same thought seemed to flit through the hunter’s head, and he stepped back with a cluck of his tongue. 

“Keep up. We’ll be back soon, but you’re on your own the moment we reach town.” 

And they were off again. This time, Fumikage noticeably slowed down his pace and twisted his head over his shoulder to check up on them, more so on Eijirou, who’d done the brunt of the work earlier. Their trek probably spanned half of an hour, yet blindly weaving through the same pattern of trees and darkness elongated it to feel like an eternity. 

By the time they noticed the lamps that flickered on the quiet streets, Katsuki had grown bone-weary. He’d never been more relieved to see light, even if it were the faint glow of fire flickering against cobblestone. Fumikage stopped them just before they could cross the threshold into civilization. 

“You’re going back tomorrow, yes?”

Katsuki nodded, shoulders straightening into a resolute set. “I don’t plan on breaking my promise.”

Fumikage’s mouth twisted, but Katsuki couldn’t tell whether it came from disapproval or respect. “Very well. Meet me here tomorrow when the sun touches the horizon. If you aren’t here by then, you’re on your own.” 

“Understood.” 

Before they split onto their paths, Fumikage stopped them once more. He grabbed a hold of Katsuki’s shoulder and spun him around before shoving something long and thin into his hands. Even in the faint light, he could feel the familiar shaft prick his fingers and instantly knew what he held. 

“As a reminder,” Fumikage said quietly, then turned on his heel and started down the cobblestone road. Eijirou peered over Katsuki’s shoulder and blanched, for Katsuki now held the fateful arrow that’d struck the swan maiden.

 

--

 

By the time they snuck back into the castle using the servant’s quarters, Katsuki nearly collapsed on his feet. To avoid any potential conflict with the king and queen, he sent a servant up to notify that he’d returned and that he was heading to bed, lest his mother barge into his room, demanding an explanation. 

Eijirou waved him off, too tired to utter another word, but Katsuki knew he’d bring up his reckless decision in the morning. He disappeared into his room, and Katsuki had a few servants draw a bath when he returned to his chambers. As he sat on the edge of his bed, watching them set up the familiar scents and oils that would later mingle with the steam, he thought back to the swans—to Ochako. 

The stab of guilt twisted through his gut, and he released a lung-shattering sigh. Thinking about the ‘what if’s and their endless possibilities wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t unravel the fabric of his reality. After all, what remained true was that Ochako remained injured from his doing, and he had a promise to fulfill. 

Leaning forward, he shoved a tired hand through his hair, gripping his roots in frustration. A welcome sting sent awareness through his veins, and he noticed that a servant stood before him, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Your Highness?” she tried, and with startling clarity, he realized she’d been calling for him. A small line of servants waited for his next order. “Your bath is ready.” 

With a nod, he stood and dismissed them, waiting until they filed out the door before twisting the lock and stripping down. Sinking into the heated water, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped his throat, letting it submerge him and prick his skin a deep shade of pink. In the meantime, he resisted the urge to sleep as his limbs grew limp from the chase Fumikage had led them on, to the subsequent hike as the hunter had led them back to the town. 

Scrubbing himself clean felt like a chore, and when the water grew filmy with dirt and grime swirling on the surface, he stood and reached for his towel, drying himself off. Now clean and satisfied, true exhaustion weaving its way through the sinews of his body, he collapsed onto his bed and slipped into the deep waters of sleep.

 

--

 

“You’re insane, you know that?” Eijirou slammed the book on his table. Its spine bounced once, and the force was enough to send a few sheets of parchment fluttering to the ground. “Yes, it was wrong for us to shoot at her—”

“You mean, it was wrong of me,” Katsuki corrected, sifting through the knapsack, taking care that it held enough bandages and salves to heal an army. 

Eijirou threw his hands in the air, utterly exasperated. “Still! I’m all for atoning for our mistakes, but this is madness.” He leaned forward, bracing both hands on the table and whispered, “Those swans transformed into women. Who knows what kind of mess we got ourselves into? That was magic, Katsuki. We can deal with people, politics, even Dabi on a good day, for Christ’s sake, but magic? That’s beyond our realm.” 

Satisfied, he lifted the bag and slung it over his shoulder, then stood to his full height, watching Eijirou coolly. “Then you can stay behind. I’ll go on my own.” That being said, he twisted on his feet and began for the armory. Behind him, Eijirou cried out in frustration, followed by two simultaneous thuds as he slammed his hands onto the wood. A stack of books tumbled from their place, but his friend paid no heed, chasing after him with rapid footsteps.

“I can’t let you go alone. You know that!” Eijirou exclaimed, catching up easily. “Listen, I already patched her up, and the rest of the swans know how to take care of her. I’ve told them everything they need to know. You don’t need to involve yourself further.”

Katsuki ignored him and his gesticulating hands, opting to continue on his way to the armory. Eijirou floundered, and he grabbed Katsuki’s upper arm, pulling him to a stop. “I know you don’t like people telling you what to do,” he started darkly, “but we’re probably way in over our heads here.”

On instinct, he wrenched out of Eijirou’s grip, but his friend took no offense; he knew Katsuki didn’t like to be manhandled. “If you’re not going to help, then I’ll go alone. Simple as that.” 

A frustrated growl tore from Eijirou’s throat into the widening space between them, and Katsuki curled a corner of his lips into a triumphant smirk. 

Three.

Two.

One—

“Fine!” Eijirou drew out the word in exasperation, and Katsuki slowed his pace, schooling his expression. “Fine,” his friend repeated, stalking up and around to face the prince. Jabbing a finger to his chest, he leaned in close. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble and make sure you don’t die—a little difficult when you and your stupidly self-righteous pride are willing to toss away your life.” 

“If I do die, take comfort in knowing that it was for a noble reason,” Katsuki said, and Eijirou crossed his arms, snorting loudly. 

“Oh?”

On instinct, they cringed, and Katsuki felt his annoyance spike in response to the high-pitched utterance that floated down the hall. Not bothering to hide his distaste, he turned to find Toga flouncing down the hall, her hands hidden behind her back. Wide-eyed with delight at having caught the two, she grinned at them. Though seeing Toga incited nausea to roll through his gut in revulsion, it helped that Dabi wasn’t by her side, an odd enough occurrence, as she was known to stay by the advisor’s side at all times.

“What’s this I hear about death?” she asked, eyes slowly crescenting with interest. He knew whatever they said would immediately be reported to Dabi. Knowing Toga, Katsuki immediately fell into defense, taking care to coat his responses with formality. “Surely, you two aren’t up to more trouble?” 

“Mind your place.” Eijirou stepped forward, as if to place himself between Katsuki and Toga. “You’re still speaking to the crown prince.” 

Something akin to resentment flashed across her face, blending into a sneer as she leaned back. Her retreat put him on edge because everyone knew Toga liked to get up and personal into people’s spaces. To step back wasn’t in her nature; Eijirou noticed as well, but he didn’t falter, remaining stolid in demeanor. 

“Of course,” she said seriously, but the grin on her face spliced wider. Her tongue ran across her bottom lip in anticipation, and he peeked at something that protruded from her back. 

Glare intensifying, Katsuki set an arm on Eijirou and nudged him to the side. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward her back. This time, she didn’t bare her teeth at them—instead, she gave them a tight-lipped smile and pulled out one hand. The other held something familiar. 

“Is that my quiver?” Katsuki asked, stunned. He was sure he’d left it with a servant last night, directing them to set it among his possessions in the armory. The leather was worn from years of use, and he’d recognize the embroidered ‘K’ on it anywhere, a gift from his father the moment he’d been allowed on royal hunts. “Where did you get that?”  

Toga shrugged, and her narrowed gaze made it difficult to gauge the emotion hidden in her eyes. But the smugness of her tone only exacerbated his irritation, bordering on anger. “I found it,” she simply said, “and I recognized it. I was actually looking for you to return it when I saw you two in the hall.” Shaking it, she added, “It’s like the fates wanted us to find each other, right? As if we were destined to meet at this moment.”

Absolutely not.

If fate had plans for Katsuki, it definitely did not include Toga.

Without batting a lash, he held out a hand. “Now, you can properly return it,” he growled, and she tittered before dropping it into his palm. Like the menace she was, her fingertips brushed his palm before pulling it back to clasp with her other hand, and he resisted the urge to shudder in disgust.

“And you can properly thank me,” she mocked. “I imagine being in line for the throne requires the crown prince to know his etiquette, hm?” 

“Thank you,” he bit out. Stepping to the side, he pulled Eijirou with him and started down the hall. “You’re dismissed.”

“You’re welcome!” she sang, then released a high-pitched giggle that caused his ears to ring like tinnitus. His grip tightened on the quiver, fingers crushing the well-abused leather. Her steps were light as they bounced in the other direction, and it wasn’t until they’d completely faltered that he glanced back. 

“Sometimes,” Eijirou started, a faraway look in his eye, “and I mean sometimes, she scares me more than Dabi.”

“She’s unnerving, but Dabi’s a bastard. They’re both made for one another.” 

Eijirou held up both hands, shaking his head. “On that note, you’ll hear no disagreements from me.”

 

--

 

Katsuki and Eijirou ran as the sun sank in the sky. Despite knowing Fumikage for a few hours the previous night, half of it spent in silence as he’d led them through the woods, they knew he hadn’t been bluffing about leaving them behind. If they weren’t at the meeting spot by the time the sun brushed the horizon, he’d leave them behind, no questions asked. 

Their boots slammed against cobblestone, stumbling past carts and horses, merchants and shop owners, adults and children, weaving through them like a maze. The knapsack bounced against Katsuki’s back, as did his quiver and bow. Eijirou kept one hand on his sword as they navigated through the crowded streets. With the pace at which they ran and the lack of guards at their side, barely anyone glanced their way, convinced they were meddlesome young men on their way home before dark. 

Just as they arrived at the point of meeting, Eijirou cried out, “Wait!” Luckily, with the bustle of the town, shouting was no uncommon event, and his cry harmonized with calls for fish, meat, and produce. 

Swathed in black once more, Fumikage turned at Eijirou’s shout with an arch of his brow. They skidded to a stop in front of him, and Katsuki braced his hands on his knees, breathing heavily from their wild dash to meet the hunter. Eijirou appeared no better, looking and sounded utterly winded as he leaned against the trunk of a tree.

“I almost didn’t think you’d make it,” Fumikage said, shuffling under his cloak, and eyed their weapons with concern. Then, he peered behind them, craning his neck, gaze darting back and forth and twining through the crowd. It was as if he was searching for something—for someone. 

“We weren’t followed,” Katuski rasped. He stood and swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, skin slick with sweat. Unbothered, he readjusted the items on his back, feeling the salves and bandages roll around the bag. “Like we promised, we told no one. It’s just us.”

“You can never be too careful,” Fumikage murmured and scanned the roads a few more times before nodding in satisfaction. He was still distrustful—rightfully so, since he kept a massive secret from society. Still, Katsuki couldn’t help feeling a little irked at the hunter’s doubt after he’d pledged secrecy and amendment a night ago. 

Turning, he barely gave them notice before disappearing under the canopy of trees like a spirit. Katsuki swore under his breath and ducked under the foliage to follow him. Unlike the obscurity of night, the sun lit their paths more readily, illuminating ferns and wildflowers that dotted the soil. Grass undulated and crunched under their feet, flora bursting at tree seams, and following in Fumikage’s footsteps wasn’t as challenging as it’d been in the dark. 

This time, the hunter didn’t reprimand them for their lack of silence, supposedly since the light would reveal features and identities of anyone who dared to ambush them. While it was best to avoid any conflict, Katsuki wasn’t worried over the prospect of combat. He and Eijirou had been trained since young to stave off any potential dangers. 

With a bow and arrow, Katsuki was dangerous from a distance with an aim that was rumored to have been blessed by the gods. Ridiculous, yet he could effortlessly target his victim and shoot with no hesitation. It was the lack of doubt or uncertainty that bolstered his skills. If there was one thing he lacked, it wasn’t self-doubt. It helped that he was also skilled in close combat, preferring a dagger to a sword.

Eijirou, on the other hand, had a proclivity for the sword. Stronger than Katsuki, he bested many of the soldiers in the garrison with no trouble. Though he wasn’t as quick as Katsuki, he was still deadly in skill and tactics. Together, the pair made a deadly duo. 

As they hiked through the worn dirt paths, Katsuki made a mental note of each unique landmark they passed and the number of paces they took before Fumikage rounded a bend. It was evident that the hunter had no intention of becoming friends, and that meant that he and Eijirou had to rely on themselves to find their way—Fumikage wouldn’t lead them forever. 

Compared to the first time they’d trekked through the woods, they reached the clearing in record time. Katsuki turned to face the woods, the town no longer in view, unable to hear the clatter of wheels against stone or the hefty barters that came with the market. Speaking of, he realized that navigating through town and through the forest were equally challenging, though in different circumstances. 

Rushing through town required ducking and avoiding moving obstacles, required effort not to accidentally plow over the townspeople and receive an earful of shouting and swearing. The maze that made up the forest provided a separate challenge: while stationary, almost every tree resembled one another in shape and height. So similar, he understood it would take him and Eijirou a few tries with Fumikage leading them to successfully take the journey on their own. 

“Well?” Eijirou asked, setting a hand on his shoulder. Fumikage had already entered the clearing, standing at the edge and waiting expectantly. Katsuki shrugged him off.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, though his heart struck heavily against his ribcage—whether it came from anticipation or the emergence of guilt, he wasn’t sure. But he’d have to face the music and fulfill his promise. So he took a deep breath and stepped over the moss-covered log and entered the clearing. Fumikage didn’t spare him a glance, just moved to the edge of the lake and settled on the grass, resting his cheek in his hand. 

The lake and clearing appeared differently during the day. Though magical after sundown, the clearing held a different sort of serenity in the rays of gold that spill over the treetops. For the first time, he noticed that the water was as clear and smooth as glass, displaying the rocks and plants that rolled with an invisible current. There was even a hint of splintered wood hidden in dark crevices, and he could make out the minor details that normally would’ve been hidden by murky waters.

Large wisteria trees bloomed on the outskirts of the lake, their array of colors ranging from pinks to purples, to the occasional baby blues, undulating in gentle waves. Even the ones that grew near the palace hadn’t blossomed, sporting sprouts that would later hold the same colorful flourish. Still, their vibrancy wouldn’t hold a candle near the ones that grew next to the shore. Their long fingers grazed the clear surface, sending small ripples cascading in their wake.

To avoid intruding, Katsuki remained a distance away from Fumikage, whose onyx irises scanned the picturesque scene, but stayed close enough to where they could hear one another. He crouched down and settled onto the grass, pulling the bow from his shoulder to toss it next to his quiver. Next, he shrugged off the knapsack and set it in front of him, rummaging through to check that none of the salves had come undone. 

Something caught his periphery, and he looked up to find three swans gliding through the curtain of wisteria flowers, their feathers pristine and lilywhite. As they skimmed over the lake, they left widening bisecting trails that rolled across the surface in barely perceptible waves. For a moment, his heart nearly stopped as he waited for a fourth to appear. 

The other swans paused, and the one that led the group swam in a circle to face the vibrant curtain. It made a curious sound when the flowers parted to reveal the fourth, one that seemed to struggle to catch up to the rest. Katsuki unleashed the breath that’d caught at the base of his throat.

“That looks bad,” Eijirou murmured as he sat next to him, dropping the scabbard beside the bow and quiver, “but she’s alive. That’s all that should matter. Alive means you can still heal her with time.” 

“Tsuyu has faith that you can help her,” Fumikage spoke up for the first time since meeting them at the edge of town. “She thinks you can bring some good, but I think she’s always seen the good in everyone, no matter the situation.” There was a hidden barb in his statement, one that Katsuki clearly felt, and he scowled. 

The four swans began to make their way to shore, just as the small sliver of light disappeared with the sun’s descent. As night began to swamp the skies, the lake gradually emitted a light cerulean glow, and Fumikage stood. He tilted his head up and took a deep breath. “It’s about time,” he murmured. 

Katsuki and Eijirou exchanged a look before following him, and they stood a few feet behind the shore. The hunter had situated himself right where water met land, and the lake lapped at the soles of his boots. As with their first time, the first swan waddled out of the water, and feathers fell to dust as Tsuyu stepped into Fumikage’s arms. He pulled her close as Mina and Kyouka fluttered to view, and Mina shook her head, ruffling her hair to push off the remaining feathers. 

Kyouka sent him a caustic glare, and normally, he’d send one right back, but this was warranted. Eijirou bristled in response, barely holding back until Katsuki gestured at him to stand down. Mina greeted Fumikage with a pat on his shoulder, warm compared to the ice she held for Katsuki as she brushed past him, not bothering to acknowledge his presence. 

The fourth swan was the last to arrive, and Katsuki stepped forward as its feathers fell in a flurry to reveal the round-faced maiden. She winced as she took a step, hands automatically flying to her side to clutch at her waist. Stepping forward, she stumbled, and Katsuki rushed forward and caught her before she could fall. Though she’d just come from the water, Katsuki noticed that her skin was smooth, unblemished, and completely dry.

At his unfamiliar touch, she flinched and hissed as her body jerked. Eyes squeezed shut, she gripped onto his forearm, steadying herself, and Katsuki noted how much smaller she felt against him, how much smaller her hands were as her fingers gripped onto his arm. 

Ochako blinked up at him, and momentarily stunned, he noted that her eyes were wide, irises a darker shade than her shoulder-length chestnut hair. He’d been right: with a healthy flush blooming petals on her cheeks, she was radiant. Again, he felt that pang of regret at having to meet her under these circumstances.

“Oh!” she gasped, and he tightened his grip when she tried to pull away. Instead, she stumbled and cried out again when it stretched her wound. 

“At least sit down!” he said, exasperated. In a flash, Mina was by Ochako’s side, her iron grip around Katuski’s arm as a warning. “She’ll fall if—”

“I can do it,” Mina said coldly, and Katsuki nodded slowly, relinquishing his hold on Ochako. The latter fell against Mina, who supported her easily and pulled her to the grass. As she sank to the ground, Ochako whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut and a tear glided down her cheek. The sight twisted the dagger of guilt even further, and he dropped to his knees next to her. 

Without a word, he pulled the knapsack in front of him and began to pull out the salves, setting the jars of herbal balms onto the grass. He left the bandages in the bag to avoid getting them wet from the droplets of dew that lingered at the tips of the blades of grass. 

“Who—who are you?” Ochako panted, gripping the hem of her dress, knuckles white with effort. Her cheeks grew pallid, forehead lined with new beads of sweat, and Katsuki frowned. 

“I was the one who shot you,” he simply said, knowing one of the other swan maidens would tell her so if he tried to lie. A breve of silence fell between them, Ochako stunned at this new development. Even Mina seemed mildly impressed he hadn’t tried to come up with an excuse or stuttered his admission. “And now I’m here to help you.” 

At a loss for words, Ochako leaned back into Mina’s touch, blinking at him in a new light, still startled by his appearance. He shifted so that he sat cross-legged, holding a jar in his palm. “This should soothe the pain,” he continued, in an attempt to prove that he meant no harm—or, no more harm, at that. “And I’ve brought fresh bandages.” 

Her hand flew to her side once more, cupping the injury. The surreality of the situation had rendered her speechless, but Katsuki couldn’t blame her. If she feared him, he understood. If she wanted him to leave and never reappear, he’d do so in a heartbeat. “I—I—”

“He really means no harm.” Tsuyu crouched next to Katsuki and peered into the knapsack before pulling out a roll of bandages. “If you’re willing, he wants to make amends for his mistake.” Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief at Tsuyu’s display of support. Eijirou had moved to the side to observe Katsuki’s safety. 

“I didn’t know you were human,” he sighed and palmed the back of his neck, where shame burned under his skin like a slow current. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have shot at you.” Ochako watched him silently, blinking in rapid succession at him like she’d never seen someone quite like him before. Her keen gaze only caused the shame to burn even brighter, and unable to take the brunt of her scrutinizing, he turned, hand moving to cup his cheek in a move of petulance. 

Finally, Ochako leaned back and whispered to Mina, whose expression morphed into bafflement. “Are you serious?” she asked, rearing back in shock. Ochako nodded, then held out a hand, pointing toward Katsuki’s waist. 

“Give me your dagger,” she said. Her request didn’t process correctly, and he cocked his head at her, narrowing one eye in confusion as if she’d grown a second head and spoken a different language. 

“What?”

“Give me your dagger,” she repeated, gesturing toward the small blade that sat at his side. Eijirou made a sound of protest as Katsuki slowly unhooked it from his side. His friend tensed, as if prepared to launch himself at Ochako and Mina in case they tried anything out of the ordinary. But what did it matter? The whole situation was out of the ordinary. “I need it.”

Almost reluctantly, he dropped it into her outstretched palm, and it bounced a little as she closed a fist around the sheathed dagger. As with anyone else, he hated to part with it, unwilling to give up his weapon—the first rule of battle was to never join unarmed. Ochako grimaced as she felt its weight, then tugged on Mina’s dress, murmuring a quiet, “Help me up.” 

She staggered to her feet as Mina hauled her up, and giving Katsuki a weary smile, motioned at him to stay in his position. Frozen, he could only watch as the pair hobbled into the curtain of the wisteria trees, shielding them from view. 

“What?” he asked, a little stupefied at the turn of events. Eijirou looked equally gobsmacked. He could only wait, listening for any signs of conspiracy that would force him to bolt if it threatened his life. Instead, all he heard was the tear of fabric and some angry muttering from Mina’s end.

After what felt like eons, the two women emerged from the cover of the flowers, and Katsuki scrambled to his feet. Ochako’s dress had been artfully torn around her midsection to reveal her bandaged midriff, and the fabric that’d been cut from her dress now wrapped tightly around her hips, holding up the skirt of her dress. Ochako sheathed the blade and held out the handle for him. 

Cautiously, he took it back before hooking it to its place, where the weight felt like home. 

“If you’re going to try to heal me,” Ochako started, “then you can do that without hiking up my dress.” Her implication sent fire across Katsuki’s cheeks, and he nearly burned to ash at the blaze of embarrassment that flashed through his chest. “So I made it easier to access it—thank you, Mina. I should be fine now.” 

Her friend shot him a look, and her message was clear. Hurt Ochako, and I’ll come for you. 

He nodded. Understood.

Satisfied, Mina released Ochako, who wobbled until Katsuki offered his arm, and she gratefully took it. Gesturing toward the shore, they started for the lake. Passing Eijirou, Katsuki shook his head to reassure his friend, but he kept a watchful eye on the pair, searching for any lurking danger. Mina did the same, arms crossed, and she looked equally as unhappy, albeit for other reasons.

They moved in silence, Katsuki slowing his pace to avoid jostling her too roughly, silently admiring the way she gritted her teeth and swallowed any complaints, though the occasional whimper slid between her lips. When they reached the shore, he set her down, then followed suit. 

“How did you find us?” she asked, jerking as his fingers brushed over the exposed skin where he began to unwrap Eijirou’s meticulous work. He shot her a warning glare to let her know that it would be painful. She snorted in response as he dropped the dirty bandages to the side. “I’m a big girl, I can handle pain, but the process would be much easier if you could distract me.” 

Using a clean rag stuffed at the bottom of his bag, he dipped a small section of it into the lake and began to gingerly clean the wound as she balled the hem of her skirt into her fists. “Hold still,” he said gruffly. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you keep moving like that.”

“The water’s cold,” she said, shooting him frown, the skin between her brows puckered. “And I never got your name, hunter.” Good—she assumed he was like Fumikage. To clarify, there was nothing wrong with disclosing his identity, but he’d always found that with status came a change in attitude, and while the swan maidens were a little out of their realm, there was a high chance they would grow even more cautious and distrustful. If he were a swan maiden, he'd be weary around a man who commanded an army at his fingertips.

“Katsuki,” he answered. “My name is Katsuki.”

“I’m Ochako.” She pointed to herself. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten my question. How did you find us?” 

“Do you always talk this much, even after being shot in the side?”

“The least you can do is humor me,” she sniffed, unbothered by his brash attitude. “After all, you are the one who released the arrow.” 

He leveled her with a scowl as he unscrewed the jar of salve. “Fine, if you want to be distracted, then let me ask you this: why are you letting me do this? If you know I caused this—” She yelped as he slid two cool fingers over her side. “—then why let me near you, let alone touch you?” 

Her breathing stuttered as he carefully applied the salve before morphing into a sigh of relief. So focused on the task, he missed the way her gaze roamed his features, acutely focused on the task. “If you weren’t sincere, Tsuyu would have slain you on the spot.” He paused in his ministrations, and they turned to see Tsuyu and Fumikage sitting on a fallen log, her head resting on his shoulder. So he hadn’t been wrong to be wary of her. “She's a good judge of character—always has been. If she trusts you, then I’m willing to give you a chance. Besides, you gave me your dagger, when I could’ve easily attacked you as retribution.” 

“Giving you my dagger hardly constitutes a reason to trust me.” 

She held up a finger, stopping him. “I didn’t say I trusted you, just that Tsuyu does. A second chance doesn’t mean the same thing.” Touching her bottom lip in thought, she added, “Think of it as a trial period.”

“It’s still reckless,” he scolded. She shivered as he glided the balm over her wound, then reached over to grasp at his wrist, stopping him. “Does it hurt?”

With a withering smile, she released him. “Of course it does, but the cold also surprised me. But Katsuki, you never answered my question, how did you find us?” 

A sigh ripped from his throat as he sat back, screwing the jar shut. He told himself he wasn’t avoiding her keen observations. “I was hunting—obviously.”

“And why were you hunting? More importantly, what were you hunting?” 

The way his grip tightened on the jar could’ve shattered glass, and he growled in response. Ochako, to her credit, appeared nonplussed by his spike in irritation. In fact, there was a mischievousness that danced in her gaze as the corners of her mouth twitched in mirth. She knew she was asking too many questions, pushing his boundaries, testing him, and he’d be damned if he let her win this little makeshift game they’d created. 

“That’s none of your business,” he retorted and fished out a roll of fresh bandages. “Besides, you speak too much for someone who’s injured.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” she asked sharply, though her stare had lifted to the nighttime sky, where pinpricks of light dotted against a murky backdrop. “The more I speak, the less pain I feel. At least, give me that. If I stay quiet, I think too much, I feel too much—as a hunter, you must’ve had your fair share of cuts and bruises. Preoccupied, it’s like they never exist. But everything becomes acute the moment you’re alone with your thoughts.” 

She was right. He admitted that to himself, inward and silent. Begrudgingly, he began to wrap the bandage around her waist, careful not to accidentally graze his fingers against her skin, lest he exacerbate the gash. Of course, when caught up in such an intimate activity, it couldn’t be helped. 

Her skin was smooth and cool to the touch, and for a second, he nearly forgot she had transformed from a swan to a maiden. Where he touched, gooseflesh erupted, and she jerked in miniscule movements that would’ve been imperceptible if it’d been witnessed at a distance. 

“I don’t know what I was hunting,” he finally admitted, pausing to tie the knot to her navel: it couldn’t be too tight that she wouldn’t be able to breathe, and it couldn’t be too loose that it’d flutter off the moment she stood. Finished, he let his hands fall to his lap, staring at his curled fingers. “I was angry, and—and I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” 

He could feel her eyes on him, could imagine the scrutinization that wandered across the windows of her soul, large and expressive, limpid and translucent. Her disapproval rolled off of her in waves, but she didn’t speak a word, just reached down to tug at the knot to make sure it wouldn’t fall. 

“Help me up,” she said softly, and he glanced up to find her outstretched hand. The glow from the lake cast shadows across her features, shrouding them from view as she angled her head away. Never had he so sorely wanted to know what someone was thinking. “I can’t do this on my own—not yet, at least.” 

Somehow, he managed to slip out of his momentary self-loathing and slid his fingers against hers. Then, wrapping the other on the uninjured side of her waist, he gently tugged her up, letting her hang off of him and support her weight. That was no problem; she was as light as a feather. 

She stood a head shorter than him, and he discovered that each exhale he took blew against the errant strands of her hair. Slowly, he let her go until she could stand on her own, hands hovering nearby in case she collapsed. But, to his surprising disappointment, she managed to remain upright. 

“Katsuki.” He’d almost forgotten he hadn’t come alone. Eijirou stood to his side, Katsuki’s bow and arrow in hand, and there was a look of apprehension that twisted on his brow. “You’re done for today—we should get back.” Honestly, he knew his friend was looking out for him, had his best interests in mind, yet he felt as if he’d only spent a few heartbeats in the clearing. 

“Give me a moment,” Katuski uttered, nodding in understanding, mouth curling in displeasure. Eijirou began to bow his head before stopping, obscuring his near faux pas by palming the back of his neck. He stepped away, leaving Katsuki alone with Ochako. Though, they weren’t truly alone—he could feel the other maidens watching his every move around their friend. 

Ochako tilted her head up at him and shifted back. “I still don’t trust you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.” He slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, then held the bag to his side, feeling the bandages and jars of salve roll around. “It’d be stupid to trust me after our second meeting.”

“Our first meeting,” she corrected him. “Our second encounter, yes, but this is the first time we’ve officially met. Will you be back tomorrow, or have we properly scared you off?” 

He couldn’t help but chortle at her second question. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening, if you’ll have me.” The smile slid off of his face, replaced by somberness, and he spoke quietly. “Like I told Tsuyu yesterday, I’ll help you until you’re well again, but I won’t force you to accept my help to abate my guilt.” 

In his periphery, Fumikage had pushed up from his position, standing to his full height to meet Eijirou, who spoke mutely, leaning in close. The hunter nodded, and they turned to Ochako and Katsuki, expectations plain on their faces. Just one more moment—that was all he needed to gain her answer. 

Precaution veiled her thoughts from him, and she tugged on a lock of her hair, pulling it straight. A beat passed in silence, in tandem with the slow thud of his pulse against his neck. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll assess your handiwork then. Until then, goodnight, Katsuki.” 

The way her mouth shaped around his name sent tingles running down his spine, and he had to stop himself from displaying this vulnerability. Rather, he just bobbed his head and swallowed heavily. “Until then,” he murmured, “have a good evening.” 

 

--

 

Provided that the moon sat fuller in the night than it had the first time they’d traversed through the woods, Katsuki still could not, for the life of him, understand how Fumikage knew every single nook and cranny like the back of his hand. Somehow, the hunter knew where to put his foot one after the other, avoiding tree roots and cracks in the ground, and he never faltered, utterly confident in his ability to navigate through complete darkness.

No better than before, Katsuki and Eijirou stumbled after him, but with the full moon illuminating bits and pieces of their path, their journey felt a little quicker, smoother. They walked in silence punctuated by the crunch of grass and the occasional snap of a twig. 

This time, Fumikage didn’t bother turning around to admonish them. Rather, he just plowed on, pausing only when he’d disappeared too far from Katsuki’s sight, presumably because he could no longer hear them bumbling behind him. During one of his pauses, he fully turned to wait for their approach, arms crossed over his chest, and when they caught up, he observed them wordlessly. 

Katsuki was close to biting out a scathing ‘what’ when the hunter sighed deeply with a slight shake of his head in exasperation or disappointment. It didn’t matter which, but nevertheless, the implication behind it aggravated Katsuki’s annoyance and solidified his determination to surpass the hunter in stealth and direction. 

As with before, the moment they emerged from the woods, Fumikage tilted his head toward them, as if to say ‘till tomorrow.’ Without another word, he swept down the cobblestone road and disappeared into the night.

 

--

 

The next dusk found him in the clearing once more. Eijirou stood to the side with Fumikage, both of their arms crossed as Eijirou spoke in low tones. Fumikage, per usual, gave him clipped answers as they waited for the swans to reach shore. Unlike before, they’d arrived on time, just before the sky dimmed to blushing roses and dusky lavenders. 

This time, Katsuki felt marginally less discomfort as he shifted by the shore, boots kicking along the small stones that sat at the edge of the crystallic waters. He stared down, brows furrowed as he kicked a stone a little too hard, and it tumbled into the water, sending ripple upon ripple cascading across the surface. As if that little motion had broken a trance, he blinked at the specks of white that swam to shore. 

After the flurry of downy feathers exploded into light shards upon touching the ground, Tsuyu greeted him with a smile, pulling the long lock of hair that sat over her shoulders behind her. “Evening,” she greeted, and he parroted her with much less grace. He tried with Kyouka and Mina, but the former only spared him a fleeting glance. The latter stood to his side, holding out her hand. 

“Your dagger,” she sighed, when he didn’t understand her silent message. Like clockwork, he slid it into her palm but made no move to step back, staring her down as she brought the handle to her side. The maiden cocked her head at him, pink hair brushing against her shoulder as she arched her brow at him. And then, the corner of her mouth twitched before she turned back to the water. 

He gaped—had that been a figment of his imagination? It may have been, but he swore there was a twinge of amusement that’d flashed across her expression in a split second. 

Mina lurched forward, arms outstretched, as the final swan glided toward shore. Like the other three, a burst of wind dashed through the trees, ruffling foliage and sending shivers through small bushes. It laughed as it blew past him, carding its light fingers through his hair, sending it into a spikier disarray, and ignored the way he reached up to fix it. Past him, it swirled around the swan, sending soft, downy feathers into a whirlwind of what looked like snow. And when it began to settle, Ochako stood in its place, panting lightly as she held onto Mina’s arms. 

“Evening, Katsuki,” she greeted shakily, and he grimaced at the evident pain that twisted at her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. “Give us a moment, and we’ll be right out.” 

He waited, staring after the pair as they disappeared under the vibrant curtain of wisteria flowers. 

“Is this helping?” 

Katsuki jumped at the new voice by his side, and he found Tsuyu staring up at him. Somehow, she’d been silent in her short journey to him, and at the surprise that he couldn’t hide fast enough, she quirked her mouth at him, turning her head to where Mina and Ochako had vanished. 

“Helping what?” he tried slowly, schooling his features back into his royal impassivity. 

“You.” That was it. That was her clarification, nothing more, nothing less. Befuddled, he arched a brow at her mystery, wondering if there was a riddle he’d missed in all of his encounters with her. But she merely extended her smile and gestured toward the hanging flowers, where it parted to reveal Mina, who gazed at him pointedly. The lack of a second maiden behind her caused him to frown. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Are all men stupid, or is it just you?” Mina grumbled. She jutted a finger behind her and pulled the curtain wider. “She doesn’t want to move much more than necessary, so you’ll have to go to her.” 

A wave of disgruntled embarrassment heated across his neck, and he hoped his hair was enough to hide the burning tips of his ears. Throwing the bow and quiver to the ground, arrows clattering in response, he slung his knapsack over his shoulder and approached her. 

As he neared the veil, a hand gripped his arm, squeezing in warning. Mina held on tightly, and he felt her strength. “I’ll be standing out here,” she warned mutely, quiet enough that Eijirou, who loitered at the shore, could only watch them in confusion. “If anything happens…”

“I get it,” he bit out, then wrenched his arm from her grip. She slid her gaze to him before brushing past him, and he noticed that the dagger sat nowhere on her person. The flowers fell behind him in a whisper, and he turned to find Ochako sitting with her back against the gnarled, twisted trunk of the tree. 

But that wasn’t what stole his breath, what knocked all the air from his lungs.

If he thought the clearing was magical, it was nothing compared to the enchanted beauty that slumbered under the cloak of dangling flowers, separating them from the rest of the world. Still next to shore, the numerous branches with draping blooms skimmed the water, which emitted a glow that mimicked the daytime sky. Patches of blue gleamed across the petals and stretched along the grass, undulating in a way that gave some semblance of life to the water’s surface. 

“Mina says it hurts more,” he said, gazing around their settings. The knapsack suddenly felt like it held stones instead of bandages and salves. Perhaps these aids didn’t help those who were enchanted. Ochako gifted him a wry smile and patted the spot next to her, grass threading through her fingers. An open invitation. 

He thinned his lips and made his way to her before setting the bag down and crouching next to her. “It hurts no more than it did yesterday.” Ochako snuggled into the trunk of the tree as if it were a friend, unbothered by the rough surface that scraped along her bare skin. Like the previous night, her dress had been torn to reveal her bandaged midriff. “I only told her that so we could be left alone.”

Alarmed, he sat back, balancing on a thick root that tangled into the soft soil, and cocked a brow in confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“You looked to be hewn from marble last night, stiff and uncomfortable.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Having an audience probably didn’t help, did it?” 

Admittedly, it didn’t. Not when he could feel their gazes boring into his back. Even Eijirou had watched them carefully, taking care that nothing would happen to the prince. 

“Even now…” She trailed off quietly and turned slowly, reaching up to touch his shoulder, smoothing her fingers down the slope of his muscle. Even through the layers of fabric, he felt her touch burn and resisted the urge to shiver. Lifting his hand, he caught her wrist in his grasp, pulling it back down and clearing his throat. Gradually, he realized she’d been right, now hyperaware of the tension that’d tightened his muscles, and after a few deep breaths, felt it bleed out of him. “Better?”

“Much,” he muttered, and she curled onto her side, resting her head against the tree, back facing him. With her angle, he had clear access to the injury. Gently, he began to work, unraveling the knot. Her breath caught as his fingers skimmed her skin, and he paused, staring up at her in worry, but she nodded at him to continue, eyes squeezed shut. This time, silence reigned on her end.

“Does it hurt?” he started, sitting back to gauge his progress before moving to observe her reaction. She began to hum her answer, when he continued, “When you change from swan to human?” 

She paused, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she didn’t answer, and he was beginning to feel like he’d crossed a fragile boundary when she exhaled heavily. Ochako lifted a hand and touched a knot on the gnarled roots, tracing mindless patterns only she could see. He began to cover the healing wound with the cool jelly-like substance, and the air between them filled with the bitter, grassy aroma of freshly ground herbs.

“No,” she finally answered. “You know how you rise with the sun? That’s how it is for me, but instead of daylight, I wake with moonlight. My body doesn’t feel the transformation—in truth, none of us know what it actually looks like. The moment the sun disappears and we leave the water, we wake up.”  

“And when you return to swan form, it’s like falling asleep?” he guessed. From his angle, he couldn’t see her expression, but the corner of her mouth quirked in amusement.

“I guess you aren’t as stupid as Mina assumes,” she noted, body quaking with repressed laughter. Again, that burn tinged the back of his neck. While she spoke, he pulled out a fresh roll of bandages and began to wrap it around her. To accommodate him, she lifted herself off of the tree, allowing him to wrap it around her waist.“Yes, when the sun rises, we sleep. As swans, it’s almost like we’re dreaming. We can see everything, sense everything like normal, but there’s a slight haze that gives it a dreamlike quality.”

Tying a loose knot, he sat back in satisfaction as she moved to sit with her back against the tree. Ochako played with the hem of her dress, bunching the pristine fabric in her fist. 

“And your wound?” he asked, barely inaudible. “Does it hurt when you change?” 

One hand left her dress to hover by her freshly bandaged side before settling her palm over it. He heard her soft albeit sharp intake of breath. “Unfortunately,” she admitted. “It doesn’t hurt when I’m on the lake, but it does slow me down quite a bit. The moment I stand from the water, the wound stings—a reminder that it’s there.” 

He nodded, not knowing why he’d asked in the first place. Masochism, perhaps? 

His hands curled into fists on his knee, and nodding tersely, he began to roll up the leftover bandages and capped the balms. Ochako watched him silently, and he found that he couldn’t read what thoughts flew through her head. Discomfort gripped him like a vice, and he made to stand before she reached over and tugged on his sleeve. It was a gentle tug, one that her fingers released immediately afterward. 

He paused, gazing down at her in question.

“Stay a moment,” she requested. He knew that the way she'd dropped her hand offered him an out—a choice. Full agency. She wouldn't force him to stay; she simply waited for an answer without expectation. 

They watched each other for a silent moment before Katsuki sat back down. He stayed where he was, not wanting to puncture her space. Ochako sighed as she leaned against the tree, hair tangling in its splinters.

"I finished." There wasn't much else he could've said, so it came out awkwardly, a little stilted and lame. "Did you need anything—"

"Are you a bad person, Katsuki?"

"What?" She was going to give him whiplash—that was for sure. 

"Let me rephrase that," she said, in light of his confusion. "Do you believe yourself to be a bad person?"

He set the bag between them, erecting a physical barrier that separated them even further. 

"I would hope not," he answered, playing with the hem of his shirt. "Depends on your definition of a good person. Are you referencing intentions or actions? Because a man with good intentions can still cause harm, even if he doesn't mean it. Does this make him good or bad? Which is it that defines him?"

She huffed, hiding her half-smile behind a delicate hand. "We've affirmed that you're not stupid, but you continue to surprise me. I didn't take you to be a thinker as well as a hunter. To answer you, I think the man could be considered both. He thinks—no, believes himself to be good—but others may perceive him to be bad, destructive, even with pure intentions." 

"Does it matter what others think?"

She clucked her tongue in mild disappointment at his question. "Both matter. Consider this: a man commits a crime, not knowing it'll cause harm, not knowing the consequences. But when he understands what he's done, he tries his best to rectify the situation. Would you call him good or bad?"

His throat closed up, unable to draw out his answer. She’d laid out all of her cards onto the table, directed them toward him for his perspective. To say the least, she was vetting him, observing him through words and actions. At his silence, she continued, “Like I said, both matter.” Her tone softened considerably. “Some solidify their opinion at his single mistake. Others may still see some good in him after he tries to amend himself.” 

“We’re done,” he interrupted, unable to take anymore of the conversation. Standing, he heaved a breath and tilted his head up. Above, through the woven canopy of bursting colors, Katsuki could make out slivers of the night sky, speckled with stars. A cloud wisped over the full moon, tendrils reaching for its faraway lover. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.” 

At the curtain of flowers, her voice stopped him in his tracks. “Katsuki,” she called. His hand curled around a fistful of hanging flora, petals like velvet against his callused palms. He didn’t turn, merely waited. “This may not soothe your guilt, but each time you come to change my bandages is a step closer to forgiveness. Even good men can make mistakes.” 

 

--

 

Her words ringing in his ears, he stepped out, and it was as if the bubble had burst. The world whirled him back into reality, almost like he’d crossed a secondary boundary. No longer as luminescent as it’d been under the wisteria tree, the clearing cradled more shadows that danced and flickered. 

“I personally think she forgives too easily.” He jumped at the voice, turning to find Mina standing at the foot of the curtain. She hadn’t been exaggerating about waiting.

His gaze fell as he scuffed a foot against the grass. “She hasn’t forgiven me.” 

“Neither have most of us,” Mina said. She tilted her head, pink hair dropping past her shoulder. “Why are you so adamant in the first place?”

He stopped, then locked gazes with her, steeling himself. “Because it’s the right thing to do. What other reason would I have?” 

There was no change in her expression, save for a mild flash of her eyes that reflected surprise at his answer. He could tell that it wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “I don’t know,” she responded slowly. The way the light reflected on the curve of her cheeks intensified the stare she pointed toward him. 

With nothing else to say, he bobbed his head toward her as a sign of respect, then moved to find Eijirou, who chatted idly with Fumikage and Tsuyu, the three of them perched on the grass. His companion shoved himself up at his approach. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

He could feel Mina’s eyes burning holes into his back. Kyouka was nowhere in sight, but he had an inkling that she also watched them from the shadows. Tsuyu gave him a placid smile, and Fumikage stood, pulling his hand from Tsuyu’s grasp. 

“Yeah, can’t be gone for too long,” he murmured. Eijirou nodded in understanding, reaching to take the knapsack from Katsuki’s grip. “Let’s go.”

 

--

 

“I’ve heard you’ve been on late night excursions.” 

Katsuki nearly dropped the book in hand, and he whirled to find Dabi perusing through the shelves, the burns on his arms prominent and on display. The royal advisor dragged a finger through the ridges of the books and tomes, fingers bumping up and down with leisure. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he asked, snapping the book shut. “And what I do late at night has nothing to do with you.” 

Dabi stood to his full height and hooked his finger around a slim spine, pulling it from its place on the shelf. With an elegant twist, he set it on his forearm and pulled it open like he had all the time in the world. As if he was unbothered by Katsuki’s acetic bite. His crystalline blue eyes flickered across the lines, cold as ice and careful to obscure any emotion.

Though, in Katsuki’s opinion, corpses didn’t have emotions. 

“It’s my job—”

“Your job is to advise the king and queen,” Katsuki ground out. He slid the book back into place and dusted his hands, preparing to leave. Dabi spoke once more, and this time, his words could’ve frozen any living being in place, slinging ice through Katsuki’s veins.

“My job is to keep the kingdom running smoothly. If the crown prince is interfering with nightly affairs, then I’m afraid, your Highness, that it’s my business to know his intentions, especially if his life could be at risk.” There was a mocking quality that’d slid into his tone, slimy and hidden behind a thinly veiled smile. 

Katsuki couldn’t help it. He bristled, fingers flexing to avoid curling them into fists. Every time—every single time Dabi found him—he managed to worm his way under Katsuki’s skin, a slow beckon for his temper to rise until his head swirled with angry fog. 

“Just stay out of my way,” Katsuki bit out. “That’s an order.”

Dabi bowed his head with another cold smile and tucked the slim book to his chest. The way he touched his chest and curtsied was taunting, as if ridiculing the prince. “As you wish, your Highness.” 

 

--

 

Tonight, the moon hid behind the clouds, peeking her curious pale eyes over their swirling fingers. Mina stood in front of the weeping wisteria, her arms crossed, and she eyed him wearily as he approached with the knapsack in hand. Eijirou, per usual, made his way to the shore and stood at the foot of the water, and while it wasn’t completely obvious, Katsuki knew he was watching him from the corner of his eye. 

“Evening,” he murmured to Mina, who nodded toward him. She pulled back the veil of flowers, and he entered the small bubble to find Ochako standing, panting lightly as she used the trunk of the tree to hoist herself up. 

He paused, watching her struggle for a moment, and she puffed out a cheekful of air. “What are you doing?” he asked, tightening his clutch on the strap. Her eyes brightened at his appearance, and she smiled at him. 

“Evening, Katsuki,” she said brightly, ignoring his inquisition. “Look, I think I can stand now. It still stings, but it’s not as bad as it was at first.” 

He strode toward her, clucking his tongue in disapproval. “Sit down,” he ordered, sharpening his gaze, but she didn’t seem to notice. In turn, he watched her knees tremble with effort. She was going to collapse if she didn’t listen to his instruction. Carding a frustrated hand through his hair, he set a hand on her arm, and she jerked in response, not expecting the light touch. 

Thus, she fell forward, and he looped his arm under her shoulders in anticipation. She fell flat against him, hands immediately grabbing his shoulders as she righted herself, and he took the chance to guide her down until she settled against a soft spot of soil. 

“And I was doing so well,” she sighed, pouting in disappointment. Some of her caution seemed to have let up, and he wondered if that had anything to do with their previous conversation. 

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he deadpanned, sitting back to gauge her demeanor. In particular, his gaze settled on the bandages, half-fearing that he would see a second bloom of scarlet against the snow white bandages. “If you don’t rest—”

“I’m a big girl,” she interrupted, pout twisting into a scowl. “I can handle myself just fine. I’m strong enough to do this.”

He gave her a cool look, slinging the strap over his knee to begin pulling his supplies out. “I never said you weren’t,” he said coolly. “And you’ve proved to be more than capable of handling yourself—strong enough to bear the pain and let me, a stranger, patch you up.” 

She blinked at him, the corners of her frown attenuating as she searched for any signs of insincerity in his words. And yes, Katsuki could be sarcastic—at times, sardonic, even—but he wouldn’t lie about someone’s strength. Everything he’d said about her had been true because he believed her to have more strength than some of the men he commanded. 

“Turn,” he murmured, and she cocked her head at him pensively before following his request, angling her body so that he could work on the wound. “It’s healing slower than expected.”

“Probably because the change slows it down—it stretches when I change from swan to what I am now. And when I shift back, it feels just as unpleasant,” she commented. He unhooked the jars of salve before dipping two fingers into the cool balm. 

She hissed as he applied it to the wound, and he could feel her body react with tension. “Relax, or you’ll strain it. And if that’s the case, will it ever heal properly?” 

“With you here to help, it should go by a lot faster. All of our wounds do heal over time—it just takes longer than the average person.” Ochako gripped the knotted root, knuckles turning white as he continued to work. Her breathing quickened as he slathered the balm over her wound, and he clenched his jaw. “Tell me why you were mad that first night?”

The question fell from gritted teeth, and he remembered that she spoke to distract herself from the pain. Reluctantly, he pulled back a fraction, and she relaxed minutely. 

“I got into an argument with my parents,” he said, careful not to disclose too much information. She hummed in thought, though it strained toward the end when he switched jars. 

“Over what?” 

“Marriage,” he grumbled, fingers tightening as he twisted the jar harshly. He spat it out like poison—it tasted bitter on his tongue. 

“Oh? Because you wanted to get married, or that you didn’t?” Ochako sucked in her lips as he restarted his ministrations. “There’s a profound difference between the two— ow. ”

“Hold still, you’re squirming too much,” he grunted. Using his clean hand, he held her shoulder down as the other worked in tandem. He could feel her vibrating beneath his palm as he worked, careful not to dirty her dress. 

Ochako puffed out a breath, and she turned her head away, angling it toward the trunk. In turn, he leaned down to observe his work, and satisfied, he pulled back, releasing her, to wipe his hand against his trousers.

“Can’t help it,” she breathed. There was a flush that rose at the back of her neck that spread over jaw to bloom in her cheeks. Even in the cerulean glow, he could see the feverish glow. “It tickled.”

“Are you all right?” He eyed her flush in concern. He hadn’t used too much pressure, had he? Glancing down, he observed the wound to find that it hadn’t reopened—thankfully. She nodded in jerky movements but refused to meet his gaze, and in that moment, he wished he could read her mind to catch an idea as to whether she was or wasn’t in pain. 

Perhaps he’d been too rough? He hoped not.

“You never answered the question,” she finally said. “About the whole idea of marriage.” 

He pulled out the bandages and began to unwrap them. So focused on the task, he didn’t notice the way she flicked her gaze toward him, but he could feel her shift in discomfort. Flicking his gaze up, he noticed that she was still angled away, twisting in a way that would agitate the injury. 

Exhaling deeply, he reached over and touched her shoulder. At his touch, she blinked up at him, and he gestured for her to sit up before pulling her lightly toward him. The tension melted from her shoulders as she sat upright, alleviating the pressure on her side. “That should feel better. You don’t want to pull at it too much, or else it’ll tear again. And to answer your question—no, I don’t want to get married. I have no interest in it.” 

She sighed in relief—most likely from the release of pressure, but the traitorous part of his mind whispered that she was relieved at his potential bachelor status. It was such a startling betrayal that he nearly dropped the bandages to his lap. Instead, he managed to compose himself at the last moment.

“This is the worst part,” he warned, and her eyes fluttered shut as she hung her head in defeat. She knew exactly what he was referring to, and with a wince, began to lift her arm for him to wrap the bandages around her waist. Halfway through, her hand came to rest against the back of his neck, and he froze at the unexpected touch. Her fingertips brushed against the little hairs at his nape, and he bit his tongue.

“Tired.” That was her simple explanation, and he nodded before returning to work. “Why don’t you want to get married?” 

Tying the bandage into a knot, he sat back, and her arm slid from his neck. Where his skin had grown warm with her touch, it now felt the contrast of spring’s brisk breeze. She shifted so that she faced him, curiosity plain on her face as her hands fell to her lap. 

“I like how things are now, and the idea of marrying at this age just feels too surreal.” He turned away, furrowing his brows. “Eventually, I’ll want to get married, but I refuse to get married to someone chosen for me.”

She hummed in understanding. “You want to marry for love.” It sounded more like a statement than a question, and the back of his neck burned in embarrassment. Speaking on the topic of marriage felt odd coming from her, and he attributed it to the fact that he didn’t think mystical beings practiced such customs. 

He didn’t answer, and though she’d only known him for a few days, she seemed to take it as an affirmation. “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know? Even the most prideful people can marry for love,” she added, and it only served to inflame the mortification that he was sure was inching closer to his cheeks. 

“We’re done for today,” he said gruffly, but this time, as he stood, she began to clamber to her feet. “What are you doing?” On instinct, he reached forward and gripped her elbows, hoisting her up with ease. “You idiot, I just dressed that.” 

Her laugh cut into a pained choke as she gripped his arm for support. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she shot back. “You can’t expect me to stay here all night. The least you can do is help me up.” 

His grumbling accompanied them out of the wisteria, and Mina breathed an audible sigh of relief at seeing Ochako unharmed. Katsuki’s irritation only spiked because this was his third time patching her up, yet they still suspected that he wanted to do her harm. Ochako, who somehow sensed his annoyance, tugged on his sleeve and pointed at a fallen log, a little further from the others. 

“Take me there,” she said, pulling his attention back to her. Her arm tightened around his, and his gaze flickered down to her. Eijirou, who’d been shuffling at the shore, perked up at Katsuki’s appearance. Like Mina, the tension bled from his shoulders at his safety. Katsuki shook his head slightly, and Eijirou nodded, understanding immediately.

Katsuki helped her to that fallen log, feeling everyone’s eyes boring from all angles, bright and curious. There, he was careful not to jostle her too much as he set her down. Surprisingly, she tugged him down with her, but instead of settling next to her, he knelt on the grass, watching her expression carefully for any signs of pain. 

“I’m fine,” she chuckled. “I just like this spot, and I wanted to let you know that you could leave the salve and bandages here, if you’d like.” Unconsciously, he touched the knapsack, and she inclined her head toward it. “That way, you don’t have to haul it with you each time you come.” 

“It’s not heavy,” he said stupidly. If anything, the amusement grew in her gaze as he inwardly cursed himself. 

“I know that, but it’d be more convenient for both of us, right? Unless you absolutely need it at home?” she inquired. She had a point—there was a never ending supply of medical supplies back at the palace. Surely, no one would notice a few missing jars or fresh bandages. And he’d brought enough to last her a week—barely dented the supplies in the medical ward.  

Ochako gestured at the opening of the log, and through the faint light, he could make out a soft carpet of moss. “If you want, you can leave it here. It’ll be safe from others, and in case you choose not to come back…” She trailed off at the possibility.

He unhooked the bag from his side and pulled at the knot to make sure it was tight enough, lest something accidentally sneak in and dirty the bandages. She looked almost disappointed as he tied it twice more before reaching in to plop it on the bed of green. 

Then, he pointed up at her and poked her forehead. “Only for convenience's sake.” Standing, he gave her a half-hearted crook of his mouth. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I have a promise to fulfill.” 

She blinked at him, evidently surprised at his declaration. So she had been convinced that he’d leave in a heartbeat if given the option. He was about to comment on the fragility of her faith, when she tilted her head back and beamed at him. The change was so different from their previous encounters, and if he thought she’d been radiant before, she now shone brighter than any star he’d ever seen—practically blinded him and sent his heart on a galloping spree.  

“You never fail to surprise me,” she giggled, and maybe he was a sap—a romantic—because he’d never, in his lifetime, likened someone’s laugh to music. “I had my doubts—” Evidently, his mind supplied. “—but you’re still here after three nights, and you’re intent on helping me. Third time’s a charm. If you come back tomorrow—”

“When I come back,” he corrected her, and if possible, she shone even brighter. 

“When you come back tomorrow,” she amended, “I’ll be here, waiting.”  

 

--

 

“Katsuki?” The knock on his door caught his attention, derailing his train of thought. In a sense, that was good because he realized that he’d been staring at his fingers, remembering the smoothness of Ochako’s skin as he applied the healing balm to her wound. Dumbly, he tilted his head up to find that the door to his room had already been cracked open, revealing the kind face of his father.

After his spat with his mother over the idea of an arranged marriage, she’d given him the cold shoulder—nothing unusual. It was commonplace after one of their arguments, sensible in that this would give both of them the time to cool off, even if it took days. Masaru stood with one foot through the door, his hand on the knob as he watched Katsuki yank himself from his daydream. 

“What?” Katsuki grunted, turning back to his bow. It’d loosened overnight, and now required restringing. If anything, he could always take it to the armory, but this was something he liked to do himself. “Did that banshee send you?”

Masaru audibly exhaled before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. That, in itself, was enough of a confirmation. “Katsuki, please,” he uttered, and Katsuki angled his head away, returning to work. 

His father took his silence as an invitation and swept into the room, shutting the door behind him. Katsuki could feel Masaru watch him work, and while that alone felt odd, he didn’t feel the need to shove him from the room. And so he continued to fix his bow, taking care that each end was knotted properly; he didn’t need his trusty bow to fail him at any point in time, especially if ambushed late at night. 

It wasn’t until he was satisfied that Masaru spoke, shattering that gratification that came with precise work, and Katsuki stood, slinging his bow over his shoulder. 

“You know your mother’s just worried for you,” he said quietly. Katsuki felt his chest tighten—as much as the old hag annoyed the hell out of him, he knew she did everything simply because she wanted the best for him. “She doesn’t want you to take the throne alone. It’s a difficult role to play—you’ve seen this firsthand.” 

He knew this.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say a word, remaining still as he glared at the ground. Masaru continued to speak, knowing with certainty that he had Katsuki’s full attention. Either way, his father would’ve continued, and Katsuki would’ve heard him anyway.

“We know you’re not thrilled about the idea of marriage, but it’s just another ceremony. You won’t be required to sire an heir for another few years, and love can be learned in time.” 

But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not even remotely close. 

His jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, but he wasn’t in a mood to argue with his father. He had three hours until the sun touched the horizon, and as much as he believed he could somewhat navigate the forest himself, he still bitterly relied on Fumikage to lead them there. If he opened his mouth, he knew arguments with his father would lead to standstills on both ends; neither would back down—his father, though gentle, was as firm as his mother.

So he remained silent, scuffing his boots along the ground. Masaru waited for a response Katsuki would never give, then sighed in defeat, knowing his plea barely budged Katsuki’s convictions on marriage. 

“Just—just remember that she loves you. We both do.” 

 

-- 

 

“You’re quiet today,” Ochako noted with surprise. After tending to her wounds, he continued to sit with his back to the wisteria trunk, wrapping the bandages into tight balls before discarding them in the knapsack. Her words barely dented his percolating thoughts, all spinning round and round his father’s words. “Katsuki?”

At the mention of his name, he jerked, and the ball of bandages unraveled in his hands, falling into a gauzy heap on his lap. He swore as he collected them as quickly as he could, careful not to let any of the ends touch the soil. This time, he was more cognizant of his actions, taking care to finish cleaning properly. A hand flew across vision, and he turned to find Ochako watching him with a pucker between her brow.

“Katsuki?” she tried. “Are you all right?” 

No, not really, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Never better.” 

The look on her face openly said she didn’t believe him, and before he could push himself up and excuse himself, she grappled onto his arm, holding him down. Leaning in close, she tightened her grip on him, and he inwardly groaned at the fact he couldn’t shove her off as he normally would with Eijirou. 

There were three reasons: one, there was a chasm of difference between roughhousing with Eijirou and throwing off a swan maiden; two, it’d potentially split her side, something all of them wanted to avoid; and three, he was a prince who’d grown up with manners and propriety, even if his choice of words were a little crude. 

“I don’t believe you,” she said softly and loosened her grip. Her fingers remained touching his arm, as if afraid he’d leave at any moment. After a silent moment, she finally released him and sat back, curling into the nook the roots made around them. “I’ve always found that gaining an outsider’s point of view helps immensely.” 

Ochako pulled up her knees, wrapping an arm loosely around them. Her other hand traced indecipherable shapes into the soil. “Of course,” she started awkwardly, “you’re also free to keep your thoughts to yourself—”

“Do you think you could ever learn to love someone?” he blurted, and her finger froze midway through a swirl. “My father said that part of an arranged marriage was learning to love someone, but something about it…” He threw the knapsack to the side and slouched forward with a sharp breath, frustration leaden in his words. “I’ve seen it happen throughout my life—arranged marriages, I mean—I just never thought it’d happen to me.” 

Ochako grimaced, and he cocked a brow, gaze flashing to her side, where he relaxed once he realized no blood stained the bandages. 

"I remember," Ochako finally started, "that you said you'd prefer to marry someone you loved."

He puffed a breath, wracking a hand through his hair. She was right. They'd spoken about this before, yet now, this conversation held the shadow of his father's words. "What even is love anyway?" he mumbled in frustration, glaring at his boots.

Something warm grazed his hand, and he started to find Ochako brushing her fingertips over his arm in reassurement. She was resolute, earnest as she answered his rhetorical question.

"Whatever it is, it isn't dictated by time," she said quietly. 

"You think?" 

"I know." Ochako cupped her elbows, then rubbed her upper arms in thought. Her stare grew long, brimming with thoughts and memories. "Why else do you think it takes years for some to fall in love, while others fall at first sight?" 

He scoffed. "Somehow, I still doubt the idea of love at first sight."

She shrugged. "Fumikage was smitten with Tsuyu when he met her, and she with him. It was very sudden. Honestly, it shocked us all—most of all, Tsuyu, given how odd our circumstances are. Though this isn’t the most ideal situation, they’re happy with each other. The rest of us can only wish to find someone as accepting as Fumikage.” 

Yearning tinged with wistfulness slipped into her tone, bled scarlet through her words, and she sighed. “We’re happy for her,” she continued. “We really are, but we’re never sure how long it’ll last. She can’t give him a normal life: he can’t take her to meet his family, they’ll never be able to travel the world, they’ll never watch the sun rise together without the bitter taste of goodbye.” 

Cocking his head, he sat forward, clasping his hands together between his knees. “Then, do you think they’re headed toward tragedy?” 

Ochako angled her head away, but he could still see the downward twist of her mouth. “Pragmatically, yes,” she admitted quietly. Melancholy settled on her shoulders, heavy with a burden invisible to the eye. “She never says it aloud, but sometimes, we think she prepares herself for the inevitable, a night where he won’t return, where he’ll come to his senses and lead a normal life without her. She tries to hide it so hard, but we can all see it—can sense it. He was the one who admitted his feelings first, and she tried so hard to push him away.”

“But he stayed.”

“He stayed.”

Katsuki nodded slowly. “This probably won’t make you feel any better, but I’ve met many men, and none seem quite as dedicated as Fumikage is to Tsuyu. I don’t see that often, but I do hope the best for them.” 

Ochako peered up at him, the corners of her eyes softening from tension into minor creases. “I do too,” she uttered. “I do too. We all deserve our happy endings.”

 

--

 

“You’re getting along well with her—Ochako, I mean,” Eijirou observed, and Katsuki’s arrow flew from its constraints. The tip embedded itself just outside of the target, and the prince scowled as he lowered his bow. Reaching behind him, he pulled out another from the quiver and nocked it. Pulling it back, his shoulders felt the delicious burn that accompanied the familiar motion. 

He aimed, barely blinked, and released the arrow. This time, it hit the center with deadly accuracy. Relieved, he stood straight and unslung the quiver from his shoulders, dropping the bow to the ground.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he moved to pull the arrows from the board. Eijirou—stupid, relentless Eijirou—trailed behind him, expression pensive and disbelieving. 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he accused, crossing his arms. The stance reminded Katsuki of his mother, and it only further irritated him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

Katsuki grunted as he plucked the arrows from the board, and bunching them in his hands, he moved back to his previous spot, collecting everything and pulling them over his shoulder and feeling the arrows roll around his quiver.

“Katsuki,” Eijirou said firmly, snapping the final straw. Katsuki whirled on the spot and threw up his arms in exasperation.

“And what the fuck do you want me to say? That I like her? I shot her, Eijirou, in case you don’t remember—”

“—you know that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?!” Katsuki stared down his friend, who met his gaze evenly. Anyone else would’ve cowered at the prince’s fierce glare, but Eijirou, having been his closest friend since childhood, knew the unfortunate fact that Katsuki was all bark and barely any bite. 

His friend exhaled audibly through his nose and stepped back, giving Katsuki some space to breathe. “It’s been almost a week since you...well, we all know what happened, but at this point, I think she knows you have good intentions.” He carded a hand through his hair, red spikes bouncing with movement. “She’s getting better and better, and eventually, she’ll be fine. What do you plan to do then?” 

The question hung between them, heavy and terrible. It was one that Katsuki had asked himself multiple times, yet he could never bring himself to answer the question. He enjoyed Ochako’s company, no doubt about that. It was nice to have someone speak to him without walking on eggshells. It was nice to be treated normally. 

“Kat—” Eijirou rubbed his eyes before pinching the skin between his brows. “—you’re not just changing her bandages now. That takes...minutes. We leave later and later every evening. What do you plan to do when she’s completely healed? Cut off all contact? Keep visiting them? I hate to remind you, but once you take the throne, you’ll barely have any time to go find them—”

“Fucking hell, I know!” Katsuki burst. Eijirou snapped his mouth shut, but he continued to watch him with concern. Katsuki’s grip around the bundle of arrows tightened, and the wood protested: any tighter and they’d splinter in his frustration. “Gods, I fucking know already.” He heaved a breath, hands shaking with restraint. “Just...let me cross that bridge when we get there. She’s still wounded, which means I still owe her, and I haven’t taken the crown yet.”

For a moment, the crown prince and his friend regarded each other, gauged each other. The silence between them was stifling, tension thick as fog despite the sun that blazed down on them. 

And then Eijirou acquiesced with a puff of air, lifting both arms to rest behind his head. “Fine.” The single utterance seemed to shatter the atmosphere, tension slowly draining between them until they could feel the cool, spring air once more. Katsuki’s shoulders fell, and while his grip loosened on the arrows, he could feel their imprints line his palm.

“But—” Eijirou leveled him with a stare. “—when the time comes, you may have to let her go.”

 

--

 

Their relationship continued to evolve, and he found that he couldn’t deny his growing attachment to the swans, the lake, and to Ochako. 

Evenings always started the same: Eijirou and Katsuki dashing through the town to find Fumikage waiting for them, and as they trudged through the woods, the pair began to learn the path to the lake, memorizing small landmarks that marked small milestones: from patches of wildflowers to cavorting ferns to the twin trees that soldiered a stump—little things that let them know they were on the right trail.

The hunter spoke very little on their excursions, opting only to answer questions if presented. Taciturn as ever, his little quips during the daytime proved to be much more than his absolute silence as he melted into the shadows on the way back. But with Tsuyu by his side, he bloomed like a spring flower, demeanor softening as he opened up in her presence.

And Tsuyu—she warmed up to Katsuki and Eijirou, greeting them with the same patience and kindness before launching into small talk. Short conversations that would ask them about their trip and their day. As always, Katsuki wondered what’d possessed her to give them that second chance—not that he wasn’t thankful, but because he still couldn’t believe that someone could be so trusting. 

With each consecutive day they returned, Mina seemed to open up little by little, and while protective, she no longer threatened Katsuki or Eijirou, even giving them wry smiles as greetings. Slowly—very slowly—she began to thaw. Once or twice, Katsuki managed to catch the mirth that glimmered in her eye, amusement carefully hidden away at their blunders. 

The only one who retained her distrust was Kyouka, who no longer bled into the trees with their presence. Instead, she remained by the edge of the water, keeping a careful eye on them. Her demeanor was as frigid as the winter solstice, icy and bitter, and Katsuki had no doubt that it would take so much more for her to trust them.

And Ochako— 

Katsuki couldn’t pretend that the throb in his chest didn’t come from the way Ochako’s face would brighten as he ducked under the curtain of wisteria flowers. Something about the way her eyes crescented, the way her nose scrunched, and the way her lips curled shone bright enough to fill the luminous moon with envy. 

Per usual, he always attended to her wound with salves and bandages as she found a topic to distract herself from the pain. And with each passing evening, her wound grew less and less pronounced as a result of care and effort. Afterward, in their spare time together, they spoke about everything and nothing at all, mundane subjects that she spun into fanciful stories or philosophical ponderings. However, they never delved into the depths of their pasts. Katsuki never spoke about the palace, never gave any indication that he came from royalty, and Ochako kept her secrets to herself, mysterious and arcane as ever. 

Things shifted when, one evening, instead of sitting across from him, she settled next to him, arms and thighs brushing. He’d felt the warmth emanate from her, felt the smoothness of her exposed skin and the rough surface of the bandages. The funny thing was that, after his initial shock, he found that he enjoyed the way she felt next to him—even more so when she rested her cheek against his shoulder and slipped her hand into his. It was a bold move, one he’d never allow in the palace.

But that was the thing. They weren’t in the palace, and for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that he was a normal man and that she was a normal woman: neither wrought with responsibility or enchantment, nor constrained to time under the cradle of the moon. 

And slowly—very slowly—the guilt that’d harried him at the beginning began to shift toward a warmer direction, filled with fondness and something deeper. Something he simultaneously invited and feared.

They’d spoken about love once before, of how it wasn’t constrained to time. While he wasn’t quite at that point, he was sure it was the direction he edged toward, and it was a matter of time before he plunged headfirst into that never ending abyss, one that would swallow him whole, heart and all. 

All three men and four swan maidens fell into an easy routine, a rinse and repeat motion that grew comfortable and habitual. Everything seemed to fall into place, and Katsuki soon found himself forgetting about his status, his upcoming birthday, and his parent’s ultimatum. 

 

--

 

Soon, two weeks had passed since the accident, time percolating through the hourglass like smoke slipping between fingers. Katsuki and Eijirou no longer needed Fumikage’s help to weave through the forest, but he accompanied them anyway, letting them lead the way. The first time they’d succeeded, Fumikage had given them the smallest quirk of his lips, and Katsuki felt more pride than he’d expected, chest swelling with accomplishment. 

“Do you want to see something?” Ochako asked. They sat in silence, both shrouded in thought after he’d finished wrapping the bandages around her waist. Like Eijirou had said before, the wound was healing. Slowly and surely, it’d one day become a faint, jagged scar of puckered skin, leaving only memories as a keepsake of their time together. 

Slowly, Katsuki would lose all of his excuses to come visit the swan maidens. 

It was disheartening to think of an evening when he wouldn’t escape through the servant’s quarters with Eijirou by their side, wouldn’t lose themselves as they rushed through town, hearts beating against their ribs like children once more, anticipation thrumming through their veins. Wouldn’t find the hunter, who Katsuki gradually began to refer to as an acquaintance, if not a friend. Wouldn’t travel through the woods, ducking under low-hanging branches and climbing over large, knotted roots. Wouldn’t emerge from the dense forestry to find an enchanted lake that glowed as cerulean as the sea.

Wouldn’t find four swan maidens.

Wouldn’t find Ochako under the wisteria tree with mirth in her gaze and questions on her tongue.

So disheartening, that he limited those thoughts to the daytime during council meetings and his royal duties. At times, Eijirou caught him staring out of the window, brows creased, thoughts miles and miles away. Once or twice, his friend had to shake his shoulder and rouse him from the depths of his thoughts.

He’d even been caught by his parents. Mitsuki had arched a delicate brow at her son as she’d taken a sip from her tea, and when he didn’t notice the inquiring twist of her lips, she’d opened her mouth, only for Masaru to shake his head and silently tell her to let him go. 

After all, he was to be married in two weeks—even if he’d barely forgotten, letting the reminder fester in the back of his mind. 

But evenings—those were reserved for Ochako, for she acted as a reprieve from the stifling palace life that suffocated him. She reminded him that he was human—a person with thoughts and opinions that mattered. Who had desires and wishes and aspirations, even if he couldn’t fully voice them aloud without giving himself away. 

That night, with the full moon hanging above them, beaming through the sleeves of flowers in full bloom, fluttering in the breeze like butterfly wings, the air felt different. Around them, the wind soughed, sending turning leaves and quivering petals into cavorting pirouettes: frenzied and wild and free. 

The light was incandescent, haloing her silhouette, softening her edges and turning her into something celestial. Like she was meant for the sky and not a creature bound to this earth. His breath caught in his throat, and something in him came undone. Never had he wanted her to fill his space, to share their existence, to lace the threads of their life together.

“What?” he rasped, feeling utterly winded. Ochako’s smile tugged a fraction higher, and she stood, holding out a hand. Behind her, spots of moonlight dappled along the grass and decorated the roots that tangled into the ground, knotted and gnarled and timeless. She huffed a quiet laugh, and his heart leapt at the sound. 

For a moment, his gaze roamed her expression, searching for signs of mischievousness or mirth, yet he found none. Simply an earnest excitement imbued with hints of nervousness. For what, he didn’t know.

She gave the barest flick of her wrist, insistent, and he finally relented, sliding his fingers against her proffered hand before she helped him up. And when he stood to his full height, she slipped her fingers through his, interlocking their hands. He could feel her pulse flutter against his wrist, just as he was sure she could feel his racing through his veins. 

Without a word, she led him to the edge of the lake, where she stopped at the point where the limpid waters lapped along shore. He watched her, a current of emotions playing across her countenance, fleeting and uncertain. In an attempt at soothing her, he ran his thumb against the back of her hand and cocked his head in question. 

“What is it?” he tried, and she tilted her head up, gifting a nervous smile. 

“Promise me something,” she said, a whisper barely above silence. “Promise that you won’t run or panic.” Her words shook with uncertainty, as if whatever she planned to do next would drive him away. “There’s something we can do—all of us: me, Mina, Tsuyu, and Kyouka. It’s something that involves a bit of magic.” 

Katsuki inhaled sharply, apprehensive of her next act, but continued to hold on, waiting for her to continue. Ochako must have heard because she stiffened and her hesitation bled into her shoulders. “I don’t know how we’re able to do it, but it’s harmless. It won’t hurt you, nor will it hurt me. I can promise you that.”

“Ochako,” he started, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth, and she jerked at the mention of her name. “You change into a swan when the sun rises, then turn back into a human when the sun sets. I doubt that anything you show me will change my opinion of you.” 

Despite losing the tension in her shoulders, she screwed her eyes shut, brows knitting together. “Even so,” she said, tightening her grip on him. “Please, promise me?” 

“I promise,” he said, and when her eyes didn’t open, brows still furrowed, he squeezed her hand. “I’m a man of my word, remember?” 

At that, she finally relaxed, eyes fluttering open. Timidly, she tilted her chin toward him, a faint curl to her lip. “I know you are. It’s just—have you ever seen us dance?” 

Out of everything they’d talked about, this wasn’t what he had expected. Startled, he had to refrain from barking out a laugh in relief. Instead, he opted to shake his head, cocking it in wonder. If he were completely honest, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that the swans danced. Internally, he knew it wouldn’t be like anything he’d seen or learned in the palace: it wouldn’t be a waltz, nor would it include any formalities that came with performing in the ballroom. And the music—what music would she dance to? What rhythm would she move to? 

“I haven’t,” he answered. 

Her smile only quirked higher, as enigmatic as ever.

“Then let me show you.”

She positioned herself in front of him and took a deep breath, chest swelling with movement. He watched her, gaze intense and probing, but she only took a step back. Then, another and another.

To his astonishment, her foot didn’t sink into the water. Instead, it was as if she walked on glass, each step rippling across the surface, sending rings and rings of light growing around each foot. They illuminated her path, and as she moved farther and farther away and Katsuki remained in place, the distance between them grew and grew until their arms were outstretched, fingers barely linked. 

And with one more step, they were separated.

The cerulean glow illuminated her, imbued a pale blue hue to her gown, its hem swirling around her knees. The fabric, while pale and lilywhite, looked almost gauzy and translucent—as it’d been created from the air itself, silvery and smooth. With every step she took, every breath that fell from her lips, her dress rippled around her, undulating and rolling like the current.

As the moonlight mingled with the enchanted glow from the water, he decided that ‘beautiful’ would’ve been an insult to how she appeared at the moment. There was no way to describe how she knocked the air from his lungs and tightened the strings around his heart, squeezing them until he could barely breathe. 

She looked utterly incandescent. 

He could only watch, breathless and stunned, as she stood still on the water, eyes fluttering shut like an angel that’d come to life. She lifted both hands to her chest, clutching them at her breast, and took a deep, eternal sigh. 

Time came to a stop under the canopy of flowers, suspended in time, the world holding a bated breath as if preparing itself for something great. It was as if all sound had stopped, as if everything in the universe sat on the edges of their seats, waiting, preparing with anticipation running through their veins. 

And then she began to move.

Grace and delicacy infused her movements as she lifted her arms and twirled on the water. Each step was purposeful, fleeting, ephemeral, sending rings of light scattering across the surface. The curtain of flowers seemed to cavort with her, petals billowing with each surge of crystalline light. Ochako kept her eyes shut as she tossed her head back, chestnut hair arching back, her features limned in starlight. 

Her movement was natural, each sway, each twirl, each dip to the beat of her breath or the thrum of Katsuki’s heart. There was so much elegance, so much passion to the way she moved. Every act deliberate and intentional—a story told on the water. A sense of refinement touched the edges of her performance, yet it also sang with something unrestrained. 

The world, he realized—that was her music, her muse. The call of nature: from the sibilance of the wind diving between leaves and petals, creating hushed whispers and quiet laughter, to the chorus of cicadas harmonizing with the drawn out hum of a nearby owl. All of it came together in a melody of chaos and balance. 

Her spirit, unbound, unlaced, unfettered—bared to him and him alone. This was her act of trust, of letting him know that she believed in him, held faith in his promises and in him. 

He didn’t know how long she danced on the water, only that it felt like an instant and an eternity. It called to him like birdsong, a tune that drew his attention, that made every blink feel as if he would miss a pivotal part in her wild choreography. 

Before he could stop himself, he stepped forward, and the tip of his boot broke the water. The regret was instantaneous, for it did not incite the same rings of light that rippled across the lake. Rather, he felt the disturbance immediately, shattering the atmosphere under the wisteria. 

Slowly, gradually, Ochako came to a stop, arms still positioned over her head, fingertips pointing toward the sky. Her chest heaved with each gasp of air, one foot situated behind the other as if frozen in midstep. Katsuki moved back, heels scuffing against the grass, and cursed at himself for inadvertently stopping her whirl with nature. Then, she lowered her arms to her side, and her eyes fluttered open, dark irises shimmering opalescent as it reflected the water. 

Her shoulders rose and fell with each inhale and exhale she took, and when she lowered her gaze to him, she cocked her head and quirked her lips into a half-smile. Even the simple act of walking was infused with grace as she made her way back to him, standing at arm’s length from him. 

“What did you think?” she asked, and per her nervous habit, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, staring up from under her lashes. Her roseate cheeks were her only indications of self-consciousness. 

“It was,” he croaked, then cleared his throat, “beautiful. So unbelievably beautiful. Though, I think I may have disturbed it when I touched the water.” 

She leaned back, eyes widening infinitesimally before creasing in delight. Taking a step closer, she held out a hand, mirth and amusement slipping back into her demeanor. “Would you like to join me?” she asked. It was teasing, almost a challenge in the midst of this serenity. 

He snorted, stepping back. “I can’t exactly walk on water. I can’t perform any type of magic that’ll keep me above the surface.” 

Undeterred, Ochako mirrored his move and stepped forward, wiggling her fingers insistently. “But I can.” 

Dubious, he stared at her, switching between her hand and her face and the way her hair curled at her shoulders. Something about the earnest hint to her smile spoke to her honesty, and he found that he couldn’t deny her wish. So he slipped his hand into hers, silently marveling at the way his palm engulfed hers and how natural it felt for her to slot her fingers in the space between his. 

“You won’t fall,” she promised, walking backwards. Katsuki’s legs wobbled in doubt; he was convinced that he’d drop right in and sink like a stone, one without the elegance of a lackadaisical, falling leaf. He shifted with her, but the hesitation must’ve flashed across his expression because Ochako remained wordless, guiding him with everlasting patience. 

Finally, after two heartbeats of internal beratement, he mustered enough courage to lift his foot from the safety of the grass. His eye twitched in uncertainty, half-expecting Ochako to yank him into the water. But she only waited, watching him carefully to gauge his reaction. Then, he set down his foot and winced as it made contact with the illusory surface. 

Rather than break, it solidified under his boot, rings of light rippling from the connection. Bewildered, his grip on Ochako teetered and tightened as he lifted his other boot, still fearful that the ground would shatter beneath him and plunge him into the cool depths. 

“Naturally,” Ochako crooned softly. “Move naturally, like you’re walking on solid ground.” 

Her utterance only marginally soothed the spark of panic that lit his chest ablaze, half with alarm, half with excitement. This was happening, he realized, as his other foot settled on the lake’s gem-like surface. Twin rings of light rolled from under his feet, spreading far and wide until they disappeared from sight, losing their glow. He glanced down, gaping at the way the twigs and plants swayed under his feet. 

It was truly like standing over glass. 

Ochako giggled, and the sound was like tinkling wind chimes. He continued to watch the ground, allowing her to pull him further from the shore. Four sets of light furled from their makeshift dance, of Katsuki taking a step forward and of Ochako taking a step back. 

“Don’t let go,” she whispered as they came to a stop. Katsuki finally lifted his head to find her beaming at him in pride, and the sight incited embarrassment to flood his cheeks and the back of his neck. “Hey, hey,” Ochako tried, squeezing his hand, “I’ve got you.” 

“If I let go, will I fall?” he tried, voice surprisingly steady even as he racked his mind of excuses for entering the palace sopping wet. Just in case. 

“Probably,” she admitted, and he swallowed heavily. Even through the glassy surface, he could see that the rocks and plants sat further below the surface than when he stood at the shore. “But it’s fine. You’ll be fine. I’ll keep you from falling.” 

He released a shaky exhale and attempted a wobbly grin. “How does this go?” he asked, and she blinked at him, question sitting in the windows of her open soul. “Your dance—is it meant for more than one?” 

“Ah, no.” She huffed a laugh. “I’ve danced with the other swans before but never with someone normal. Tsuyu has danced with Fumikage, and she says the most important thing is to never let them go, lest you want to fish them out of the water.” 

“Then…” He trailed off. Then, what are we supposed to do? 

He held onto her awkwardly, coming to a standstill. She appeared equally unsure, mouth pursing in thought as she pondered over their predicament. Neither of them moved as they stood on the surface, every twitch, every jerk sending cascades of light around the cover of wisteria blooms. 

Suddenly, an idea came to mind, and Katsuki shifted his stance. He moved slowly, not wanting to startle her or risk detachment, disliking the idea of swimming back to shore. He lifted their hands until they sat at chest level, and with the utmost care, unlinked their fingers, keeping their palms pressed together. Then, he twisted to curl them over her palm. 

“Stay still,” he murmured, taking one more step to close the gap between them. Gradually, deliberately, he twisted one hand to hold hers as the other trailed down her arm, feeling the fabric of her transparent sleeve brush against his fingertips. If he weren’t standing so close, if their chests weren’t a breath from touching, he would’ve missed the slight gasp that slipped between her lips. 

It was as if standing atop of this enchanted lake, light glistening around them, sending shards of glass flickering against the trees, the sky, the blooms, left them vulnerable to each other. Unable to return to his usual, royal mask of impassivity, one of stoicism and diplomacy, Katsuki felt exposed, the most fundamental part of himself unfurled for her viewing.

Luckily, she seemed just as vulnerable, struggling to contain the blush that rose in her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Something profound echoed in the space between them, reflecting the cerulean hue that pervaded their small enclosure. 

His hand continued to travel, brushing his fingertips under her elbow and up the underside of her arm to rest against the side of her chest, where he could feel life thrumming under his palm like a hummingbird in the midst of escape. She tilted her chin down, watching him with haze clouding her eyes. 

Curling his fingers over her side, he brushed down the slopes of her body, slow and gentle, until he slid the flat of his hand against the small of her back, where he held her against him. 

His lips grazed her cheek with a touch as light as moths' wings until they brushed against the shell of her ear. Her lashes fluttered against his cheekbone, and each breath fanned against the corner of his jaw, ragged and unsteady. 

They were close—so impossibly close that he felt each and every miniscule movement from her, including her futile attempts at suppressing shivers elicited by his gliding touch.

“You showed me your dance,” he breathed, and this time, she couldn’t hide the tremble that journeyed down her spine. “Let me show you mine.” 

With his hand on her back, keeping her body pressed against his, he began to move in slow, practiced movements, a rhythm and pattern that’d been ingrained in him the moment he could walk. Years and years of lessons in the ballroom, and this was the first time he felt self-conscious about his footwork, keenly aware of how this dance was one between two and not one where he performed out of duty. 

Before, he hadn’t cared who acted as his partner, barely interacting, speaking out of courtesy and inwardly wondering when it would end. Here, he wanted Ochako to enjoy it, to fall into tandem with him and move with each other as a single entity. 

At first, she stumbled after him, unexpectedly clumsy after her previous dance, and he could tell that she wasn’t used to being led by someone else. So accustomed to dancing to the rhythm of the world around her, she had no clue how to act when another figure was thrown into the equation. 

In a way, it was endearing to watch her follow his movements, knees knocking like a newborn foal. Uncertainty lined her expression, sat at the edges of her hesitation as she fell half a beat behind. As she had with him, he treated her with patience, one foot after the other for her to grasp. 

“Follow me,” he instructed, barely above a whisper, words meant for her and her only. “When I take a step back—”

“I step forward,” she finished, similarly hushed, keeping the moment tethered between them. “It’s a little difficult to predict.”

Crooking a grin, he chortled and leaned down, cheek grazing hers. “It’s a little difficult the first time around. Once you figure out the pattern and the rhythm, everything will fall into place. Trust me, I’d know.”

She slowed to a stop, and he pulled back to gaze at her in concern. Had he said something wrong? Was it too difficult? After all, these sort of dances were reserved for those in the court and those of higher standing. 

“I do, you know,” she finally said, keeping her eyes trained on his shoulder, uncharacteristically timid. “Trust you.” 

His mouth went dry. Unaware of the shift in his world, Ochako continued, “We haven’t known each other very long, but you’ve shown that you’re a man of your word. You stayed to right your mistake when you could’ve easily run and discarded us from thought. But you didn’t, you haven’t. Instead, you come every evening when the sun goes down—you’ve done so since the beginning, and you’ve been nothing but dedicated toward atonement. So yes, despite what Mina or Kyouka would think, I trust you.” 

“But—”

With her free hand, she lifted a finger to his protest, pressing the pad against his bottom lip. “It also means you’re not a bad person,” she said softly, and for a split second, he was whisked back to their conversation on morals. “People make mistakes—that’s a given, but it’s the decisions afterward that matter. Those who come back, who put effort into righting a wrong, who do something, are the ones worth trusting.” 

Heat burned at his cheeks, under the collar of his shirt, until it practically swallowed him whole. Inundated with emotion, he could barely keep his expression under check—had no clue as to what face he made, so he pulled her close once more and pressed his temple against her hair in a lame attempt at hiding from her.

This was too vulnerable, too raw: a coalescence of emotions bombarded him, so much so that he could barely identify what he felt at the moment. Embarrassment, happiness, fondness, guilt—and so many others filled him to the brim, threatening to spill over the cusp of his composure. 

He was glad that she trusted him because he’d wanted nothing more than to earn it with perseverance. At first, it’d been a way to abate his guilt and complete a sense of duty, but now—now, he wanted so much more. He wanted her friendship, her trust, her belief, her happiness, her fulfillment: everything. He wanted everything, yet he also wanted everything for her. 

And he had no right to earn it if he kept such a massive secret from her.

“Ochako—”

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder and inhaled deeply, cutting him off. “Are all of your dances so intimate?” she asked, partially muffled by his shirt. “Is this how you dance with all of your partners?” 

At this point, their waltz had fallen apart, reduced to a gentle sway that fell in line with the same wind that whispered among the trees. The ripples of light had grown sparse, no longer as large or prominent with their lack of movement. 

Katsuki took a deep breath, then shook his head. “No,” he rasped. “Just with you. Only you.” He’d never allowed anyone to get so near, so familiar, always keeping his partners at a respectable arm’s length away. But things were different with the swan maiden, and while the waltz dictated a rhythm of triplets, he was content with the way they’d collapsed into one another, time and space forgotten under the canopy of petals.

She hummed, and he swore he could feel her smile against his shirt. Then, she drew back and lifted her hand to cup his jaw, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone. It was only natural to lean into her palm, his eyes screwing shut as he felt her warmth, the faint brush of her fingertips against his skin, feather-light and scorching. The truth about his status, the lie he’d upheld since the beginning, lodged in his throat, heavy as stone. 

Her other hand grasped his shoulder, and she lifted herself to press a light kiss against his cheek, grazing the corner of his mouth. His breath caught, and instinctively, he turned to brush his lips against hers, twin bows that were plump and soft. Her sigh tasted sweet on his tongue, borne from tenderness, warmth, timidity, bravery—all of it sweeter than the finest wines served at the palace. Katsuki pressed her closer, angled his head, and kissed her deeply, feeling her gasp in response. 

At first, he thought he’d pushed her too far, and he pulled back a fraction, an apology sitting on the tip of his tongue, when she kissed him again, slow and languid, savoring and tasting, testing their bounds. And he slowly realized that he didn’t merely enjoy spending time with her, he wanted to be with her. 

Soon, she pulled away and set her forehead against his shoulder, and he took the chance to bury his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. Rainwater—she smelled like rain and petrichor, light and earthy. The moment to tell her the truth had passed, blanketing them in silence, and Katsuki resolved that he would tell her the next time he saw her. 

For now, he let them sway to the beats of their hearts. To the susurration of the wind that sighed around them and the hum of cicadas in a burgeoning spring. To the monotonous question the owl posed, deep, tuneless, whimsical. 

Under that wisteria tree with the moon as their only witness, they danced and danced until time slipped away, and they parted once more with the promise of a new tomorrow. 

 

--

 

“You look positively awful.” 

Katsuki swore as he dropped his quiver, arrows clattering along the hall, echoes reverberating around the stone walls. A few of them bounced as they collided with the ground, and Katsuki swooped to grab at them, barely grabbing onto the strap of his quiver. His mood plummeted as he whirled to find Dabi watching him coolly, a ream of parchment cradled in one arm. 

The advisor regarded him with a slight raise of his brows, staring down at the prince with all the condescension the world had to offer. His other arm hung by his side, burn marks on display, scars and whorls mangling his skin, angry and red. Though he appeared unassuming, uncaring, Katsuki erred on the side of caution and leveled him with a glare.

“What the fuck is that suposed to mean?” he snarled, bristling at the nasty aura that seemed to ooze from the unsettling man. Even half-exhausted, Katsuki knew to be on his guard, especially when the corner of Dabi’s mouth pulled into a smirk. A gleam crawled over the whites of his eyes, a manic giddiness that revealed the dark cracks of the advisor’s impassive mask. Ice crept over Katsuki’s spine, inducing a round of gooseflesh to erupt over the nape of his neck. 

“It means,” Dabi said, taking a step forward, and while the act was harmless, it still managed to feel threatening. The advisor paused as he positioned himself by Katsuki’s side, and the prince had to grit his teeth to force himself not to move. Deliberately, he leaned down until Katsuki could feel his exhale against his cheek, then spoke softly, “you look tired.” 

Something moved against his hair, and that was Katsuki’s limit. He jerked away, scowling so deeply he was sure it’d become a permanent fixture on his face. But Dabi, as always, remained collected. His hand came away, and pinched between two long, knobby fingers was a white feather. 

Katsuki’s veins turned to ice at the sight as the advisor pulled it close to his face, observing the wild barbules and twisting it between his grip. The innocent gesture sent nausea rolling through Katsuki’s stomach, for somehow, Dabi managed to taint the act. He half-expected to burst into flame or turn to ash at the advisor’s proximity. It felt wrong.

As much as he wanted to slap it out of his hand, to force the man to drop Ochako’s feather, all Katsuki could do was glare and imagine that the intensity of his gaze was enough to sear holes into Dabi’s head. After what felt like an eternity, Dabi cocked his head in disinterest and released it. 

They watched it twist through the air, twirling in dizzying circles before being whisked away by a gust of wind. 

"Curious," Dabi spoke casually, tilting his chin to follow the invisible path the feather had taken. Katuski stayed silent, refusing to humor the man. Dabi's gaze slid to Katsuki, who could feel his scrutiny. "I don't recall ever seeing feathers like that around the palace—almost as white as snow.” 

Both men held contrasting gazes: one as cool and disinterested as the next common man, and the other burned as hotly as the sun. They regarded one another, and to Katsuki’s minor satisfaction, Dabi broke the connection first with a tired sigh, shifting the pile of parchment from one arm to another, revealing more holes and whorls and angry skin.

With a polite bow of his head, one filled with hidden mockery, Dabi continued on his way, not bothering to wait for Katsuki’s dismissal. It didn’t matter, Dabi could leave all he wanted—he didn’t need Katsuki’s permission to pack his bags and depart the kingdom, for all the prince cared. His light footsteps barely echoed in the hall, and just as Katsuki’s shoulders began to loosen, they paused in their rhythm, and the tautness returned.

“You’d do well to remember, your Highness,” Dabi started, and Katsuki didn’t have to turn to know that the royal advisor didn’t bother to face him, “that accidents can frequent a hunt...especially in the cover of night.”

Dabi wasn’t one for theatrics, but he was one for riddles, and Katsuki knew the man held a sadism for always knowing a little more than his opponents—always one step ahead of the others. And this—this was a thinly veiled threat.

The footfalls resumed their casual pace, and when Katsuki whirled on his feet, nose flaring and eyes sharpening, tongue burning with choice words, the advisor had disappeared. 

 

--  

 

That evening, the path to the wisteria was blocked by a boundary in the shape of a swan maiden. Katsuki stopped in his tracks, too surprised to hide his reaction as Kyouka stepped in front of him. Her arms crossed, countenance severe, she radiated an vehemence that could’ve rivaled his own. 

This was the first time he’d seen her up close, the latter always opting to either stay by Mina or Tsuyu’s side or slinking away into the shadows, away from him or Eijirou. Her disapproval radiated off of her in salient waves as she observed him, but there was less coldness and a resigned crease to the corners of her eyes. While she emitted a demeanor of a warrior, it only amplified her fierce beauty. 

“Um,” Katsuki uttered intelligently. With no previous encounter, no conversational context, he had no idea how to proceed. It didn’t help that she simply watched him, mouth curled in displeasure. He knew nothing about her, only that she disliked him—rightfully so—for injuring one of her sisters. 

Eijirou had paused behind him, and Katsuki could feel the way he watched them carefully, unwilling to part from the prince’s side. And when Kyouka didn’t move, Katsuki realized she was waiting for a time to speak to him alone, so he turned and flicked his wrist in a small show of dismissal. Dubious but trusting, Eijirou nodded with hesitation before brushing past the pair. 

Out of earshot, Kyouka nodded for him to follow her, and without a word, the odd pair began to trek in the opposite direction of the wisteria. Mina and Ochako were nowhere to be found, and he suspected that they all knew Kyouka’s wish to speak to him. Throwing a wistful glance over his shoulder, he noticed Tsuyu smile at him in encouragement as Eijirou struck up a conversation with the hunter at her side. 

Kyouka continued to lead him further around the lake, staying close to the ring of trees that surrounded the clearing. She was silent, as frigid as winter’s biting touch, and it wasn’t the type of silence that blanketed him and Ochako: one filled with content and something warm. Kyouka’s silence was stifling, formed from a healthy dose of pessimism and caution. 

Funny, he realized, all of the swans’ personalities aligned with a season.

Mina, like summer, grew warmer and warmer with each passing day, filled to the brim with sunlight and mischievousness—with a childlike wonder that seemed to glow from within, waning into a cool veil at her subdued moods, not unlike the way the sun switched places with the moon.

Tsuyu, like autumn, was filled with a respectable kindness, an old soul that mothered the rest with aging leaves and baring branches. Neither too heated nor too glacial, she hovered somewhere in between, comfortable like a cup of warm tea. But there were moments when he could feel her melancholy like charcoal clouds that hung overhead with the promise of first snow. 

Kyouka, like winter, could appear bitter and arctic, sharp edges jagged and biting. Enclosed by a layer of ice that seemed nearly impenetrable, even with the sharpest of ice picks. Yet this thick layer that hid her countenance did its job to protect her family, keeping them warm while icing others out. 

And Ochako, like spring, thrived with the cadence of blooming flowers and delicate petals, timid sprouts that flourished under April showers and misty mornings. The earth, the lake, the trees all came to life under her gentle touch—much like he did when she cupped his face and pressed tender kisses against his lips. 

So caught up in thought, he nearly slammed into her back as she stopped abruptly under a mangled tree, and he barely stopped himself from toppling over her. A low-hanging branch snaked across their path, thick and teeming with life, smaller branches twisting in intricate patterns. With practiced ease, Kyouka hauled herself onto the makeshift seat and twisted to face him, crossing her legs as she glared down at him. 

“She danced for you.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. Katsuki bit his tongue; it wasn’t a topic he wanted to broach. Not because it made him uncomfortable but because it was such a private moment between him and Ochako. Kyouka tilted her head higher, then to the side. “And you with her.” 

Did she do this with Fumikage as well? Interrogate him into oblivion? He supposed not because Fumikage hadn’t injured Tsuyu the first time they met. He puffed out a breath and nodded, keeping his chin held high, hints of regality in his stance. His growing feelings for Ochako weren’t something to be ashamed of, though they felt exposed under Kyouka’s keen glare. 

“Yes,” he affirmed, steeling himself for her wrath, yet all she did was hum thoughtfully and scour his expression. What she was searching for, he didn’t know. An uncomfortable silence blanketed them, enough that he had to resist scuffing his boot in the grass. Somehow, the swan maiden had perfected the same sort of scrutiny his mother used to use against him as a child. 

If Tsuyu played the angelic guardian, then Kyouka played the part of the protective parent without any flaws. 

“What are your intentions with her?” She broke the atmosphere first, gaze flicking back to him. Before he could answer, she continued, “You say you’re here to heal her, but that’s not all you’ve done, has it? You’ve taken her trust and stolen her heart. So, again, what are your intentions with her?” 

The minute nuances of her tone grew rough, like a palm scraped against rock: a warning. 

He couldn’t help it—he scoffed, and Kyouka’s impassivity cracked for a moment to reveal a burgeoning anger. 

“I think you have it wrong there,” he said quietly, turning away to face the lake. Across the shining, cerulean surface, the familiar curtain of wisteria flowers grazed against the water, sending small, barely perceptible ripples cascading across glass. Through it, his mind flashed to the evenings spent in Ochako’s presence—to the way her eyes crescented before smiling, the way her chestnut hair poured over her shoulder and tilted at the ends, the way she poked holes into his arguments with a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit. 

Without realizing, his expression softened, and his position lost its rigidity.  

Kyouka cocked a brow, as if to say enlighten me. 

“You say I’ve stolen her heart, but I think it’s the other way around.” The admittance slipped out of him easily, eyes still trained on the tree, hopeful to see her silhouette flit through the shadows. Seeing nothing, he was slightly disappointed yet simultaneously relieved that their time together couldn’t be spied on by any curious onlookers. “I don’t know what my intentions are because who’s to say in these circumstances? I can’t tell you what the future will hold, but I can tell you this—” He turned back to Kyouka, whose hands had fallen into her lap. “—I know what I feel for her.” 

The conviction in his voice was strong, and Kyouka’s lips parted in surprise. As he spoke, he began to truly understand the depths of his feelings—how strongly he felt them. And really, it shouldn’t have come as much surprise, given his proclivity for intensity. While he couldn’t put a label to them, he knew they were much more than a simple friendship. 

A deep sigh punctuated the air, and Kyouka leapt off of the branch and stepped toward him, then jabbed a finger at his chest. “Don’t hurt her,” she warned. “If you do, I swear—”

“I won’t.” Katsuki held up a hand and curled it around the back of her hand, lightly pushing her back. Her arm fell to her side, but her glare was still leaden with caution and wariness. “I’ve hurt her once. I don’t plan on doing it again.” 

 

-- 

 

Before he knew it, the evenings flew by with startling speed, and his upcoming birthday loomed ahead like a dense overcast, dreary and foreboding. With a week left until the celebration, the palace had begun its preparations, and every time he trudged down the halls, he was reminded of the event. 

Vases on half-pillars were cleaned daily until the ceramic could reflect the halls with striking clarity.

Flowers of all varieties were freshly picked from the garden, their vivid colors shuffled from one combination to another in the hands of the hired florist.

His mother had taken up residence in the ballroom, and her orders echoed from the open double door, traveling down the halls to further grate on his nerves. 

Everywhere he went, he couldn’t escape it: an impending doom that manifested itself into nightmares of a wedding with a faceless bride.

Luckily, Eijirou knew his sentiments and didn’t point out any of the festivities that were soon to take place. Instead, he trailed behind the prince and suggested different activities that might take his mind off of the subject—horseback riding, tightening his bow, training with a broadsword, hunting—

Katsuki had thrown him an exasperated glare at the last proposal. 

However, he had two reprieves: 

One, with the palace bustling over the approaching date and its potential political implications, it left no room for error. This meant all of the staff had their hands full, juggling a myriad of responsibilities, and this included Dabi and Toga. Neither he nor Eijirou had laid eyes on them since the preparations had begun, which they considered a stroke of good luck.

His second reprieve came in the form of the setting sun, a time when he knew he and Eijirou could escape the palace and disappear into the forest for a few hours. 

Ochako’s wound grew fainter and less angry, and soon it would become a pink, puckered scar. This meant she moved more freely, and more than once, she whisked Katsuki onto the lake, where they held each other close and shared secrets underneath their wisteria. 

Today, she sat at the edge of the lake, feet resting on the surface, and each shift sent rings of light scattering across the surface like painted glass. The whisper of flowers gave his entrance away, and Ochako sent him a small quirk of her lips, then patted the space next to her.  

This time, there was something that sat atop their silence, heavy with hints of melancholy. When she curled her lips into a half-hearted smile, the act didn’t hold the same mischievous that he’d grown fond of, one that lit up her expression. The creases at the corners of her eyes weren’t there, nor did they crescent like the moon. Her shoulders bore the weight of memory, and he could feel it weigh down the stillness. 

“Are the bandages too tight?” he asked, leaning his weight on the heels of his hands. Grass sifted between his fingers, blades that bowed under his shadow. Tilting his head down, he watched her in concern, searching for any signs of discomfort: a twist in her mouth, the shift in her stance—anything that pointed toward pain.  

Instead, she hummed and shook her head. “No, but I appreciate your concern. Thank you, good sir.” Her words held faint amusement, and it sent a pang of relief through his chest. He nodded, pursing his mouth, still dissatisfied with her answer. There was something wrong. He could feel it.

“Then…” He trailed off, leaving the interval empty for her to fill. Still, she only hummed and touched the water, casting more light gleaming across their colorful canopy. It wasn’t until the bands of light died into its cerulean glow that she spoke.

“What do you think we are?” 

Taken aback, he blinked, clearly not expecting the serious question. It wasn’t one of philosophy, nor was it personal. A hushed plea for truth sat in the nuances of her tone. Swallowing heavily, he bit his cheek in careful thought.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I know the sun turns you into a swan and that you turn back when it sets.” 

“Have you ever wondered why?” Now, she folded in on herself, clutching her legs to her chest and resting her cheek on the caps of her knees. “Or better yet, how all of this—” She made a sweeping gesture around the wisteria, a flourish from the base of the tree to the gleaming water. “—is possible?”

Of course he had. No one in their right mind wouldn’t question the nature of the clearing, along with its trees, its waters, and its inhabitants. He’d wondered about it from the start but had been too polite to voice it aloud; Eijirou had been the same. The two of them spent more than enough time with their heads bowed, speculations and observations sitting at the tips of their tongues, escaping in hushed whispers. 

He nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about it, but magic is the only explanation that comes to mind. Even so, it feels too broad to fully encompass everything.” 

Her answer was a grimace. “Yes, well, you’re right on that front. Magic is the basis of our tale, but it’s not all of it. Not even close.” 

Katsuki resisted the urge to reach over and slip his fingers into the space between hers—to smooth out the lines of distress that seemed to age her. Hunched over, she held a tension in her shoulders, stiff with memories and nightmares. Even the mild gleam that slipped into her eyes seemed to reflect untold trauma. 

He didn’t speak, opting to wait, despite the way impatience seemed to gnaw on his bones, to subdue a curious itch that needed to be scratched. It wasn’t solely because, as a member of the royal family, he needed to know the inner and outer workings of the kingdom, but because he merely wanted to know, like a child that questioned why the sun rose in the mornings and sank in the evenings.

“I wasn’t always like this.” Ochako filled the silence between them, and he sensed that she felt ready to reveal the secrets of her past. “I grew up with a mother and a father, with neighbors who raised chickens that woke us at the crack of dawn, with friends who dashed and ducked through winding fields.” A sigh feathered across her lip, nostalgic with happier times. “My mother loved to read, and my father spent his time outdoors.” 

With what Katsuki knew about the swans, it was difficult to imagine Ochako as a child playing in sunlight, one who laid her head in the cradle of her mother’s lap as she read, or one who followed her father through fields of high grass, her small hand grasping the hem of his shirt. In fact, it was difficult to picture her in daylight, with the sun illuminating her chestnut hair and pale skin—possible only in the realm of his imagination. 

“To emphasize,” she continued with a wry smile, “I didn’t turn into a swan in the midst of the sun. I wasn’t born that way—I was normal, like you.” 

He wasn’t sure what to think, or what to feel, for that matter. On one hand, he wasn’t completely surprised, as Ochako and the other swans had shown a level of intelligence he wouldn’t have found if they’d started out as birds. On the other, it still startled him to hear her confirm his suspicions aloud. So she hadn’t started out as a swan maiden. 

If that were the case, then what had happened? 

As if she could read his thoughts, she screwed her eyes shut, breath hitching as if trying to refrain from hyperventilating. When she spoke, her voice trembled. 

“There was a girl,” she whispered. Her hands shook, clenching into fists, and her brows furrowed as she snapped her gaze back to the water. She’d grown pale, a sheen in the whites of her eyes, haunted by the memory. Her reflection stared back at her, equally as haggard. “She appeared out of the woods asking for help—she said that her carriage had broken down, that her father had sent her to look for help. I was with a few of the village children, and none of us knew what to do.

“So I said I could take her into the village to look for anyone that could help them, but part of the way there, she said she’d left something in the carriage—I think she said it was a gift from her mother, that it was something she couldn’t abandon, but she was too scared to go back alone. So I volunteered to go with her.”

Dread slipped down his throat as he swallowed, pooling in the pit of his stomach. Ochako pulled her legs closer, hugging them for dear life, as if to anchor herself to the moment; to avoid slipping into the past and tethering herself to the present. 

“You don’t have to—” he started, but she shook her head.

“I want to,” she interrupted. “I want to tell you.” 

At that, he couldn’t refuse her and fell silent, allowing her to fill the space with the wisps of her memories.

“She took me deep into the woods, further than I’d ever gone, until we reached a road, where there really was a carriage, one more lavish than I’d ever seen. She invited me in, but it didn’t feel right. No one was around, the carriage looked fine—nothing out of place, and I knew—I just knew something was wrong.

“So I turned and ran. That little girl, the one who’d seemed so scared, called after me, crying. As I got further and further away, I realized that she wasn’t crying. She was laughing, almost as if my running away were the greatest joke ever told. It sounded...giddy, with a degree of insanity and cruelty; it was a sound I would never forget, not while I live. Even now, it lives on in my nightmares. Luckily, she didn’t follow me, but she called into the woods, knowing I would hear her and singing that it was ‘too late.’ 

“I ran until I saw light—the village lights, but even then, everything felt off. The air was wrong, the sky was wrong. It was darker than night, even though I was sure I hadn’t been gone long enough for the sun to set. And there was a smell, bitter and acrid: smoke.” 

Ochako began to shake, fingers trembling as the sheen in her eyes grew pronounced. A few stray drops rolled down her cheeks, gems that caught the light. As much as Katsuki wanted to wrap an arm around her and pull her close, he knew it wouldn’t comfort her. Not at that moment. 

“I remember everything as clear as day: how the sky looked closer than it had ever before, as if it would swallow everything whole, how the air seemed to burn and burn and burn. How the roar of the fire barely drowned out the screams of the villagers who had been caught in the fire.

“There was nothing I could do but watch. No matter how far I ran, no matter how hard I screamed for my mother or my father, no one came. The closer I got to the village, the more the fire seared me until all I could do was run along the outskirts, searching for any signs of life.”

For the first time, she lifted her head and swiped the back of her arm against her eyes, rubbing away tears that would be replaced with more. Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “I watched people burn.” 

Frozen, he could only watch her relive that harrowing memory. The amount of trauma she must’ve undergone as a child—he couldn’t imagine watching the kingdom burn away. His mother, his father, his friends, maids, servants, gardeners, cooks—all of them burning. The thought was so frightfully agonizing that he blanched, nauseated with the thought of a young Ochako watching the only life she’d ever known be razed to the ground. 

The fear, the smoke that stung her eyes, the screams that rang in her ears, the smell of burning flesh. Even just listening to it was too much. Yet he remained in overwhelmed silence. 

“I don’t know how long I stayed around, desperately searching for a familiar face. And the longer it burned, the more I realized that this was no normal fire.” Her tone darkened, and her shattered countenance hardened. “There was something holding me back. I could feel something preventing me from entering the fray. There was something unnatural about this fire, for it burned brighter and hotter than I’d ever seen.

“And when I collapsed, I had no words left. My throat had grown raw from screaming, and I’d run so much that I’d lost the strength in my body. But then, the strangest thing happened.” She lifted a hand and snapped her fingers into a fist. “The fire went out. Just like that, it was as if there’d been no fire in the first place. I remember how ash rained in the aftermath, how smoke curled in the skies, how grey the world had seemed.

“I remember seeing the silhouette of a man standing at the center of what used to be my home, now filled with the remains of everyone I’d loved and lost. At once, I knew he was responsible for the fire, for the destruction of everything dear to me. He stood there, gazing at the ruins with the most apathy I’d ever seen in a man. 

“It felt like years had gone by before he moved, turning as if he knew I was watching him. Then, he approached me, crouched down, and touched a hand to my hair.

“‘There’s nothing for you left,’ he’d said, ‘I’ll take you to your new home, where you’ll meet your new sisters.’

“He picked me up, and I fell unconscious. When I woke, it was in this clearing, to Kyouka cleaning my skin and wiping my tears. Mina held me as I cried, and Tsuyu did her best to soothe me. Somehow, that man had cursed us to become swans during the day, only changing us back in the evening. It was then that I learned they’d all gone through the same horrible experience—of being led away by a girl, only to realize they’d been tricked, and run back to find their homes devastated by the fire. 

“It’s been years, but it’s not something we can forget easily. The four of us swore to protect each other from harm because we were all we had left. We became family, bonding through our trauma and our love and care for each other. There are still nights where one of us will wake up screaming from nightmares.

“But we have each other, and now we have Fumikage, Eijirou, and you.” Ochako sniffed, and his heart lurched in sympathy. Reaching over, he slipped her fingers between his, holding her palm flush against his. “Our family grows, but there are moments where I feel guilt and shame. There was nothing I could do. Maybe if I’d tried harder, maybe if I’d run faster, maybe if I’d—”

Her words escaped in a frenzied rush, inundated with remorse of a memory she couldn’t escape. He squeezed her hand, cutting her off with a heaving breath. Leaning down, he spoke softly. “You were a child…”

“Still—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. With his free hand, he reached up to brush a lock of hair from her face, grazing the tips of his fingers against her cheek until he cupped her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You were a child,” he repeated. “There was only so much you could do. The fact that you stayed and searched makes you braver than you believe.” 

“I just,” she sniffed, voice wobbling, “I just wish it’d never happened. As much as I love Kyouka, Mina, and Tsuyu, I wish I’d met them under different circumstances. They mean the world to me, but so did my friends, my family—my parents. You can’t possibly understand what I’d give to see everyone one last time, to say I’m sorry.” 

“Ochako.” He pulled her so that she faced him. “There’s nothing you need to be sorry for. You didn’t cause the fire. You didn’t kill your friends and family. You weren’t the man or girl who led your village to destruction. They wouldn’t want you to say sorry. They’d want you to live a life—a good life, a long life.”

“That’s what Tsuyu said,” Ochako whispered. She took his hand and pressed a kiss against his knuckles, wet with tears, and he couldn’t quite stifle the way his breath hitched. Even after crying, under the moonlight, she was still beautiful. Turning, she pressed her cheek against his hand and gestured to the lake. “She says that this lake is made from souls and tears and that’s the reason we’re able to stand on the surface. We dance on this lake to honor them and remember them.”

Katsuki pulled back, startled at the new information. He’d danced with her on the lake as a stranger to their people: did this mean he’d dishonored them, at worst, desecrated the water? His mind flew through a rapid stream of apologies, each one clumsier than the last.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Ochako quirked the corner of her lips, though her eyes remained mournful with the ghosts of her memories. “We can only bring those we trust onto the water. If we trust them, then the water trusts them. Though…” She trailed off, turning away, suddenly abashed. 

He cocked his head in question, trying to catch her gaze. But she pulled her hand from his grasp and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, humming thoughtfully. Conflict played across her expression, and he sorely wished he could read her mind.

“What?” he asked. Assuming the worst, he grew alarmed at her pensive silence. “Really, did me being on the water do something bad?” The question came out more dismayed than he’d expected, shoulders wilting as he thought of the possible ways he could apologize to the lake.

“No, no. On the contrary…” 

He’d never seen her struggle so much with her words, as they’d always been as sharp as a whip. Instead, she seemed to flounder, and in a fit of frustration, dropped her head into her hands and groaned. Now worried, his hands hovered around her, unsure if touching her would console her or exacerbate her exasperation. Finally, he settled them on her shoulders, curling them around her upper arms, in the hopes that the act would comfort her.

The gesture did its job, and the tension slowly left her body until he thought she’d slump against him. Instead, she remained upright, but her hands never left her face. It took him a second to realize she was mumbling under her breath, too quiet for him to hear, practically inaudible. 

“It’s not just trust.” Her whisper sat just above silence, and her hands fell to her lap in defeat. The cerulean glow from the lake illuminated the flush that bloomed across her cheeks. “We can only bring people who we’ve given our hearts to.” 

As his mind processed her admittance, he froze, blinking down at her in astonishment. Was she saying…? Could she possibly mean…? Hope rose to his chest, blossoming and warm, as his heart galloped against his ribcage. The depths of his feelings, once dark and fuzzy with confusion, cleared like the nighttime sky, glimmering like the pinpricks of light that shone around them.

If anything, her head bowed lower at his reaction, and her voice cracked. “Just as Tsuyu has given her heart to Fumikage, I’ve given mine to you.” 

When he didn’t move, she sat back, misconstruing his silence for rejection, and he caught a glimpse of a tear rolling down her cheek. Everything he wanted to say lodged in his throat, blocked by a dam soldered from a blend of emotions: euphoria, relief, and so many more.

He’d thought he’d been falling alone. Now, he knew she'd fallen with him. 

Though, he was certain that he’d fallen harder and faster.

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed and cupped her cheek, thumbing away the tear. She lifted her head to meet his grin, and her blush deepened, as did her embarrassment. 

“It’s not funny—” Her words cut off as he leaned forward to press his lips against hers. The kiss was wet, salty from her tears and sweet from her breath. Even sweeter now that he knew her feelings mirrored his to some degree. It was light, as weightless as butterfly wings, but it still caused his heart to stutter. When he pulled away, she gasped, and he trailed his lips up and across her cheek, hoping to soothe away any possible fear of rejection. “Katsuki?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he repeated, murmuring the words against the shell of her ear. Her fingers had crept into his shirt, grasping the fabric like a lifeline. Her breath was ragged against his jaw, taken aback by his sudden display of affection. He leaned back and cradled her face in his hands, holding her as if she were made from glass. “You talk about giving me your heart as if you hadn’t stolen mine long ago.” 

When his words registered in her head, ingrained themselves into her understanding, her eyes widened, and the light that filled her gaze would’ve been enough to fill the sun, the moon, and their stars with envy. 

With a wordless cry of relief, she lunged at him, throwing her arms around him and pressing her face against his neck. His arms flailed at her unexpected tackle, and they toppled back. There, she pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat as he locked his arms around her waist, intertwining his fingers at the small of her back. 

“Did you mean that?” she asked, breath hot against his skin. He could feel the remnants of her tears graze against his skin, slick and cool. In contrast, she was warm, pressed flush against him, and she lifted herself onto her elbows to hover over him. Strands of her short hair tickled his cheek as she hovered a hair’s breadth away. “Really, Katsuki?” 

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, still inundated with emotion. He gazed up at her, at this swan maiden who’d survived so much, who’d been torn from her home, who’d watched her people and her village burn, who’d been thrown into a life she hadn’t asked for, who’d shouldered so much trauma. “I did.”

She’d been beautiful before, but under the moonlight and the enigmatic glow from the lake, Ochako blossomed into one of the loveliest souls he’d ever had the pleasure to meet. One of the kindest, smartest, strongest, most genuine, and he realized, with stunning clarity, that he wanted her by his side in the future. He wanted them to take care of the kingdom together, heart by heart, hand in hand, and help the people prosper. 

She would be a gentle but firm ruler. Intelligent and sharp to take on the nobles in court. Kind and benevolent to his people. Clever and discerning in the face of diplomacy. 

There was no one else he’d rather have by his side. 

“Ochako,” he started. Above, her eyes fluttered shut, and a smile tugged on her linorps. Her heart beat in tandem against his as she settled her weight carefully on his chest, and he released a hand to brush her hair from her cheeks. In response, she turned and nestled the apple of her cheek in his palm, inhaling deeply. 

“Don’t ruin the moment,” she teased as he resumed his position with his hands locked behind her back. Comfortable, she shifted so that her ear pressed against his breastbone and traced indiscernible patterns against his arm. “I’m so irrevocably happy right now.”

The truth died in his throat. “Are you?” 

“Yes,” she admitted. “I was prepared for you to leave after telling you about...how I came to be cursed. I didn’t think you, or anyone, really, would want to involve yourself with someone so damaged—”

“You’re not damaged,” he interrupted. “You’re strong—resilient.” Utterly incandescent.

“I understand what you’re saying, but it’s not something I believe,” she added softly. 

At that, he smoothed a hand down her dress. “Then I’ll make you believe it for as long as it takes.” Though hidden from view, he felt the uptick of her smile.

“I’ll hold you to that. If anything, I was also afraid you’d leave after I told you about the lake. I didn’t know how you felt because...because it’d been so quick.” She folded her arms across his chest and lifted her head, setting her chin atop her hands, expression serious but tinged with embarrassment. “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks—”

“Through unconventional means,” he added, thoughts flitting back to their first meeting, and grimaced. Before he could continue, she reached over to smooth out the lines on his face.

“Through unconventional means,” she confirmed. “And it hasn’t been a month. Are we moving too quickly? I’m inexperienced in matters of the heart.” Doubt seeped into her tone.

He shrugged. “As am I, but who knows? I’ve heard from others that the heart works in mysterious ways. We can’t help the way we feel, but there is something more important: is this moving too quickly for you? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me.” 

"No, I don't mind it." As if to prove her point, she pushed herself back up and brushed the tip of her nose against his. Her lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and the urge to close the gap between them was difficult to resist. "I trust you." 

With that, he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her again.

 

--

 

Throughout the next day, Katsuki's mind reflected on Ochako's past. Something about it nagged at his thoughts, something obscure yet distinct enough to scream for his attention. Rumination took over half a day, but it wasn’t until sundown that he realized what it was that bothered him.

As the realization struck him, he paused in place, thunderstruck as to how he hadn't seen it earlier. The lack of crunching grass and snapping twigs must've been salient because Eijirou paused as well, glancing over his shoulder with an arched brow. 

"Katsuki?" he tried. When he caught Katsuki’s expression, he whirled on the spot and was at his side in an instant, eyes shifting left and right in search of danger: alert. One hand circled the handle of his broadsword. "Did you notice something?" 

Katsuki flicked his wrist down, a motion familiar to Eijirou to mean stand down. Though he relaxed an iota of the way, his fist remained loose around the sword, and his stance shifted into defense, one foot poised and prepared to parry. “No—there’s no one around but us.” Katsuki paused, then turned his gaze toward his friend, serious and solemn. If anything, this seemed to have the opposite effect on Eijirou, who shifted in discomfort. “Did they ever disclose their past to you? Anything about villages and fire?” 

The atmosphere grew heavy as his friend finally relaxed, shoulders falling in understanding. “Somewhat. I learned a little from bits and pieces of our conversations, but they never outright told me how or where they’d grown up.” 

Katsuki nodded, then glanced around their surroundings to confirm that no one—namely, Fumikage—was around to eavesdrop on their conversation. But extra precautions never hurt anyone before, so he yanked on Eijirou’s cloak and pulled him behind a tree, hiding them from view. Eijirou flailed but managed to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out in surprise at Katsuki’s sudden move. 

“What did you learn?” Katsuki asked, bowing his head and lowering his tone. Wide-eyed, Eijirou floundered, brows furrowing in thought as he tried to remember the information he’d learned from their friends. “Whatever detail you can spare, tell me.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Eijirou admitted. “All I know is that they didn’t start off like swans, that they had a childhood and that they could walk in the sun like anyone else. And then, tragedy struck—fires, I think. Whatever it was, it destroyed their homes, and they woke up next to the lake.” 

“These fires,” Katsuki started, “did they ever mention where they happened?” 

Eijirou shook his head. “Not clearly. But I think they were right on the outskirts of the castle…” His words slowed as he came to the same, halting realization Katsuki had earlier. “You don’t think…those fires…” 

Grave, Katsuki nodded, face twisting into a frown. Equally disturbed, he filled in the speculative gaps. “People don’t travel through the woods much because of the fires that happened years back. Because there were villages that’d been razed to the ground with no survivors.”

“One to the north, one to the south, one to the east, one to the west,” Eijirou whispered as he grew pale. “Four fires…”

“Four swans,” Katsuki finished darkly. “The villages were apparently looted, but that’s just a rumor, since no bodies, no homes, nothing was found in the ruins. But what if they weren’t burned because they’d been looted? What if there was a deeper purpose to those fires? What if they’d been a distraction?”

“No survivors would mean no need to search for a missing child.” Eijirou paled even further, and there was a sick sheen to his skin. “But who would go to such great lengths to kill everyone in a village just to kidnap a child? What purpose would they have? What would they gain in the first place?” 

“I don’t know.” Katsuki grimaced. Not knowing why the four maidens were taken in the first place disturbed him because the entirety of the situation was dark enough as it is. The gaps in their knowledge were filled with shadows darker than night, filled with wicked intentions and nefarious plots. What more, the person behind this scheme had to be someone with immense power, enough to pull off such a tremendously vile feat and manage to stay hidden from the public eye. “Whatever the reason, it isn’t good.” 

He lifted his eyes, meeting Eijirou’s gaze, who looked as if he were close to heaving. “Eijirou, I can’t…we can’t let this go on.” 

At his words, Eijirou sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He slumped against the base of the tree, utterly defeated. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?” 

Katsuki’s silence was a deafening answer. 

“Nothing I say will convince you to back away from this, will it?” Eijirou nodded, tongue poking his cheek. He dropped his head into his hands. “I swear to god, Kat, this is a terrible idea. Before, I gave you some leeway ‘cause you were just bandaging some wounds, but this...this is way over our heads. I know I said this about the whole Ochako situation, but this time? This is really way over our heads because we don’t know what we’re dealing with. People have died. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re not exactly a common citizen—”

“I know that!” The outburst rang through the web of branches, and Eijirou clamped his mouth shut. Katsuki exhaled sharply and threw a fist against the trunk, feeling his skin scrape across the rough surface. He lowered his voice a fraction, though it wasn’t enough to hide the frustration that laced his tone. “The castle, the upcoming celebration—everything reminds me that I’m the crown prince, all right? You don’t need to remind me.” 

“Then you know we can’t risk your safety,” Eijirou said, and while firm, his tone had softened considerably. “I know you want to help them. I know you want to be with Ochako—” Katsuki spluttered in embarrassment. “—but this is out of our hands. Neither of us believed in magic before the swans, and to go up against the people who turned them in the first place is too dangerous.” 

Eijirou was right. Of course he was, but Katsuki couldn’t help the way his mind flashed to Ochako’s predicament. It felt so wrong not to try when he had an abundance of resources at his fingertips. It felt wrong to leave her and her sisters without attempting to break their curse. It felt wrong to give up for his own safety, especially after he’d pledged his heart to her and her to him. 

Then, a secondary thought struck him, and he paled. “What if—” He started slowly, and Eijirou wilted. “—it affected the kingdom?”

“What do you mean—Katsuki! Wait! What did you mean by that?” Eijirou leapt up from his spot and stumbled after Katsuki, who had begun his trek through the woods with renewed vigor. 

His pace was quick, unrelenting, heart thudding in his throat and blood roaring through his ears. Behind him, Eijirou struggled to catch up, still stunned at Katsuki’s turn in attitude. Forget about the snapping twigs, forget about the crunching grass, forget about stealth—there was something he needed to confirm. 

Soon, they burst into the clearing, where the swans startled at their harried appearances. Ochako stood from where she’d been sitting with Mina, and the latter whirled to face them with an arched brow. Tsuyu’s words paused midway as she and Fumikage noticed the severity of Katsuki’s pace. Even Kyouka leaned forward in alarm, arms crossed over her chest. 

Without a passing glance toward the others, Katsuki strode toward Ochako with purpose. She watched him curiously until he stopped in front of her. Behind them, Eijirou fell a step behind him, and he threw his hands up in exasperation, heaving for air. 

“Katsuki?” Ochako tried, cocking her head. Mina stood slowly, cautiously, hesitation threading her movements. The others moved closer, unsure of what had transpired to cause Katsuki to act this way, but the latter was hellbent on confirming his suspicions.

“Who was the man, the one who’d done this to you?” 

"What?" she breathed in surprise. Mina hissed, lips curling in distaste, and Tsuyu faltered at the question. Kyouka’s nostrils flared.

"The man who started the fires. Who was he?"

A hand settled on his shoulder, and Eijirou's cautious use of his name spurred him to shrug it off, determined to gain an answer.

Ochako, caught off-guard, could only stammer her response. “I don’t know. He never mentioned a name nor did he mention anything about himself."

"His looks then." Katsuki’s impatience grew frantic, an itch that needed to be scratched. "If there's anything you remember, anything at all, tell me." 

"Oi." Kyouka’s warning was cut off as Katsuki flicked his wrist, and he didn't need to see her to feel the burn in her glare. 

Ochako knitted her brows as she thought. "He looked like any other man. Tall and thin. Dark-haired." 

Katsuki's shoulders fell, pulling away, but stopped when she continued to speak. 

"But his skin…his arms, his face. There were so many burns. Yes, I remember that clearly. The man—this sorcerer who'd cursed us—had been scarred and burned." 

Katsuki couldn't breathe. Judging by Eijirou's sharp intake of breath, neither could his friend. He turned over his shoulder, ignoring the bewilderment of the rest, and connected their gazes. 

A mutual understanding passed between them in the form of one word, one name. The only person who seemed capable of committing something so vile and cruel. 

Dabi. 

 

--

 

“You’re sure Ochako said there was a little girl,” Eijirou whispered, head bowed as they cornered themselves at the back of the library. The book perched on Katsuki’s forearm was light, and he mindlessly eyed the contents, pretending to be occupied by the text. Eijirou, on the other hand, had taken to peruse through the shelves, finger running across the row of tome spines. 

“I’m certain,” Katsuki murmured back. “I’m sure Toga was the one who lured the girls away from the village while Dabi set everything on fire.” 

Eijirou shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Dabi isn’t much older than we are. If he were the one to set the villages on fire, then he’d have been a child, one barely approaching manhood. You’re sure Ochako said it was a young man who carried her?” 

“Yes.” Katsuki resisted the urge to snap the book shut and launch it across the library in frustration. “It doesn’t make much sense, but that’s what she said.” 

“Then, unless he was born diabolical, which I’m sure is possible, he must be dabbling in some sort of sorcery. Well—” Eijirou stopped, as if struck by lightning. “Wait, wait, wait. Now that I think of it, he doesn’t seem like he’s aged, has he?” He glanced around them before pulling Katsuki closer, bowing their heads. “Think about it. No one questions it ‘cause his burns practically obscure his face. In your memory, does he seem any different than he did years ago when he first arrived at the castle?” 

Katsuki blinked. Understanding dawned on him. In all of his previous encounters with the strange man, even as a budding child, Dabi looked no different than he did now. Unlike his mother or father, both of whom aged gracefully with lines etched at the corners of their eyes, Dabi did not change. 

“That’s imposs—”

Eijirou stuck a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare say it’s impossible,” he hissed, annoyed. “We’ve been watching swans turn into maidens every evening. I think that eclipses the realm of impossibility. And this is Dabi we’re talking about, not some common servant in the west wing— Dabi.” The emphasis on the name was heavy with implication. 

If that were the case, then Dabi wasn’t merely calculating and cold; he was more dangerous than any of them initially realized. Like a snake in waiting, Katsuki thought. The royal advisor had somehow slithered into the castle, woven himself into the cogs of servitude, and hidden in plain sight. Who knew what he practiced behind the scenes? 

The only person who could possibly answer the question was Toga, but he severely doubted she would be willing to give Dabi away, given her unwavering loyalty toward the wicked man. 

“We can’t ignore this,” Katsuki said, finally shutting the book. He pushed it onto the shelf with enough force to rattle the other books. Sighing, he leaned back, feeling the wood dig into his back. 

“For once, I agree,” Eijirou said, resting his hand against his furrowed brows. “And don’t give me that surprised look. This directly affects the kingdom in the worst way possible because he’s the royal advisor. He’s got something up his sleeve, and Kat—I don’t know. Something feels off. We haven’t seen him since the celebratory preparations. It might just be me, but I feel like he’s planning something big on the night of your birthday.”  

Katsuki grimaced. Oddly enough, neither of them had run into Toga or Dabi, which in itself was strange because the two frequented his family’s quarters, specifically Masaru’s study, where he held unofficial meetings with his advisor. His stomach sank like a stone when he wondered how tight of a grip Dabi had on his parents. 

“What can we do—”

“Your Highness?” 

The pair leapt a foot into the air. So caught up in their discussion, they barely noticed a valet approaching them. The stout man bowed in respect before lifting his head. He eyed them curiously but made no remark. Katsuki cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“Your mother summons you.” 

The hag and her impeccable timing. 

“Tell her I’m busy.”

The valet inhaled deeply, as if repressing an exasperated sigh. Everyone in the castle knew about his tumultuous relationship with his mother; after all, according to Eijirou, their screaming matches could be heard from multiple parts of the castle. 

“Your Highness, she was adamant about your appearance in the main hall.”

“Fucking hell,” Katsuki growled, whirling on his feet. “What does she want?” 

The valet straightened. “The nobles and royal families from foreign kingdoms have begun to arrive.” 

Katsuki’s eye twitched. The implication was clear: his marriage prospects had begun to arrive. Princesses and heiresses would begin to flock the castle in the hopes of gaining his attention. Though, none would have it as his mind flashed to Ochako. 

Coincidentally, the sun outside had begun to set, and he knew, without a doubt, that greeting so many families would eat up his time with her. “Tell her I’m preoccupied tonight and that I’ll meet the families on the day of the festivities.” The valet parted his lips to protest, but Katsuki shut him down with a fierce glare. Pivoting on his heel, nose in the air, he left them to their devices, and Katsuki rolled his eyes at his antics. 

“Your mother will murder you.” Eijirou lifted the corner of his cheek in sympathy. “She’ll have your head for breakfast.”

“Can’t,” Katsuki murmured. “It’s forbidden.”

His friend scoffed. “Not if she’s the queen.” 

He snorted. “Too right.” 

 

--

 

Tonight, Katsuki found Ochako standing by the lake’s shore, hands clasped behind her back as she lifted her gaze to the sky, eyeing the pinpricks that accompanied the moon’s everlasting glow. For a moment, he paused, taken aback by the break in their routine, and this momentary hesitation turned into a stunned appreciation. The light from the lake engulfed her, haloed her silhouette, and he had to remind himself that she was a swan maiden—and not an angel.  

His gaze scoured her lithe figure, from her chestnut locks to the way the light illuminated her pale skin, to where her waist rounded into hips, to the hem of her dress that swirled around her knees, light and gauzy. Growing up, Katsuki had always been surrounded by women, especially those in the court privileged enough to dedicate time to their hair and ostentatious gowns, yet never had he been rendered breathless by any of them. 

None of them could hold a candle to the way Ochako appeared in the lake’s cerulean glow: simple and beautiful. 

Utterly ethereal. 

“Evening,” Mina said, stepping to Katsuki’s side, and he finally tore his eyes from her. Mina’s voice caught Ochako’s attention, and the maiden whirled on her feet to greet Katsuki with a smile that could’ve lit up the midnight sky. 

“Katsuki!” she exclaimed. Eijirou had split off with Fumikage and Tsuyu, the trio speaking in hushed tones, as if to avoid disturbing the peace in the clearing. This time, Kyouka didn’t seem as bothered, perched on a moss-covered log, her head cradled in her hands, disinterest clear on her expression. 

Ochako, on the other hand, seemed more energetic than usual, back straight and the moon reflecting off of her dark irises. She noticed him glance at her side, where they would usually take care of the wound, and cupped it gently with a light smile. “It’s just about healed, so don’t worry! Better yet, we’re supposed to have guests this evening!”

“Guests?” he repeated, gobsmacked at the knowledge that others knew of their existence. Mina snorted at the twist in his expression, and she patted him on the shoulder before making her way to Eijirou, Fumikage, and Tsuyu, weaving herself into their conversation seamlessly. “There are others that know about you?”

“Just two more,” Ochako affirmed. “They’re close friends of ours. They discovered us a little earlier than Fumikage had, and they’ve never told a soul about us, which we all appreciate. Also, they bring us things from time to time: books, sweets, little trinkets they think we may enjoy. Sometimes, they’ll make more than one trip if we need something specifically, like bandages or herbs.” 

For a split second, he wondered who these two friends could be and how many more knew about the swan maidens. So far, he’d counted three: himself, Eijirou, and Fumikage—though that number would have to be revised to five. 

Before he could dwell too much on the question, Ochako stepped forward and gripped his arm. Her beam grew radiant as she tugged him toward the treeline. “I think I see them!” she exclaimed, and he held onto her, lest she accidentally hurt herself in her enthusiasm. Unbothered, she only folded her fingers over his arm, tightening them in excitement.

Two shadows grew between the trees, one as tall as Katsuki, the other a little shorter. And as they emerged from the depths of the forest, he noticed that one was supporting a large crate, of which he could see books peek from within. Then, he lifted his stare to find a head of bicolored hair and eyes, a chimeric combination that he’d never seen before. Beside him, his companion sported the wildest bush of forest-green hair he’d ever seen, accompanied by virescent irises set in a round face, complemented by a splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Izuku! Shouto!” The maiden slipped from Katsuki’s arms, waving toward the pair. The shorter of the two perked up at her voice and threw up an arm, rushing forward to collect her in an embrace. Katsuki stayed back, watching them with curiosity burning in his chest. Who were these two that Ochako felt so fondly about—that she would wholeheartedly throw herself into their arms? 

“Oh, Ochako! It’s always nice to see you. Beautiful as ever,” the shorter said, and Ochako pulled away, holding him at arm’s length, puffing a laugh at his compliment. Katsuki clucked his tongue.

“As kind as always, Izuku,” she laughed. If the shorter was Izuku, then the chimeric one had to be Shouto. As Izuku dropped his arms, his hand brushed her side, and she winced. Alarm flashed across Izuku’s countenance, and Katsuki couldn’t help the twist in his expression. “Sorry, force of habit.”

She immediately reached down to cup her hands to her side, stepping back with an awkward smile that edged on a grimace. Shouto set down the crate and moved closer, bending down to peer at her with narrowed eyes. 

“What happened?” Shouto demanded as Izuku frowned, brows furrowing in concern. 

Instead of answering, Ochako reached forward and took both of their arms. “Later,” she said shyly, “for now, meet my new friends.” 

Friends? Is that what they were? 

It was better than strangers or acquaintances, yet why did he feel a slight twinge of disappointment? The small part of his mind whispered that he wanted her to introduce him as something more.

Regardless, he’d worry about it all later because Ochako was tugging the two toward him. He blinked at the approaching trio, and when Izuku met his eyes, the latter stared at him, cocking his head, brows furrowing even further. 

There was no doubt that they’d connect Ochako’s wound to his presence. Katsuki prepared himself for the onslaught of questions they’d direct toward him. Maybe even a punch or two—he deserved it. 

Ochako released the two and moved to Katsuki’s side. Then, gesturing toward him, she began to introduce him. “Shouto, Izuku—this is Katsuki. Katsuki, this is Shouto and Izuku, two of our close friends.” 

At that, Izuku paled, and he fell into an odd kneel but not before grabbing onto Shouto’s arm, yanking him down into a half-bow. Shouto, startled by the act, stumbled. The crate tumbled to the ground, and books and parchment spilled from within. “Your Highness!” Izuku exclaimed. “We had no idea you’d be here.”  

Time seemed to come to a standstill, suspending them in the moment. The revelation, the secret Katsuki had tried so hard to keep, had been carelessly thrown into the open. Slowly, realization dawned on the prince: Izuku hadn’t been observing him to connect him to Ochako’s wound—he had been watching him carefully because he’d recognized him.

Stupid.

Careless.

Of course someone from town would be able to identify him. Why did he think everyone would be like Fumikage—someone who took no interest in the royal family? 

“Your Highness?” Ochako parroted. Her arms fell to her sides as she gazed up at Katsuki, eyes wide, confusion splayed across her expression. She stepped back and shook her head. “You’re mistaken. Katsuki’s a hunter, just like Fumikage.” She turned back to Izuku, who kept his head bowed, and Katsuki noted the way his shoulders shook with surprise. “Right? Katsuki?” 

Stunned into silence, Katsuki could only watch the scene unfold before him, gazing at the two who knelt before him. Each breath, each second that passed, had been elongated to feel like a century, an eon. Ochako’s faith in him seemed to waver as she waited for a denial that would never come, and ice replaced the blood that roared through his veins. 

How did things come to this? How did fate manage to flutter from his fingertips, giggling and coy, as it revealed his deepest secret without a care? He’d meant to tell her, he’d meant to ease them all into learning that he was the crown prince of the kingdom. Yet—yet, the time had never seemed right. Perhaps there was no right time—perhaps there never would be. 

Izuku and Shouto remained still, and after five slow heartbeats, he realized they were waiting for his instruction. 

“Rise,” he croaked, barely able to rasp through the dryness that plagued his throat. He’d never hated his position more than at that very moment. To further exacerbate the reveal, Izuku and Shouto stood at his command, and while Shouto watched him curiously, Izuku kept his gaze low in respect—a habit that came from the palace, Katsuki realized. 

In his periphery, Ochako took a step back, an amalgamation of emotions flitting through her face: disbelief, surprise, betrayal. It was the last that hurt him the most. 

“You’re a prince,” she whispered, gazing at him in a new light. “You’re…” 

She gripped her skirt, fingers digging grooves into the light fabric. Her shoulders began to shake, and her bottom lip trembled. In that breve of bated silence, he felt something shift between them. While he could barely move, stilled into stony silence, his heart stuttered at her reaction, sinking into the pit of his stomach. 

“You…” She took a step back, and instinctively, he followed. Her hands shook even harder, and he caught a gleam of something bright gliding down her cheek. “You…” 

The tear spurred him to move. He lifted an arm, hand outstretched, fingers reaching toward her. Out of the corner of his eye, Shouto bent into a crouch to collect the fallen books and parchment; Izuku scrambled to help him. The latter kept his head bowed, whereas Shouto watched his exchange with Ochako curiously. 

Katsuki half-wanted to snap at him to avert his heterochromatic eyes, for this was a matter between him and the maiden, but no words could escape his lips. He took another hesitant step forward. Ochako stumbled back, fingers tightening against her skirt. 

And then, she whirled on her feet and dashed under the curtain of wisteria flowers. Without a thought, he rushed after her, ignoring the shouts that rang behind him, a mix of voices that sounded suspiciously like Eijirou, Mina, and Izuku.

Shoving the flowers aside, he found her leaning against the trunk, hands fisted in her skirt, hair curtaining her face, hiding her expression from him. There, in the wisteria, all sound seemed to fade around them, as if they’d been split off from the real world and thrown into another plane of existence. 

Normally, it was something Katsuki appreciated—privacy and silence, but now, all he could hear was Ochako’s ragged breathing and her stifled crying, and he would’ve taken anything else in the world than to hear something like that. 

“Ochako—”

“Don’t,” she stammered, holding up a hand to stop him in place. Then, she swiped at her face, rubbing the heel of her hand against her cheeks. “Don’t…I don’t—” Sniffing, she pulled her hand away, gazing at the sheen that glistened off of her skin. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. Shock, maybe?”

“Perhaps,” he whispered hoarsely. It was like his body had taken over, and within a few strides, he stood a few paces away, afraid to move any closer lest she run again. At their position, she stood at around the same height, and he could see every droplet that traveled over the slopes of her face. “Ochako, I was going to tell you.”

“Were you?” She hiccupped and shifted away. Hurt ignited in his chest, a slight flame that flickered dangerously toward the fuse. “Gods, this changes everything.”

Gritting his teeth, he stepped onto the tree root she stood on and raised both arms, hesitating once when she flinched. Then, without a word, settled both hands on her hips and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of grass and wisteria flowers. “It changes nothing,” he murmured, feeling her ragged breath graze against his neck. “My feelings for you are as genuine as they were yesterday and the day before. Here, with you, I’m not a prince. I’m not royalty. Here, I’m simply Katsuki.” 

Ochako braced her hands against his chest, and for a moment, he thought she would return his embrace. Instead, her fingers shook as she pushed him away. Unable to deny her, he stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides, palms burning with the heat beneath her dress. She trembled as she clasped her hands to her chest. “You’re still royalty,” she said, ragged. “All of those talks of arranged marriages, of asking whether you can learn to love—that’s not something you can escape from easily.” 

There was no point refuting her answer, for they both knew this was true. Katsuki wasn’t some commoner’s son, nor was he the son of a noble—if he were, he’d have a larger chance at breaking society’s expectations. The matter of the fact was that he was royalty and that the good of the kingdom came before his own wants and needs. If his parents chose to wed him to a foreign princess for diplomacy’s sake, then there was almost nothing he could do.

“But—”

“You’re a prince,” Ochako said with finality. “Tell me, are you the oldest son?”

He didn’t want to answer, yet his lips parted on their own accord, and he admitted, “I’m the only son.” 

“Then, you’re the crown prince, the one who will inherit the kingdom and its duties.” There was a resigned slump to Ochako’s shoulders. She wrapped an arm around herself, cupping her elbow, as if the act would protect her from the truth of the situation. The threads that wove the fabric of their reality seemed unbreakable at that moment. She lifted her gaze. “Are you engaged?” 

“No.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. If I were engaged, I wouldn’t…” I wouldn’t have fallen for you. I would’ve distanced myself. I would’ve spared us this very moment. “I’m not that type of man.” 

She sighed and leaned back, nodding wearily. “I know you aren’t,” she said, barely above silent. “No more lies, Katsuki.” Her plea filled with desperation, and he could practically hear the way her heart had begun to splinter in half, cracking in tandem to her voice. “What else haven’t you told me?”

He moved away, averting his gaze. Shame burned on his tongue. “In three day’s time, I will turn twenty-three. On the evening of my birthday, I need to choose a bride, or my mother and father will choose for me.” Ochako sucked in her lips, light dimming from her eyes. Resignation sat heavy on her shoulders, as it did on his. “Nobles and princesses across the land have arrived for the celebration.” 

“Then—” Ochako cleared her throat. “Then, you will have to pick one, and we’ll never see you again—”

“No!” he snapped. A stubborn frown painted her face, and he scowled. “My mother wants me to choose, but I can’t. I can’t—not when I have you, not when you’re still cursed to become a swan when the sun rises...I can’t do that myself. I can’t do that to you.” 

Silence fell between them, and each heaving breath punctuated the air, sharp and jagged. Katsuki couldn’t fathom how things had come to this, couldn’t understand how he hadn’t seen this coming in the long run. His fingers flexed by his sides, his hurt and heartbreak reflecting Ochako, his anger a burgeoning force against himself. 

Finally, Ochako released a breath and swiped her hands down her face, clearing it of tears. She stepped off of the root and moved to him. Reaching forward, she cradled his hands in hers. “It’s not simply a matter of the heart anymore,” she whispered. “If you were truly just Katsuki, and I were just Ochako, then things would fare differently. Yet, the truth is that you are a prince, bound by duty and responsibility, and I am cursed to remain by this lake, never truly a swan, never truly a person. Our lives are different, and that’s something we have to accept.” Her last word broke, shattered in the palm of his hand. 

Taking a breath, she lifted her chin, and the light from the lake reflected a sheen in the whites of her eyes. “You promised to stay until I was fully healed, and I am. You’ve atoned for your mistake, so you’re no longer bound to me, to any of us. I forgave you a long time ago, and I hope this eases any lingering guilt you may feel.” 

Her words knocked the air from his lungs. Something about them rang with a finality—a goodbye. 

She was letting him go. 

With that, she lowered her head, and he realized that she was going to bow to him as Izuku and Shouto had. Before she could do so, he surged forward and grasped onto her shoulders, halting her, then tilted her chin up to face him. Surprise shone in her gaze, and he shook his head, rasping, “Don’t do that. Not you. Never you.” 

He hated the way his voice wavered. He hated the small, defeated smile that curled on her lips. He hated the way his heart had begun to shatter, as if made from the finest glass. 

Ochako took the hand under her chin and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Her lips were still wet from crying, and the only indication of her heartbreak and acceptance was the tattered exhales that feathered between them. “I wish you well, Katsuki.”

He wanted to take her into his arms, to cradle the back of her head under his chin. He wanted to whisper that no one could take her place in her heart. He wanted to abandon all duties and remain under this wisteria, remain by the lake, remain hidden by the curtain of flowers that cavorted in the wind. 

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do any of that.

Nor could he move when she pressed one more kiss to his hand and turned on her feet. In a few heartbeats, she disappeared from their shared space, and he was left alone.

 

--

 

“Oi—”

“You will address me with respect and as your mother.” Mitsuki didn’t bother lifting her head as the servant before her presented two curtains to use in the ballroom. To Katsuki, they looked to be the same shade of red; no difference whatsoever. Yet his mother narrowed her eyes and felt both fabrics. Then, after a few agonizing minutes, she pointed to the one on the left. “Use that one,” she ordered. “It’ll complement the flowers.” 

“They look exactly the same,” Katsuki deadpanned, stepping aside as the servant brushed past him with a nod of her head. Again, the two lengths of fabric looked no different from one another. 

Mitsuki turned to him with a displeased arch of her brow. “Katsuki, I’m not in the mood to deal with your enmity, so if you’ll please, I have your birthday festivities to plan. Leave me be—I haven’t entertained this many foreign nobles in years. Though, if you’re here to help, I won’t be opposed to it.” 

“I’m not here to help!” he snapped, and her lips thinned irritation. The slight narrowing of her eyes revealed her temperamental short fuse and waning patience. Before she could dismiss him, he grasped her shoulder, pulling her back in hasty regret. “I, uh, I actually wanted to talk to you.” 

There weren’t many things that could surprise the queen—after all, she’d visited faraway nations that lay beyond the sea, had tended to those who toed the line of poverty and hunger, and had raised a bullheaded son for twenty-three years, one who’d inherited her obstinate streak and fiery temper. 

But this—this was new ground, and she visibly startled at the vulnerability that colored his tone. Something about it tugged on her motherly instincts, and the lines on her face softened, though she retained the stern pucker of her brow. Without a word, she nodded in understanding and cocked her head toward the hall, an indication for him to follow.

Katsuki retained his scowl as he trailed after her. Servants bowed their heads as they passed, and she led him into a small study. When she shut the door behind her, the bustle from the celebration preparations ceased to a muffle, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence. He wasn’t accustomed to confiding in his mother, nor was she the most reciprocal. Both were emotionally volatile people who preferred to react. 

Mitsuki leaned against the large desk, crossing her arms in wait. The gesture reminded him of the last ‘conversation’ they’d had regarding his impending birthday and potential marriage. That had spiraled into a screaming match with no resolution, and he sorely hoped this wouldn’t be a repeat. 

His mother remained strict and stone-faced, but he could glean slight concern in her gaze, especially after it flicked down, then back up. Without realizing it, he’d begun to wring his hands in nervousness, and he swung them to his sides, wiping his palms down his trousers. 

“I wanted to talk to you about my birthday,” he said, clearing his throat. She nodded for him to go on; her silence—her presence was stifling. “It’s about the marriage aspect of it.” He mumbled ‘marriage,’ unable to choke out the word that’d put a rift between him and Ochako. 

At that, both of Mitsuki’s brows rose in surprise, but to his eternal gratitude, she remained silent, waiting. He recognized this as her method in the throne room as she and Masaru listened to the citizens’ grievances. It allowed her to listen to the entirety of a story before forming judgment. 

“Do you and father…?” He trailed off and rubbed the nape of his neck. The conversation was difficult enough already, given how stressful the topic of marriage was, exacerbated by the fact that he was freely admitting this to his mother, of all people. “Do you expect me to pick a noble? Or a princess?” 

Mitsuki cocked her head, and she regarded him carefully. Her countenance softened into sympathy as she hummed. Finally, she exhaled deeply. “Your father and I have talked about this extensively. We would prefer it if the person you picked were a noble. A princess would be ideal—” His expression fell. “—but we realize that marriage is a lifelong decision, so we’ve chosen to give you some leeway in your decision. As long as you believe her to be fit to be a future ruler, and your father and I approve of her, then I don’t see any reason to deny you the freedom to choose someone of your liking.” 

His relief was palpable, and Mitsuki watched him in interest. “Do you have someone in mind?” 

At that, he couldn’t help the heat that bloomed at the base of his neck, spreading up and over his jaw to bleed into his cheeks. His mind flashed to Ochako, and he averted his gaze, missing the way Mitsuki’s amusement piqued at his reaction. If anyone else were in the room, they’d feel the burn of Katsuki’s embarrassment and Mitsuki’s airy delight. 

“Will you bring her to the ball?” she inquired, and a sly, knowing gleam percolated into her gaze. “You’re welcome to bring your guests, as long as you remember to give them an invitation.”

Katsuki didn’t need a mirror to see how red he’d flushed. “Who said I was bringing anyone?” he spat venomously, then pointed an accusatory finger in his mother’s direction. “Don’t make assumptions, you old hag!” 

Remarkably, she didn’t lash out. Instead, to his utter surprise, she snorted and shook her head. For that, he wasn’t sure which one he preferred: her wrath or her entertainment. The first—he’d dealt with through his life; it was predictable, and in a convoluted way, it was comfortable. The latter—he had no idea how to react other than splutter in further indignance. 

“Well—” Mitsuki clasped her hands together, a demure, mischievous smile curling at the corners of her lips. “—whoever she is, don’t forget to give her an invitation. I’ll send a maid up to your room later with one, though if you’d like, you can pick them up in Dabi’s study.”

Katsuki froze. “Dabi?”

Mitsuki nodded, unaware of her son’s brewing turmoil. “Yes, he’s taken a great deal off of our hands by taking part in the organization.”

“Why would he—”

“Why are any of us? Like you’ve said before, this isn’t some common festivity we hold annually. This is your birthday! One in which you will seize your place in adulthood and in this kingdom. Anyone would have a fervent interest in helping.” Then, brushing off the skirt of her gown, his mother bid him a stern cock of her head before moving past him to return to the great hall. “Oh, and dear? I’ve sent up your uniform for your birthday. I know how much you hate it, but you will look presentable, whether you like it or not.” 

He whirled on his feet, a retort sharp on his tongue, only to find himself alone. Scowling, Katsuki grumbled under his breath as he left the small study and began his journey to the armory. 

Partway down the hall, a servant stopped him in his tracks, bowing her head in respect. “Your Highness. Master Eijirou awaits you in your chambers. He asks for your presence as soon as possible—” 

Before she could finish, Katsuki had turned on his heel, changing directions for his room. So preoccupied with his thoughts, he dismissed the bustle of servants around him, rushing from one place to another in haste until they became blurs in the corner of his eye. Bounding up the steps, he wove between people, pushing through groups with hurried ‘excuse me’s and ignoring the way a few of them threw him exasperated glares.

As dawn had broken the skyline, splitting the sky into various shades of fire, Katsuki had given Eijirou a task, of which its importance had heightened with the new information his mother had given him. His steps were loud and echoed around stone, and they only grew louder as the flow of people ceased. 

Through the door, he could hear muffled speaking, recognizing the timbre of Eijirou’s voice before it was cut off by another. The latter was weaker, filled with surprise and a timid meekness. 

Without ceremony, he shoved open the door and slammed it behind him, leaning against the wooden surface with a heavy sigh. One figure jumped to attention, while the other stayed put on the edge of Katsuki’s bed. 

“You found him,” Katsuki stated, carding a weary hand through his hair. Eijirou nodded with a shrug, gesturing toward the gangly figure that had fallen into an awkward bow.

“Wasn’t too difficult. There aren’t many servants named Izuku in the castle. Imagine my surprise at finding him in the kitchen.” Eijirou shifted on the bed, hoisting up a leg to rest his arm on his knee. He glanced at Izuku, who stared resolutely at the ground. “You can stand, you know?” 

However, Izuku remained in his position, and Katsuki dragged a hand down his face. Fucking hell—this was the same thing that’d given him away the night before. Though, he couldn’t find it in himself to place the full blame on Izuku. The timing had been unfortunate, but he’d bitterly accepted that it was his own fault for not telling Ochako sooner. 

“Rise,” he said, and Izuku rose with the command. Eijirou, unbothered, continued to watch the two with interest. “We need to talk. All three of us, though, four would be better. Does your companion work in the castle?” 

Izuku startled. “No, Shouto owns a local bookshop in town—” That would explain the books and parchment. “—If you need him, I’m sure he can spare an hour, or a day if need be—”

Katsuki dismissed him with a wave. “No need. What we’re about to speak of does not leave this room, with the exception that you pass on the message to Shouto. Do you understand?” The air he exuded was grave, filled with severity and importance. Sensing the change in mood, Eijirou sat up and leaned forward, folding his hands at his knees. Izuku’s eyes widened, mimicking a startled deer. 

Katsuki set his attention on the new arrival. “How long have you known Ocha—the swan maidens?” 

Izuku furrowed his brow. “A few years, I reckon, though I’m not entirely sure myself. Four or five?” 

“So you care for them?” Katsuki crossed his arms, an imitation tactic he’d learned from his mother. “Would you say your relation to them is good?” 

At the question, something flickered in Izuku’s eyes, a resolve that hardened his irises into stone. Even his shoulders seem to straighten with firmness. “They’re like flesh and blood to me, and to Shouto. We care for them as if they were our sisters.” Something akin to a mild threat nuanced his tone, and Katsuki quirked the corner of his mouth into a caustic half-smile.

“So you care for them deeply?”

“Yes, sir,” Izuku answered. His voice lost its waver, determination fierce in his stance. “I know Shouto, and we would protect them with our lives.” 

Katsuki nodded in approval. “Very well. That will serve us well, though I don’t expect that you’ll have to give up your life anytime soon.” He pushed off of the door and made his way to the duo. “I just spoke with my mother—”

“And you survived?” Eijirou cut in with a snort. 

Katsuki leveled him with a narrowed glare before continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “—and I learned that Dabi has taken charge of parts of the festivity.” Izuku inhaled sharply, face twisting in disturbance, and Katsuki switched his gaze to him. “Do you know him?”

“Yes, everyone does.” Izuku grimaced. “He has a certain reputation among the staff. Not a good one, mind you—enough that people go out of their way to avoid him, if and whenever possible. The same goes for his scribe, Toga.”

Eijirou and Katsuki exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them, and Katsuki was relieved to hear that this was a common sentiment around the castle. Despite not being completely certain Dabi did not have Izuku’s loyalty, something in his gut whispered for him to trust the servant. 

“Good,” Katsuki mumbled. “Glad to see we’re all sane. But that’s not the point. What’s disturbing is that the royal advisor should not have any responsibility in planning festivities. Those duties usually fall on the queen, the queen’s ladies, the head maid, and some of the staff. That leads me to believe that Dabi has something planned in two night’s time, on the night of my birthday.” 

“You think he’s up to no good?” Izuku asked.

Eijirou sniffed. “He’s always up to no good.” The servant shrugged his agreement.

“Yes, but this time, I feel that he may have something darker up his sleeve. Tell me, when was the last time you saw him roam the halls? When was the last time you saw him in the castle?” 

As if struck, Izuku raised his head, eyes wide with realization. “That’s not all,” he said. “Dabi normally takes his meals in his study, but he’s ordered no one to disturb him for the past two weeks. Toga’s done the same as well. They’ve been holed up in his study for some time now.” 

The silence that followed was filled with unease, thick with suspicion and rife with fear. Katsuki marinated on this fact, and Eijirou turned away, brows deeply puckered in thought. Izuku fell silent, but Katsuki could almost see the way the cogs turned in his head in tandem with the way his lips shaped wordless thoughts. 

“Do you think it has to do with the swans?” Eijirou finally broke the thick veil, and Katsuki frowned. Turning, he began to pace the length of his room, glaring holes into the rug. 

“It can’t be! What does Dabi have to do with them?” Horror lined Izuku’s tone—understandably so.

Katsuki paused in his step. “We have cause to believe that Dabi and Toga are the reason why the maidens are cursed,” he answered darkly. Though Izuku’s eyes widened a fraction, he did not seem too surprised by the reveal. “It’s too much of a coincidence that they’ve gone missing soon after we met them, and the fact that this is happening just before the festivities.” 

“Too many coincidences can hardly be called ‘coincidences.’ Something’s not right,” Eijirou said. “I can feel it, but something will happen on the night of the ball.” 

“I’m in agreement,” Izuku stated, giving Eijirou a firm nod. “I’ve heard rumors from some of the maids that Dabi’s been searching for oddities: certain powders and rare objects. No one can confirm anything since he’s so secretive. The only one who’d know for certain is Toga—I scarcely believe she’ll tell us everything, even if addressing royalty.” 

The pit in Katsuki’s stomach churned with the revelation that the royal advisor and his scribe had something hidden up their sleeves. They’d been scheming while the king and queen had been preoccupied with the kingdom and the ball—while Katsuki had been too busy with his promise of healing and budding romance with Ochako. Under everyone’s noses, they’d taken advantage of every distraction possible and hidden themselves away. 

“I feel...I feel like the swans may be in danger,” Katsuki admitted. He paused by the window and leaned against the sill, crossing his arms. “His reason for capturing them in the first place, his hidden sorcery—somehow, I feel like his plans may come to fruition soon.” 

Tilting his head up, he directed his gaze toward Izuku, who had grown so engrossed with the conversation that he’d forgotten his servant etiquette. Good, Katsuki thought. It’d be easier to work with someone who didn’t cower in his presence. He would need someone brave, and while Izuku was not the most ideal candidate, he could feel how much the servant cared for the swans. 

“Izuku,” he said. “On the night of my birthday, I’m ordering you to leave the kitchen before the sun sets. You will take Shouto, and the two of you will make your way to the lake. There, I want you to do your best to watch over the swans, protect them, if necessary, throughout the night. Do you understand me?” 

The servant’s lips parted in shock. “My duties in the kitchen—”

Katsuki raised his hand, and Izuku fell silent. “From tomorrow on, you are to report to me. Eijirou will draft something for you to bring to the head chef. Your duty for today is to go on as normal, and Eijirou will have your documents ready before the sun rises in the morning. It is of utmost importance that no one knows we met today—we don’t want Dabi or Toga to find out that we’re onto them. Do you understand me?” 

Determination flickered across Izuku’s expression, and he nodded in understanding before falling into a deep bow. “I understand, Your Highness.” 

“Good. I know you and Shouto don’t visit the lake very often, but as a personal favor, will you go these next few nights? It’s only until the ball ends.”

Izuku blinked and bobbed his head. “Of course.”

“And Izuku? Tell Ochako I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “Give her my regards.”

“Your Highness—?” 

Katsuki waved a hand. “Dismissed.” For a stunned moment, no one moved. Then, Izuku bowed once more. As the servant left, Katsuki exhaled deeply, pinching the skin between his brows in frustration. An uncomfortable silence descended between the remaining friends, thoughts percolating between the two, fluttering like moths’ wings. 

“Kat,” Eijirou started, and from the corner of Katsuki’s eye, his friend stood from the bed, boring holes into Katsuki’s side. “Drafting the document and getting it finalized will take time. Will you be going to the lake alone, or…?”

They knew what he was asking.

Katsuki turned away, averting his gaze. “I’m not going tonight.”

“Kat—”

“Nor am I going tomorrow evening, or the night of the ball.” Before Eijirou could speak, Katsuki balled his hands into fists and stood straight. Glaring toward his friend with conviction, he continued, “but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on them. I’ll break their godforsaken curse, I swear it.” 

He half-expected Eijirou to chastise his rash decision, to remind him of his duties to the kingdom, including an impending marriage. Instead, he was met with silence, and when he turned an eye toward his friend, he found Eijirou watching him, hands clasped behind his back, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. 

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

 

--

 

Two days of avoiding the upcoming festivities and two nights without further visit to the swans simultaneously felt like a blink of an eye and a millennium. In Katsuki’s opinion, time seemed to pass in strange waves with the notice of approaching events. Sometimes, an hour would disguise itself as a few seconds. Sometimes, it would drag with each breath he drew.

Soon enough, he found himself standing in front of his mirror, strengthening the uniform his mother had ordered to his room. It was strange to see himself in this state, with his trousers, embroidered tunic, and ornate cloak, instead of the usual garb that he donned when slipping into town. The deep, royal navy paled him, concealed his sun-kissed skin, and gave no hint of the ruggedness he’d grown used to. 

The sun had begun to set, and even from his chambers, he could hear the flow of chatter from the great hall mingle with the croon of violins and harmonize with the toll of singing cellos. No doubt, everyone would be greatly entertained tonight, a success on his mother’s end. 

The thought caused him to scowl deeply as his gaze traveled across the gold embroidery that swirled over the fabric that hung at his shoulders, a far cry from the brown, weathered cloak that hung among his clothes, stained with grass and dirt. Whereas he could blend seamlessly into town, this outfit would ensure that everyone knew he was the crown prince. 

Without a warning, the door burst open, and Katsuki tore his gaze from himself to find Eijirou leaning against the jamb, watching him carefully. Tension and unease bled from his stance as he adjusted his cravat. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, moving to fix the sleeve of his tunic. “How do you feel?”

Katsuki’s scowl deepened. “Grim, apprehensive—what else is there to feel when you need to watch out for Dabi?” 

Eijirou inhaled sharply but didn’t refute him. Instead, he straightened and gestured toward the hall. “Understandable, but regardless, you’ve been summoned by the king and queen. I believe it’s time to make an appearance.”

“Old hag,” Katsuki mumbled, but he relented. Giving one more appraisal of his reflection, he carded a hand through his hair and tugged on the roots, spiking it up further. He’d take his mother’s chastisement in the morning. For now, he had greater matters to attend to, so he turned on his heel, nodded toward his friend, and the pair set off down the stairs. 

To Mitsuki’s credit, she’d outdone herself with the decor. The hall had been transformed, every inch of it dusted off to reveal the white stone that lined the walls. Half-pillars carried vases that carried handpicked bouquets of carnations, baby’s breath, and other delicate flora. Above, the chandeliers held new candlesticks, alit with flames that refracted off of hanging crystals, sending delicate colors rippling over the crowd. 

The halls were crowded with nobles, filled with waistcoats, large gowns, and ostentatious jewelry. Hopeful mothers and their daughters batted their eyelashes, gossamer titters floating overhead. Older gentlemen sent raucous laughter rolling and tumbling over conversations filled with cards, gambles, and the latest politics that plagued the kingdom. Here, the music was louder, playful and pleasant, but light enough not to steal attention. 

Though the attention gnawed on Katsuki’s nerves, he kept his expression as neutral as possible, hefting his chin and training his gaze toward the open double doors that led to the ballroom. Eijirou, on the other hand, showed no signs of distress; he sent jovial smiles toward young ladies and greeted the men with a cock of his head. The only indication of his worry was the set of his shoulders. 

At their presence, conversations muted to fill with respectful murmurs of “Your Highness,” complemented with wishes of a merry celebration and a happy birthday. Katsuki could only nod his thanks, mind preoccupied with more important matters. He scoured the crowd for a gaunt face and hollowed cheeks, for arms filled with whorls and scars from cruelty and fire. 

Behind him, people whispered about his bachelor status. Others wondered aloud at who would take his side as his future bride, at who would help him rule the kingdom and fulfill Mitsuki’s current role. All of it blended into a cacophony of noise that ate at his patience. 

The open doors of the ballroom mocked him, reminded him of a gaping maw that threatened to swallow everything that dared to enter. There, two guards stood at the entrance, and to Katsuki’s dismay, the room had undergone even more transformation than the halls.

Here, the candles blazed with light, igniting the ballroom with the illusion of dusk. The large windows that spanned from floor to ceiling had been cleaned to where he could peer at his reflection with no trouble, and the old curtains that’d lined them had been replaced with the scarlet fabric his mother had chosen two days prior. Somehow, she’d managed to have them embroidered with gold tassels that grazed the marble.

At the center, their guests danced, and gowns made from exquisite fabrics and rare dyes flared in wide circles, the women twirling into their partners’ arms. Their shadows cavorted under candlelight and moonlight, a unification of day and night coalescing into one. 

Ahead, he found his mother and father situated on the throne, beaming at the festivities that took place before them. Masaru lifted his gaze and caught Katsuki’s eye, and the latter barely had a moment to react before his father stood from his seat. His presence commanded attention, and as the music died, silence fell upon the guests in waves until Katsuki was certain he could hear a pin drop. 

And to his horror, his father began to speak. “Dearest guests, thank you for accepting our invitation to such a monumental and joyous occasion. As you know, my wife and I have ruled over these lands for almost a quarter of a century. We’ve had joy, we’ve had tears, but most of all, we’ve had peace.” A murmur of appreciation swept through the crowd. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the tranquility this kingdom has seen but also of its prosperity and good fortune.

“Friends, family, my time as king is soon to wane and will be passed on to my son.” Masaru raised his glass and gestured toward Katsuki, who felt the hole in his stomach gape as the audience turned to him with curiosity and excitement. “Tonight, my son grows into a fine man, one prepared to take my place and bring further abundance and serenity to its people. If everyone may raise their glasses, I would like to make a toast to my son, Katsuki. Happy birthday, son.” 

As everyone held up their glasses of port and brandy, the light shifted, and Katsuki could only nod in response, grimacing on instinct. Luckily, Masaru knew his son well enough, and spoke once more, commanding everyone’s attention. “I will not keep you, but my beloved wife and I encourage you to feast, drink, and dance in celebration! Enjoy yourselves tonight, for we will do the same!”

With that, he flourished a hand, and the music resumed with gusto, a new tune made with mellifluous notes and velvet songs. The audience applauded the speech, and a renewed vigor swept across the people, who leapt into a new dance with fervor. 

A bump on his shoulder caught his attention, and Katsuki found Eijirou pointing toward the throne. There, behind his parents and lurking in the dark, stood Dabi. 

The royal advisor was dressed in dark robes with wide sleeves that hung to his wrists, hiding the burns that marred his skin. Per usual, his expression was devoid of emotion, gaze sweeping listlessly through the crowd. Then, he lifted his head and caught Katsuki’s eye. 

The prince bristled, all sound of congratulations and cheer fading into a blur of noise, and a harsh tinnitus rung in his ears. Heat traveled up his neck as his hands balled into fists, and his glare could’ve rivaled the sun—would’ve set the advisor on fire if he willed hard enough. 

And then, Dabi smirked, eyes narrowing in pride, a corner of his mouth lifting into a sneer. He lifted his glass in mock celebration before bringing it to his lips and taking a sip. 

Katsuki took a threatening step forward, and he would’ve charged at the vile man if a hand on his shoulder hadn’t stopped him. Tearing his gaze away, he directed his scowl to Eijirou, who shook his head, as if saying, don’t do anything rash—it’s not worth it here. A spectacle would be the last thing they needed, especially if Dabi were as dangerous as they speculated him to be.

Frustrated and wound up beyond belief, Katsuki shrugged off Eijirou's hand and stormed to the side of the ballroom, where he snatched a glass of port from a serving tray and downed it in one go. From his hidden spot behind the crowd, he watched his mother and father join the dance before switching his attention to Dabi.

The royal advisor stood behind the throne, leaning casually against the tall seat, swirling his glass of blood red wine. He was idle, watching the dancers twirl around the room and other guests mingle among themselves—too calm for someone plotting demise. There was a languid slowness to his movements, a lazy deliberation that spoke to a man without a care in the world.

Katsuki’s grip on his glass tightened until he could’ve split the rim, yet he refrained from acting in haste. Eijirou slid next to him, nodding and smiling toward the ring of young women that’d formed around them. Titters and giggles mixed with the quartet of musicians, and as Katsuki slowly began to realize his predicament of being a bachelor and a prince, a young woman came up to him, holding out her hand as she curtsied. 

“Your Highness,” she simpered. “May I have the next dance?”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and gave her a wry smile. “Apologies, but I’m not fit for dancing this evening. Unfortunately, I’m enduring a minor riding accident.” It was a timeless excuse that worked wonders on even the most persistent of young ladies. “However, there are many eligible young men who would love to lead you in the next waltz.” 

As with all rejections, her expression soured at the edges, and Katsuki withheld his sigh as she curtsied once more and turned with her nose in the air, indignant at his suggestion. He hoped his answer would be enough to deter the rest of the young women, yet he’d grown up in court long enough to know that some nobles took refusal as a challenge. 

Unfortunately, this proved to be the case as he turned down a few more offers to dance. His mother threw him an exasperated look as she swept past but declined to comment—most likely because of their conversation a few days prior. 

His mind flashed to Ochako, wondering if she was in good health and if she missed him as much as he missed her. His evenings had grown cold; her absence had torn a hole in his heart, bleeding ice and longing, felt keenly as he rejoined his mother and father for suppers. And when he slid under the covers, he laid awake until his eyes fluttered shut and he dreamed of wisteria flowers, an enchanted lake, and a striking swan maiden.

The moon rose higher and higher, as did spirits and laughter. The guests grew louder, confidence augmented by the nonstop flow of port and brandy and wine. A portion of them had moved to a separate room, where Katsuki could hear the boisterous calls of card games and gambling, and young ladies grew even more restless as they spun in the ballroom. His mother and father had retired to the throne, content with watching their visitors enjoy the evening. 

On the other hand, Dabi loitered behind the throne, his dark robes melding with the night sky. He never moved, never bothered to leave his position. Rather, he would gesture for a servant to refill his glass, then keep a lackadaisical eye on the crowd. 

Eijirou had taken a total of two dances, though he was more engrossed with watching for any lingering threats. After his two disgruntled partners had left him behind, he moved to Katsuki’s side. The faux cheer had evaporated, leaving a concerned disposition. 

“Nothing has happened,” Eijirou said, reaching out to grab at a glass and downing it in one shot. “Do you really think Dabi will act with so many nobles present?”

Katsuki shrugged and continued to glare ahead, mood curdling like milk from frustration. “It’s Dabi.” He said this as if it were enough of an explanation. “Who knows what he will do at any moment of the day?”

“But—”

“I can’t explain myself, but surely, you can feel the same trepidation that I do. If it were any ordinary night, we’d do our best to avoid the man. But that isn’t the case: the only people who know about the maidens are you, me, and Dabi. That fact alone changes the situation entirely.” Katsuki folded his arms tighter against his chest. “Remain vigilant—something is bound to happen. I can feel it.”

As if on cue, the cluster of guests that stood by the door fell silent, conversation muting into faint murmurs and scandalized gasps. Like a cresting wave, the effect fell upon the rest of the ballroom, and Eijirou suddenly grabbed Katsuki’s shoulder, fingers digging into his skin.

“Good lord,” Eijirou murmured, astonishment evident in his tone. “Kat—look.”

The crowd began to part, and Katsuki craned his neck to see the commotion, curious to see what had stolen everyone’s attention, then froze. 

Could it be?

There was no mistaking his eyes—white, gauzy gown. Round face. Chestnut hair. Warm, chocolate irises. Pale skin and bare feet.

Ochako.

She stepped into the ballroom, hands fidgeting with the front of her dress, a sign he recognized as discomfort. She glanced around the large, grandiose ballroom before tucking her hair behind her ear. It was as if she couldn’t decide whether to hide from all of the curious, scathing stares, or gaze, wide-eyed at the grandeur that decorated the walls. 

Katsuki could only stare, utterly stunned at the development. His heart hammered against his chest, pulse thundering through his ears, wrought between joy, relief, and disbelief. 

She was here.

She was here.

Drawn to her, he took an involuntary step forward, ignoring the murmur of his name falling from Eijirou’s lips, filled with caution and hesitation. Then, another and another. 

The crowd parted, and the whispers fell away behind him as he moved toward her. Ochako must’ve noticed the silence because she squeezed her eyes shut, then lifted her head, movements fraught with uncertainty. 

Their gazes met, and she froze, just as he reached her, stopping a foot away. With a bated breath, the onlookers watched them carefully. While this would’ve normally struck a nerve, he couldn’t have cared less at that moment. The world fell away, leaving just the two of them at its center.

“Ochako?” he breathed. She jerked at her name, and he noted the way skin gleamed in the firelight, pale and smooth, devoid of dirt. Even her feet, which shifted on the cold marble, had no traces of soil or grass. While his relief was prominent, something about this didn’t feel right. His gut churned, and he took a step back. “What—how?”

“Katsuki,” she whispered. Then, louder, “Katsuki!”

She rushed at him, and he barely caught her as she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “The curse has lifted,” she whispered into the fabric of his tunic. “I’m here. I can be here—with you.”

Even though everything about her felt familiar—the way she melded into his arms, the way her hair smelled like flowers and petrichor—he couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t her. Still wracked with disbelief, he struggled to put distance between them. 

She’d never held onto him so tightly before, her embrace filled with desperation, and in their last interaction, she’d left him under the wisteria as she’d said goodbye. In his memory, she’d let him go after citing the difference in social hierarchy. 

“The truth is that you are a prince, bound by duty and responsibility, and I am cursed to remain by this lake, never truly a swan, never truly a person. Our lives are different, and that’s something we have to accept.”

That’d been her words, burned into his mind. She’d let him go. She’d given him up.

So to have her here, pledging her heart to him—

Gently, he unwound her arms from behind him and pushed her back, holding her by her shoulders. “What is a good person, Ochako?” 

The question seemed to catch her off-guard as she tried to take a step forward. When he wouldn’t budge, she placed a hand on his wrist. “What are you talking about, my love?”

The endearment, while meant to incite warmth, only burgeoned his suspicions. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that the swans, no matter how much they wished it, could not leave the lakeside. And if Dabi had lifted the curse off of them, then it wasn’t likely for the maidens to split from one another, not after forging such a strong bond. 

“A good person? I don’t understand.” Ochako stroked the back of his hand, and he ripped them from her grasp, letting them land at his sides. “What—”

“Answer me,” he interrupted sharply. 

Ochako blinked in surprise at his tone. “I—if it pleases you—” Then, she bowed her head. “A good person—a good man—is one who partakes in good deeds. It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

Murmurs rose from the crowd, equally dumbfounded at his odd question. Others sounded like whispers of agreement at Ochako’s answer.

But Katsuki knew—he knew this wasn’t her.  

“You—what—they let you come here?” he asked, trying to stop anger from riddling his tone. Who dared to present an emulation of his maiden? Who had the nerve to take her appearance and insult her wit and repertoire? 

Her brows furrowed. “Are you not happy that I’m here? My sisters—they’re the ones who encouraged me to come.” Then, she grasped at her dress. “I know I’m not properly dressed for the occasion, but—”

She couldn’t have gotten through the entrance without an invitation, and he suddenly remembered his mother’s words: “Well, whoever she is, don’t forget to give her an invitation. I’ll send a maid up to your room later with one, though if you’d like, you can pick them up in Dabi’s study.”

Dabi. This was Dabi’s scheme. 

“And the others?”

“The others?” 

Izuku and Shouto—this meant that Toga and Dabi weren’t aware of the pair’s sporadic visits to the lake. 

“Katsuki?” A new voice chimed in, and the pair turned to find the queen standing behind him, her hands clasped to her stomach. Mitsuki blinked toward Ochako before flitting her gaze to him. “Who is this?” 

Before he could answer, Ochako cut in with a deep frown. “You didn’t tell her about us?” Funnily enough, the question acted as the wrong answer to his mother’s curiosity. “You kept me hidden?” The imposter feigned hurt. “Every whisper, every endearment, every kiss—we shared so much together, yet you’d kept me a secret?” 

This was the flint that lit the wildfire that spread around the guests, punctuated with gasps and exclamations. His mother, to her credit, didn’t react, though he could sense her simultaneous disapproval and delight. Her gaze sliced to him, scrutinizing, as if demanding to know why he’d kept her away from them. 

And all he wanted to do was scream—to reveal that this wasn’t the sharp, young maiden he’d fallen for. This wasn’t Ochako, not even remotely close to her. 

All he could do was stare as his mother stepped closer. “What is your name, my dear?” 

The imposter lifted her head, eyes swimming with tears. “Ochako,” she breathed softly. “My name is Ochako, Your Majesty.” 

“Mother—” Katsuki croaked, but his protest was ignored. 

Instead, Mitsuki reached down and took Ochako’s hand into her own, clasping it between her own. The regal set in her shoulders loosened, resembling a mother’s caring touch. “Come in, my dear. Let us speak some more on the matter.”

Her acceptance of this imposter spurred him into action, and he cut between them, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. “Mother, please—”

“You said you wanted to fall in love,” Mitsuki said sharply. “You didn’t want your father and I to choose your bride, so we gave you the chance to decide. From what I’ve seen, you’ve found your happiness, so you must honor your bonds and promises. At this point, there’s no prolonging the decision.” She folded her hands, retaining her regal sternness with a tight smile. Louder, she spoke, “Katsuki, you haven’t danced at all this evening. Why don’t you start with Ochako?” 

Then, without so much as a word, she circled her wrist in the air, and the music resumed. It was as if the spell of curiosity and gossip had evaporated within an instant as the guests turned to one another, yet their words were infused with incredulity and shock. Katsuki couldn’t blame them, for he had not been fully struck by the reality of the situation—that deception stood clear as day in the form of his love, yet there was no way to prove it. 

The only other people who could know were Eijirou and… 

Dabi.

Whirling, he found the advisor still situated in place, and the wily man lifted his glass in a taunting congratulations. Heat flared under his skin at the idea of letting the advisor humiliate him in front of the foreign guests, the nobles of the court, and his parents. Gritting his teeth, he twisted to face Ochako, not bothering to hide the anger plain on his face. 

None too gently, he grabbed the imposter’s wrist and pulled it up with a half-smile, half-snarl. His expression bordered on insanity, but she met it with one of her own. In a flash, her tongue swiped along her bottom lip, and he knew without a doubt that this wasn’t Ochako. “My mother has instructed us to dance. Let us not disappoint her, shall we?” 

“Of course,” Toga giggled, and her eyes filled with her usual madness as she finally realized that he’d uncovered her secret. “Dance with me, Your Highness.” 

And then he spun her into the crowd of dancing guests, pulling her close so that their conversation would not be heard. “What’s your game?” he bit out, placing his hand on the small of her back and pulling her in close. Their proximity bothered him, especially with the knowledge that though she looked like his maiden, she was not her.

She was a fraud.

Toga giggled and placed her hand on his arm. Leaning in close, she swiped her tongue along her bottom lip once more. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she simpered, trailing odd shapes along the back of his hand, revolting him. “We have plans for you, big plans for you and the girls.”

“Whatever they are, they won’t succeed. You and Dabi won’t get away with this scheme. This spell, this enchantment he has on you will wear off, and everyone will know of your deceiving ways.” 

She threw back her head and laughed as if he’d told the funniest jest she’d ever heard. “You think petty charm is all Dabi can do?” Fluttering her lashes, she peered up at him with a coy smile, then lifted herself onto her toes, whispering into his ear. “He’s so much more powerful than you’ll ever know.”

Fear and doubt swirled in the pit of his stomach, yet he schooled his expression into a mask of impassivity, one he’d learned early in his days while growing up in the palace. “Lies.”

“Are they?” she whispered in glee. “Do you think that this body was made with fairy dust and the dreams of infants?” Sarcasm dripped from her words, oozing glee and delight. He couldn’t help but feel trapped by her leer. “He shaped me like this using blood.” 

Blood? Dabi had molded her body from the flouncing scribe into Ochako using blood? The idea was sacrilegious, a violation of all that was natural and good. Despite suspecting that this was something the advisor was willing to commit, Katsuki was still struck by his willingness to stoop to such a level. 

Another thought crashed upon him, one that nearly pulled him into its depths and drowned him in its mystery: where on earth had Toga gotten Ochako’s blood?

As if the question were written across his brow, Toga read him with ease, the tips of her grin lifting higher, sadistic as she regarded him triumph. “This is why you don’t leave your quiver lying around, Your Highness.” 

Ice traveled down his spine at the realization. When she found his quiver, she must’ve taken the arrow that’d hit Ochako. Its tip had been stained with the maiden’s blood—pure, untainted, ready for Dabi’s use. 

It’d been his fault. Everything had been his fault. If he hadn’t gone out hunting, if he hadn’t released the arrow, none of this would’ve occurred. Whatever plan Dabi had concocted had been set into motion the moment Katsuki had let his arrow fly. 

Before he could spiral into a pit of self-loathing, Katsuki steadied himself, reined in his emotions, and reminded himself that while Dabi could wield blood magic, he could not force fate’s hand. If he hadn’t gone on the hunt, if he hadn’t shot the arrow, then Katsuki would not have met the love of his life, would not have promised himself that he would do everything in his power to set the maidens free. 

It was this devotion and promise that grounded him to the moment. 

His grip tightened on Toga’s gown, unwilling to let her escape should she choose to try. The fraud, caught off-guard, smiled prettily and glared from beneath her lashes, unsure as to what the prince planned. 

A clap rang out throughout the ballroom, and everyone turned to find Dabi standing between the thrones, his glass in the air. The music fell silent and murmurs swam through the crowd. Mitsuki and Masaru paused in their dance to regard him with curiosity. 

The advisor cleared his throat, then spoke. Though his tone was low, smooth with false charisma, it seemed to resonate around the room in a throaty rasp. “Your Majesties, ladies and gentlemen of the court and of foreign lands. My name is Dabi, and I am the chief advisor to the royal family. First, I’d like to raise my glass to the crown prince and his successful endeavor in finding one to rule by his side. I wish you and your future bride a prosperous reign.” 

A chorus of agreement rose from the guests, and Katsuki resisted the urge to shove Toga away. His protest lodged in his throat, swelling with anger and frustration. How could none of them see? How could anyone not tell that this was Toga? The way she walked, the way she moved, the way her tongue flicked across her bottom lip—everything about her was the same, save for her appearance. 

“Your Majesties,” Dabi continued after a sip of his wine. Masaru nodded his head in acknowledgement while Mitsuki quirked her lips into a half-smile. “In lieu of celebration, may I take leave for a celebratory hunt? I will bring back the best and most beautiful of creatures as a gift for our future king.”

“In this darkness?” Masaru gestured toward the window. “Surely, it can wait for tomorrow.”

Dabi smiled wryly. “Why not now with all of our guests present? I know of two families that will depart when the sun rises—they would not want to miss such a bountiful festival. Such as it is, I also seem to work best in the dark. I will be back shortly, if you will permit.”

With that, Masaru laughed and nodded, inciting a wave of titters and chortles from those around him. “Of course, Dabi. Yes, you are permitted to go. Thank you for your thoughtful gift.” 

The royal advisor bowed, then, as the music resumed, whirled on his feet, robe whipping around him as he stepped away from the throne. Before Katsuki could follow, Toga’s grip on him tightened, snatching his attention back to her. She leaned her forehead into his shoulder, nosing his cloak and inhaling deeply. “You know, she’s always been his favorite.”

This time, he couldn’t help it. Katsuki went still. 

Toga, pleased with his reaction, purred. “He speaks of her with the most fondness. Precious little thing, isn’t she? Brave like a soldier, yet kind like an angel. Sharp as a whip, yet sweet as wine—perfect for tasting.”

“What are you saying?” His thread of patience had been worn thin, eroded with concern and a wild, wild fear. “What the fuck are you saying?” 

She giggled, then lifted herself onto the balls of her feet. Her exhale was warm against the shell of his ear as she breathed, “It’s no matter. There are other villages to slaughter, other maidens to take her place.” 

He could take it no longer. Without a moment of hesitation, he shoved her away, heaving for air. Disgust plain on his face, he glared at her, every inch that had come into contact with her burning as if alit with hellfire. The guests around him paused in their dance, turning to watch the prince with wide eyes and flaming curiosity. 

His anger was incandescent.

His fear turned his blood to ice.

“Katsuki.” The use of his name barely grabbed his attention, and it wasn’t until a hand fell on his shoulder that he pivoted on his feet, response sharp on his tongue. At the last second, it faded as he came face to face with his closest friend. Concerned lines painted his expression, and Eijirou pulled him away. “We need to go. Whatever Dabi’s planning, he’s—”

“He’s going to kill her!” Katsuki rasped. Saying it aloud only cemented the truth. Eijirou’s expression seemed to intensify. “He’s going to kill Ochako.” 

A peal of laughter rang out behind them, and Toga’s voice sang, “Tick tock, her life is on the clock.” He lunged at her, but she danced out of his way, dress flaring around her knees. With a coy wave, she twirled into the crowd and disappeared among large skirts and ornate frocks.

“Katsuki!” Eijirou tackled after him, hauling him to his feet and restraining him. Sharp gasps echoed around them, and Katsuki nearly ripped his cloak as he snarled after her. “Katsuki, we have no time—we must leave now if we want to save her!”

“But—”

“Leave her,” Eijirou hissed as he began to drag him from the room. “Toga agitates you, but she’s not the one you’re up against. Dabi is the one in charge—he’s her master, and he’s already gone to the lake. Your fight is not here, Katsuki. We need to go.” 

He was right, and the reasoning cleared the angry haze that clouded his mind. The root of his problem was that Ochako was in danger—that was the most important. Everything else could come after. 

Without another word, he surged out of the room, Eijirou hot on his heels. A call echoed behind him, his mother’s voice fragmented into barely contained anger and frustration, but he couldn’t have cared less. With most of their guests inebriated, the pair had to shove their way through the people, pushing past gales of unruly laughter and uncontrollable titters. 

Gossip and rumors hung overhead in a stifling smog, raining names he recognized, including ‘Ochako,’ ‘Dabi,’ and his own. All of them nuanced in scandal and indignation. 

Luckily, the crowd began to thin as they escaped further and further away from the people, winding down corridors until Eijirou yanked him in the opposite direction. His reasoning came in one word: “armory.” 

As they readied themselves for the worst, Katsuki slung his bow over his shoulder and picked up his quiver, pausing for a moment as he remembered how Toga had come across Ochako’s blood. The arrow—that fateful, fucking arrow had been the catalyst to all of this: to the chaos that would culminate to this night. He gripped the leather strap until it dug into his palm, trying to calm his fraying temper.

The sibilance of Eijirou’s broadsword shook him from his thoughts, and Katsuki shook his head, clearing away all unnecessary thoughts. Right now, his focus had to remain on Ochako, on the maidens, on their wellbeing. Dabi had a headstart on the two of them, held his advantage high above their heads. Time was of the essence, and they had too much to lose. 

After slinging the quiver over his shoulder, he reached for his dagger, sliding it into its sheath. Readied, he gave a curt nod to Eijirou, and they dashed out of the armory, winding down corridors until they burst through the gates and into the small town. 

There, they wove through celebrating citizens and shouting vendors, stumbling over cobblestone and ducking under lanterns that held wisps of fire. His lungs burned, each heaving breath filled with the smell of cooked meat and smoke. In any other circumstance, he would’ve slowed down to watch the festivities, would’ve taken a leisurely approach to the people and their common practice, would’ve imagined leading Ochako down the streets, hand-in-hand, pointing at the different spectacles that lit up the town.

The thought of her spurred him on faster, each step more determined than the last. If he didn’t get to her in time, the dream would shatter, as would his heart. His pace overtook Eijirou’s, but his friend stayed on his heels as they both rushed through the labyrinth of people. 

Soon, they reached the border between the town and the forest. Before, the journey had been merciful with a sinking sun dappling their path. They’d always passed the boundary with the vestiges of day—now, they needed to navigate through the dark. 

However, this was the last thing on his mind as he crashed forward and dove straight into the woods. With practiced ease, he propelled himself forward. They weren’t as elegant nor stealthy as Fumikage, but one month of traveling on the same path had infused the journey into their blood and carved the instinct into their bones. 

Katsuki could barely breathe as he shoved aside low-hanging branches, heart thundering in his throat. It wasn’t until one of the branches snapped in his hand that he was pulled back by a firm grip.

“Calm down!” Eijirou hissed. Before Katsuki could snarl his answer, Eijirou clamped a hand over his mouth. “Listen to me. I know you’re worried, but be careful. This isn’t just about Ochako’s safety. This is about yours as well.”

“What—”

Even in the dim glow of moonlight, the grimace on Eijirou’s face cut deeply into his frown. “We can’t just charge through the woods. It’ll let Dabi know we’re coming, and something tells me that this is a trap for you.”

“He’s going to kill her, not me.” 

“But that’s the thing!” Eijirou pulled him closer, fisting a hand in the collar of his tunic. “He knows you aren’t bringing guards because the lake is a secret. And even if you decided to take some along, they wouldn’t be able to come with us because they’re stationed at the palace all throughout the night. You’ll have no protection against Dabi. We need to act carefully.” 

“We don’t have time to be careful!” Katsuki snapped, carding a frustrated hand through his hair. “We need to save her. We need to save all of them, and I’ll be damned if I let that bastard get away with harming a hair on their heads!” 

“Katsuki—!” 

Without another word, the prince whirled on his feet and ran forward. It didn’t matter if it was a trap for him because Katsuki could handle himself. He could fight using both bow and arrow with the eyes of a hawk, and for close distances, he was quick. He could whip out the dagger and have it embedded within moments. 

But Ochako and the other maidens...they didn’t have anyone. 

From behind, he could hear Eijirou stumbling after him, leaves and grass and twigs splintering under his boots. Their desperate exhales percolated the atmosphere, and despite the spring chill that blanketed the evening, Katsuki felt feverish with an amalgamation of emotions. 

With one more turn, he caught the familiar, cerulean glow that filtered through the trees, and without a moment of hesitation, burst through the boundary to find the clearing bathed in light. Tsuyu and Fumikage leapt to their feet at his appearance, as did Mina and Kyouka, the latter of whom glared at him with venom.

He twisted his head left and right, searching desperately for his maiden. It wasn’t until his gaze locked onto the familiar figure slowly rising from the fallen log that he released his exhale in relief. 

“Katsuki?” While her eyes were wide with disbelief, her brows were furrowed in concern as she scanned his harried appearance. Beside her, Izuku blinked in surprise as Shouto watched Katsuki’s entrance with interest. In the back of his mind, he was reassured to know that Izuku had listened to his instructions. 

“Ochako,” Katsuki breathed, vision tunnelling on her. The tension in his shoulders eased as he moved on instinct, venturing forward until he enveloped her in his arms, burying his nose in her hair. She froze in his embrace, confusion stiffening her limbs, but he knew this was her. The deepest, most fundamental part of himself knew, at once, that this was his Ochako and not the imposter from earlier. “You’re unharmed.” 

A breve of silence filtered between them before she finally returned his embrace with jerky hesitation. “Yes, I am, but what are you...why…?” Her unspoken questions hung in the air, and when he pulled away, he noted the way her gaze scanned his new attire—a far cry from the hunter’s clothing he’d worn in his previous visits. Here and now, he was exposed, his true self on display for her to see.

“You’re safe,” he croaked, gliding the back of his hand down the slopes of her cheeks. “I thought—I was so sure…” 

In the corner of his eye, he noticed the way Izuku took a step closer, concern painting his features. “Is something happening?” Izuku asked, brows furrowing. Behind him, Shouto settled a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. Ochako reached up to enclose Katsuki’s wrist in her grasp. 

Branches snapped behind them, and Katsuki twisted on the spot, pulling her behind him as he readied himself. Instead, a head of red hair emerged from the trees, revealing Eijirou’s disgruntled face bathed in cerulean light. 

“Kat—you stubborn, hot-headed ass!” Eijirou swore as he fell through the trees. “I told you not to be careful—at least try to stay quiet when you travel through the woods!” He carded a hand through his hair before gripping the handle of his broadsword. “I’ll circle the outskirts for any signs of them. You, on the other hand, stay with everyone, and stay safe. Don’t do anything stupid, do you understand me?” 

Shouto stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.” There was a severity to his tone that Katsuki recognized to be one that wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Ochako gazed between the men, confusion wrought in her expression, mirroring the other three maidens: a good indication that Izuku hadn’t told them a word. Ignoring their inquisitive looks, Shouto continued, “Izuku told me everything. I’m not leaving anything up to chance.” 

Eijirou glanced at Katsuki before nodding in approval. Shouto bent down to whisper a few words into Izuku’s ear before pressing a light kiss to his temple. Then, he straightened and moved to Eijirou’s side. Without another word, the two set off and disappeared through the line of trees. 

A tug on his arm brought his attention back to Ochako, who gripped the back of his hand tightly. Tension tightened her tone as she spoke. “Katsuki, what’s going on? What were Eijirou and Shouto talking about? What is happening?”

“Noth—”

She shook her head vehemently. “Don’t give me that! I’m stronger than I look—we all are, and we deserve to know what’s happening.”

“Ochako,” he breathed, mind racing to string together an explanation. She didn’t give him a chance to continue. 

“No, don’t hide this from us, not when it directly concerns us. You shouldn’t even be here.” Her voice cracked at the last word, and the first signs of heartbreak bled through. “You should be celebrating your birthday and choosing your future bride.” 

He took her wrist and pulled it up, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. Her breathing hitched at the open display of affection. “I don’t want anyone there. You should know that.”

Her conviction wavered for a moment, and the sheen in the whites of her eyes gleamed as they caught the light. She gaped at him, breath stuttering, before she squeezed her eyes shut. Her hand tensed, as did her resolve. “Katsuki.” His name fell from her lips, broken and frayed. “That’s...that’s not the point. You’re not here because you do not want to choose a bride. Izuku and Shouto have never visited more than one evening in a row, yet this is their third night here. Why?” 

“Yes, Katsuki, why?” The new addition droned from the forest, a slow, leisurely drawl that sent ice pricking through Katsuki’s veins. This time, when he turned, he knew exactly who he would find. 

First, it was a head of dark hair, followed by frigid eyes and sunken cheeks. Shadows made from whorls and burns deepened with the angle of the light before disappearing into a dark cloak. 

Gasps rose from behind Katsuki, followed by cries of terror from Mina and Kyouka. Tsuyu stiffened, instinctively stepping closer to Fumikage, and while she tried to remain strong, her fear was palpable. Ochako’s hands flew to Katsuki’s arms, clutching them for dear life. He could feel the way her pulse galloped against his skin, the way her breathing grew erratic with the emergence of this old, painful trauma. 

“Katsuki,” she whimpered. “That’s him—that’s the sorcerer. That’s the man who burned down my home, all of our homes. He’s the one who took us, cursed us, and left us at this lake.”

The confirmation came as no surprise, and he tilted his chin to let her know that he’d heard her. In Dabi’s presence, Katsuki refused to turn his back on the sorcerer. As much as he wanted to take the swans and flee, the thought of Dabi committing such heinous crimes sent rage pulsing through his body, almost eclipsing his need to plunge his arrow into the man’s heart. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the way Ochako’s fingers fisted against the sleeves of his tunic.

Dabi lifted both arms and clapped his hands in a slow, mocking applause. “Imagine my surprise at finding that not only had the prince and his lackey found my precious children, but that he’d fallen in love with one of them. And not just any one of them.” In the blink of an eye, he vanished like smoke. 

Ochako’s cry pierced the air, and her grip was torn from him. At a loss, Katsuki pivoted to find Dabi now standing behind Ochako, one arm slung around her shoulders, the other grabbing at her chin to face him. “But my favorite one.” 

“Get away from her!” Katsuki roared, tearing the bow from his shoulder and nocking an arrow, ready to embed it into the man’s forehead. Dabi chuckled, then vanished once more, and Ochako collapsed onto her knees, pallid with shock. Immediately, the other swans flocked to her side, fretting over any possible injuries. Outrage painted their movements with an undercurrent of fear. 

“At first,” Dabi started, and Katsuki whirled again to find him leaning against a thick trunk, arms crossed as he picked at his fingers. “I thought it was only infatuation.” The arrow flew from its constraints, slicing through smoke to plant into wood. 

Dabi materialized again at its neighboring tree. “But then you saw right through my little party trick tonight. Speaking of, did you enjoy the illusion? Did you enjoy seeing her in the midst of spoils and gluttony?” The corner of his lip curled in disgust. 

“How dare you,” Katsuki snarled, utterly bathed in rage. “How fucking dare you.” 

In response, the advisor only smiled wryly, arrogant amusement bleeding through his gaze. In lieu of words, a high-pitched giggle rang through the woods, girlish and manic, edges tinged with insanity. Like a mockery of his memory, Toga appeared through dense forestry, still cloaked in blood magic and a mimicry of Ochako’s white gown. 

“What is this?” Kyouka hissed, pulling Ochako closer as if to shield her from the imposter. “What have you done?” 

“Oh, my dears,” Toga sighed, batting her lashes, tongue swiping against her bottom lip. “Won’t you help me? My carriage seems to have broken down in the middle of the woods. Please help me.” The glee infused in her words only served to heighten the strain that pulled the atmosphere taut. Then, she burst into wild giggles. 

The sound amplified throughout the clearing, and Katsuki could only watch, horrified, as her skin began to melt away. Like melted tar that fell off in chunks, layer upon layer of Ochako’s appearance began to sink, hissing and sputtering. Toga’s laughter augmented, burgeoning across the lake until it rang as harshly as tinnitus. 

Nauseated beyond belief, Katsuki willed himself to continue watching, arrow still positioned in hand. So full of adrenaline and anger, he barely felt the way his muscles complained, sore from holding the position for an extended period of time. Behind him, he could hear the maidens’ ragged breathing, all of them too stunned to react. Ochako’s whimper tore through the air, bolstering his will. 

“And that, my dear prince,” Toga said as the chestnut hair lightened to resemble hay, “is how you make an appearance.” The remnants of Ochako’s appearance fizzled on the ground, evaporating into the same thick smoke that Dabi had produced. The scribe fell into a low, scornful curtsey. 

Grass and fabric rustled, and something moved in the corner of Katsuki’s eye. He barely caught a glimpse as Tsuyu stepped forward, hands fisted in her dress. Her eyes, wide and petrified, shone with tears that welled like crystals that escaped down her cheeks. Her grip was tight, crumpling the fabric, leaving indents printed in her skirt, and her shoulders shook. 

“You,” she accused, grief and wrath inundating that one word. Fumikage swept up behind her, hovering by her side, a dagger in hand. “All those years ago—” She struggled to speak, and Toga lifted her head from the curtsey, a grin spreading across her cheeks. “You lured us from our villages, away from our friends, our families. You took advantage of our naivety and kindness and gave him the opening to burn it all down. Why?” 

Toga’s eyes narrowed as she stood and cocked her head, regarding Tsuyu with cool interest. It was a far cry from her usual mania, like the calm before a storm. In truth, it unnerved Katsuki more than her turbulent persona. “The better question yet is why not? Why simply take a child when you can listen to people cry for help, listen to them scream as they burn?” 

A flash of purple dashed past Tsuyu, and the pure, unadulterated rage was incomparable on Kyouka’s expression. “You vile bitch!” She lashed out, throwing out a fist, and Toga’s gaze lit up in challenge as she danced out of the way, giggles perforating the air. 

“Your foul language hasn’t changed at all, has it?” Toga laughed, twisting left and right to avoid Kyouka’s wild attacks. “Nevertheless, let’s have some fun, shall we?” Still in shock, Katsuki could only watch as Mina rushed to her sister’s aid, but somehow, Toga mirrored the same grace as the swan maidens, whirling to avoid their jabs and attacks, treating the two as if they were a game to prolong and enjoy.

A scream ricocheted around them, piercing and blood-curdling, and Katsuki’s heart froze in his chest as he pivoted to find Dabi holding Ochako in a loose embrace, fingers lifting her chin. “It’s such a pity you have to go. Such a waste.” His nonchalance heightened Katsuki’s panic as Ochako struggled against the advisor’s strong grip. She shoved at him, but his grip looked to be made from iron. 

“Let her go! You don’t need her!” Katsuki shouted, lifting the bow and arrow. Alarm threaded through his bones as he realized that at this angle, there was a good possibility he would accidentally injure Ochako. Eyes wide with fear and understanding at Katsuki's conundrum, Ochako managed to twist and dig her elbow into Dabi’s side. The advisor grunted, then snorted at her futile attempts before gripping her face even harder, fingers digging into her skin. 

“Be still, dear,” he ordered, and Katsuki’s blood boiled at the condescending endearment. “And I do need her,” Dabi continued, observing her with cold calculation. “You’ll be of use to me tonight.” 

“Why?” she rasped. “Why me?”

Dabi tilted his head, regarding her with an odd sort of fondness, then released her face before pushing back a lock of hair. “Do you know how much power comes from grief?” he asked. “There’s sadness in being taken from your family, but to be torn from them without ever gaining the chance to see them again, to know that they died in misery and flame, bodies boiling alive—that’s indescribable. That’s so much potential power that can be fostered through time.”

Ochako paled, but her gaze grew heated as he spoke, bordering on ire and sorrow. Before she could speak, Dabi lifted a hand and flicked his wrist. Izuku, who’d been steadily moving toward the interlocked pair, flew back with a startled cry, stumbling back and falling like a rag doll. Fumikage had moved to Tsuyu’s side, the pair of them trying to help a winded Mina to her feet. 

To the side, Toga had moved to the offense, and after pirouetting from Kyouka’s furious attack, sliced a hand across the air to collide with the swan maiden’s side, causing her to double over. For a moment, she wheezed for air before throwing herself toward Toga, an unexpected counter that caused the two to tumble to the ground.

“You’ve been busy making friends,” Dabi sneered toward Izuku, who lifted himself onto his elbows to glare at the advisor. “The help has no place here, nor does the prince. Nevermind that, though. The situation will rectify itself when His Highness perishes tonight.” 

There was no way to shoot, no opening for Katsuki to fire his arrow, so he threw down his bow and unsheathed his dagger, rushing toward the advisor in a burst of energy. Ochako struggled against Dabi, trying to force him off of her, and at his murderous intent, amplified her efforts. There was a desperate bid to reclaim control as she shoved at him, distracting him from Katsuki’s oncoming dagger.

But at the last second, the advisor threw her back, dodging Katsuki’s attack with practiced ease, leaning back as the blade missed his throat by mere centimeters. Even the prospect of death wasn’t enough to faze the man as he twisted to the side to avoid another swing. His wiry demeanor shadowed his speed as he predicted and matched Katsuki’s dagger. 

Then, he ducked, and a fist dug into Katsuki’s chest, winding him, and the dagger slipped from his hand. The prince stumbled back, heaving for air as he glared at the man. Dabi straightened, eyeing him with distaste as he rubbed his fist against his cloak, as if wiping away a speck of dirt. “You’re strong, Katsuki, but I’m stronger.”

“Go to hell,” he spat. 

There was a shout and a crash of foliage, and Eijirou and Shouto plunged out of the woods. His friend has his sword drawn, brandishing it as he prepared to strike. The blade reflected the lake, tinting the silver with a blue hue. Shouto crouched by Izuku, placing a hand on his shoulder as he helped him up. The way he hovered over the servant was protective, as if to reassure him that he was there and that no more harm would come to him. 

As Eijirou neared the advisor, Dabi swooped down and picked up the dagger, and Katsuki’s heart sank. Just as his friend swung it down, the advisor lifted the blade and parried the attack with enough force for both to stumble back, as Eijirou’s strength came from years of lifting the heavy weapon. The sibilation of steel against steel hissed as the blades slid against each other. 

Eijirou was the first to recover, rushing toward the man with practiced precision, footwork light as a dance. He slashed it overhead in a blur of metal. With Dabi preoccupied, Katsuki hurried to Ochako’s side, pulling her up and gazing at her intently.

“Get out of here,” he hissed, “take your sisters and go. We can take care of them long enough for you to escape—”

She clutched his arms, tears streaming down her face in desolate streaks. “We can’t. Katsuki, we can’t leave this lake. The curse binds us here.”

“Then, get away from here! Let us handle this. Hide—I don’t care what you do as long as you’re safe! I’m not losing you!” 

Her fingers tightened against him as she shook her head. “I can’t lose you either,” she whispered, moving to cradle his jaw. “Where you go, I go.” 

A cry of frustration ended in a grunt and a crash, and the pair whirled to find the hilt of Katsuki’s dagger colliding with Eijirou’s side before slamming against his temple. Dabi fell and kicked a wide circle with such stunning speed that Eijirou lost his balance and fell back, sword slipping from his loose grip. 

A wordless shout tore from Katsuki’s throat as he watched Dabi place his foot on Eijirou’s shoulder, kicking him back. Ripping himself from Ochako’s grasp, he dashed forward on instinct, the only thought in his mind being that he couldn’t let anyone—his friends, the maidens—die by Dabi’s hand. 

All for Katsuki’s sake. 

He threw his arms around Dabi and rammed him away from the others, trying urgently to get him as far away as possible from everyone he cared about. They slipped back a few steps, crossing the barrier between grass and shore. For a moment, Dabi’s eyes widened as they neared the water, and the first semblance of fear slipped into his gaze. What he didn’t expect was Dabi’s gangly arms to wrap around his shoulders and propel him to the side, knocking him onto the ground. 

As his back crashed to the ground, all of the air in his lungs seemed to squeeze out in one rushed exhale. As he struggled with a gasp, a boot struck his chest, pressing into his sternum as Dabi regarded him from above. “Weak,” he taunted. “Pathetic.” 

He leaned in close, and the heel of his boot dug in deeper, forcing a painful pressure on Katsuki’s body. On instinct, Katsuki reached up and grasped at his ankle, trying to pull him off, but the advisor smirked. “You may have grown up training under the best archers and swordsmen, but I’ve lived for so much longer.” He crouched down until Katsuki could see the deep shadows that grew in the whorls of his burned skin. “I’ve done things you can’t even begin to imagine, sacrificed so much to get to where I am.

“You should’ve listened to your friend’s warnings, but you were too preoccupied to get to my dear maiden. Oh, to have you fall right into the palm of my hands—on the night of your birthday, when all of your guards are preoccupied with the palace, when the throne begins its transition into your hand. What better time to take control than tonight, when the kingdom’s dearest prince—” He leaned closed to brush his hand over the stray hair that fell over Katsuki’s forehead. For someone who worked with fire, his fingers and palms were deathly cold, rough to the touch and lined with scars. “—becomes overwhelmed by the pressure and disappears into the woods, only to have his body found when the sun rises because of—say, a hunting accident? An animal attack? Who knows? The possibilities are endless.” 

“If you only want me, then leave Ochako out of this. You don’t need her—” Katsuki wheezed as Dabi’s boot continued to crush his chest. 

“Ah, ah.” Dabi wiggled his finger in mock scorn. “But you see, I do need her. Her grief has grown in her time here, as it has in all of the others. When you’re isolated for years with little to keep you alive, sorrow and misery bloom like flowers under the right conditions. And that, boy, is powerful to anyone who wields blood magic—powerful enough to overtake armies and give rise to a new reign. 

“These girls—these maidens—will be the first of many. Tonight, I could use any of them for my purposes, yet I’ve chosen her. Why?” This time, Dabi’s lips curled in distaste. “Because you love her, and she loves you. Love is said to be powerful, yes, but it makes people weak, turns your heart into glass. It makes you vulnerable, susceptible to every little change. If she watches you die by my hand, then her heartbreak and anguish will easily eclipse the other three, combined.” 

Suddenly, Dabi lifted his head and flicked his wrist. Eijirou, who’d recovered from the blow with a trail of scarlet on his forehead, flew back and slammed to the ground. Behind him, Fumikage had joined with Izuku and Shouto to try to take on Toga, whose eyes were wide with frenzied excitement. She cackled as she dodged Shouto’s fist, unperturbed by the wounds on her arms. Tsuyu and Mina were off to the side, both of them cradling an unconscious Kyouka, her dress stained with streaks of red and brown. 

“This,” Dabi started, “is what power looks like. You have the advantage in numbers, yet you can’t win. Your friends will never catch Toga, and when this is all over, I’ll make sure they all burn alive.” Then, he lifted his foot and grabbed the collar of Katsuki’s tunic, hefting him up. 

“The water,” Katsuki rasped, grabbing at the advisor’s wrist in the hopes he could pry him off. “That’s your weakness.” It was the right thing to say because Dabi’s eyes widened a fraction before narrowing in anger, nostrils flaring in indignance. His grip on Katsuki tightened until his fist shook. Katsuki couldn’t help it—he smirked at his reaction and snorted. “You talk of power, but you fear the water. Why? Is it because it extinguishes flames?”

Something clicked in his head: a memory of what Ochako had said once before.

She says that this lake is made from souls and tears and that’s the reason we’re able to stand on the surface. We dance on this lake to honor them and remember them.

There must have been truth to her words. The lake was enchanted for a reason, and if Dabi wanted the girls to suffer, then he would’ve wanted them to have something yet not be able to access it at the same time. With his pride, it wasn’t difficult to assume that he would take trophies from his conquests; not just in the form of the maidens, but also in those that’d perished by his hand.

“That’s not it,” Katsuki muttered. “This lake—it’s filled with the tears and souls of all of the villagers that you burned, all the lives you’d taken. You don’t fear water because it’s stronger than fire. You fear the retribution that you’ll face for killing so many people.” 

When Dabi didn’t respond, Katsuki knew he’d guessed correctly. A terrible silence swathed them both as Dabi glared down at him. 

“I guess you aren’t as stupid as I’d assumed,” Dabi finally said, then lifted Katsuki’s dagger to drag the tip of the blade lightly across his throat. “Everything about you—your arrogance, your disrespect, your utter disregard for responsibility—has done you no favors. I’ll enjoy watching the light leave your eyes.”

With that, the advisor pulled back the dagger, its blade glinting in the lake’s cerulean reflection. Katsuki squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable, searing pain that would ignite throughout his body, plunging him into an inferno of pain. He’d crumple to the ground, tunic and grass staining scarlet until one couldn’t tell where it started and where it ended, and then—then, his consciousness would slowly fade until the merciful arms of death would claim him for its own. 

He only hoped that his death would give Ochako the time to flee—to use those few suspended moments as the final threads of his life frayed and frayed, growing thinner until they snapped in two, to discover a way to defeat the sorcerer from her nightmares. 

“Die, Katsuki,” Dabi said, almost monotonously, condescendingly. The prince tensed, waiting for the blow that would take his life. Waited for the blade to pierce his skin. Waited for pain to erupt in his gut. Waited for his fateful end.

Except, it never came.

Instead, Dabi’s grip on him loosened, causing Katsuki to collapse onto the dirt shores. He fell with a harsh grunt, his next exhale escaping in a harsh puff of air, and for a moment, he wondered if death had simply claimed him on the spot. 

There was no pain, no blood, no death. 

His gaze snapped open, and what he found made him crave death’s hand more than anything else.

Ochako stood in his place, her gaze determined, lips curled in an amalgamation of pain, anger, and resolve. Her shoulders shook, body wracked with tremors, as she gripped onto Dabi’s arm. The dagger had been deeply embedded in her side, and a bloom of crimson began to grow along her white gown. It grew and grew as she rapidly paled, life draining before their eyes.

She’d shoved herself between Katsuki and the blade. 

She’d taken the blow.

She’d sacrificed herself for his sake.

“No,” Katsuki whispered, frozen in terror and shock. “No.”

Not her.

Anyone but her.

Dabi, incredulous, recovered quickly and sneered, twisting the blade deeper into her body. “You couldn’t wait your turn, could you?” 

Ochako glared at him fiercely despite the ragged exhales that fell from her lips, chest heaving to repress the urge to succumb to her injuries. “I won’t let you hurt him,” she breathed, voice strained. “I won’t let you get away. I won’t let you harm anyone else that I love.” 

She gripped his arm harder, body quaking as she lifted her trembling chin with resolute confidence. “Enough. No more.” 

With the last of her strength, she yanked him forward, dagger sinking deeper into her body until only the hilt protruded from her gown. Dabi stumbled forward, eyes growing wide with shock as he realized her intent too late. She twisted her body, knocked him off-balance, and sent him crashing into the water. 

Unlike the swans, he spluttered as he splintered the lake, sending droplets and waves flying through the air. Waist-deep in the water, he gasped as he broke the glassy surface, and the panic and fear that haunted his expression was the most Katsuki had ever seen on the frigid man. With the strength of a desperate, starving man, he began to wade to shore, limbs flailing as he tried to pull himself out.

“No, no, no!” Dabi cried, harsh and jarring, terror infused in each syllable. Then, he jerked back, as if his cloak had been caught on something in the water. Frozen on the spot, he began to shake as he tugged on his cloak. And when he turned, it exposed the translucent, cerulean hand that gripped his cloak, fingers fastened in the fabric. 

A similar panicked cry came from the side, as the sight had rendered Toga still with shock, allowing the others to finally subdue her. Yet, none of them could look away from the spectacle at the lake. 

Whispers began to hiss from the lake, disembodied and hauntingly empty. They rose with the wind, carried on its back as it began to swirl around the lake, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Louder and louder until desolate moans and forlorn groans blended with the whispers to create a torrent of suffering. 

Dabi twisted back and forth in an attempt to free himself to no avail as more and more hands rose from the surface. Their fingers curled around him, fisting in his cloak and trousers, wrapping around his shins and calves. There were hands of all sizes: some withered and frail, others lean and delicate; there were those that were strong and thick from years of hard work, and others that were small, barely on the precipice of adolescence. 

It was the latter that caused Katsuki’s heart to sink into the pit of his stomach. 

“No!” Dabi fell forward as they began to pull at him, dragging him further into the lake. Lifting his arms, blue flames burst at his fingertips as he attempted to burn them off, yet even the intense heat couldn’t ward off the multiple hands that rose from the eerily glassy surface, grabbing at him, forcing him deeper into the water. They elongated and stretched, a crowd of snatching limbs that climbed his body until they reached his fingers, extinguishing the flame.

From there, it was a losing battle. Dabi continued to cry out as they crawled along his body, towing him deeper and deeper into the cerulean lake. And soon, translucent palms and fingers overtook the advisor’s face, obscuring the terror that marred his countenance and tangling in his hair, drawing him back. 

Within moments, he was submerged, and the effect was instantaneous. 

All of the pained cries, all of the bleak moans and defeated groans, decreased into whispers that grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared altogether. The wind died, leaving only the susurration of leaves and flowers, and the lake ceased to glow, plunging them into moonlight. 

The first of the wisteria flowers began to fall. 

The curse had broken.

A crunch of grass stole Katsuki’s attention, and he turned to find Ochako hunched over, both hands curled around the hilt of the dagger as she yanked it out with a pained whimper. A deep pool of crimson stained her white gown, almost black in the moonlight, and she stumbled back on quivering legs. 

He shot forward as she collapsed and caught her in his arms before slowly lowering her onto the ground. Her breathing was ragged, uneven as she fought for air.

“It’s done,” she breathed, voice taut with pain and cresting emotion. “It’s done.”

He hushed her. “Don’t speak,” he whispered shakily. “Save your strength. We can still save you. We have time, we have all of the salves and bandages here.” 

Lifting his head, he turned toward the others with frantic desperation. “Help me!” he cried, but no one moved, too stunned at the events that’d just occurred. While they’d succeeded in defeating the sorcerer turned advisor, there was an underlying defeat that sprouted from the knowledge that Ochako’s wound was too deep, too buried for any of them to save her. “Please!”

This time, she stopped him, raising an arm to cup his cheek, thumb running along his jaw before touching his bottom lip. “Katsuki,” she said quietly, and they both knew this was her end. He held her closer, tighter, squeezing his eyes shut as his eyes burned. He didn’t bother to hide his tears, nor did he stifle the sob that escaped his throat. 

“Katsuki,” she implored softly, pleading for his attention. Her fingers moved to brush the hair behind his ears before sloping down. With reluctance, he pulled back and gazed at her, at this beautiful maiden who’d taken fate into her own hands, who’d sacrificed herself for everyone she’d ever loved. “Listen to me, please.”

He nodded, and she sighed, fingers falling to wrap around his forearm. Her voice grew meek, soft—a whisper above silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered, words for his ears only. “Thank you for giving us the chance to break our curse, to take back our freedom. Thank you for allowing me to experience something as wondrous as falling in love. You’ve done so much for us—for me—even if you don’t believe it.”

He shook his head, gritting his teeth in a futile attempt at stitching his breaking heart, one that tore at its seam with each word she uttered. “I should be thanking you,” he said, words teetering on grief. “You forgave me when I didn’t deserve it. You taught me to love, taught me what it meant to give my heart to someone else—”

Ochako uttered a watery laugh as the first and last of her tears glided down the slopes of her cheeks. “I forgave you because you’d atoned yourself—” Her words cut off in a pained gasp, and she grew even paler. Her end was nearing, practically an inch away from death, and Katsuki’s world continued to shatter as she gave him a pained quirk of her lips. “I fell in love with a good person, and that’s more than enough for someone who's lived a cursed life. And you are—you’re a good man, one who’ll fall in love again one day and marry for the good of his kingdom—”

Not if it isn’t with you by my side, he inwardly cried, holding her closer until his forehead pressed against hers. Her lashes fluttered against his cheek, and her breathing grew faint. 

“Katsuki,” she whispered again, smiling once more. “My prince, my good man, Katsuki.” His name fell in a warm breath, as light as a butterfly’s wings. She breathed his name once more in a light exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and her chest rose no more, body falling lax in his arms. 

If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend that she’d fallen asleep. Yet, the lack of movement, the lack of breath—all of it told otherwise, and he pulled her up to cradle her head in the crook of his neck, pressing his face against her hair and breathing in that warm scent of petrichor and wisteria. 

“Please, no, no,” he muttered, barely recognizing the broken voice that ripped from his throat, heaving as he cried. “Don’t leave me. Don’t go, please.” 

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Her life—everything about it had been a tragedy from the start. Torn from her family and friends and forced to watch them burn alive. Taken by a strange man and cursed to turn into a swan by daylight, only freed when the sun sank into the horizon. To have lived this lonely life with three others in isolation…

Katsuki couldn’t bear it. He cried for her, for the young woman who’d been the most gentle being he’d ever met, whose strength exceeded any soldier he’d ever met, whose intelligence and wit were incomparable to any noble who resided in the court. He cried for her past, for her agony, for the future she would never have. He cried for her unbeating heart, one that’d swelled with so much life and love and forgiveness in a paragon of kindness. 

He cried as he cradled her close, uncaring if her blood coated his tunic and stained his skin, close enough to where it felt like nothing could pry them apart. It didn’t matter because she was gone, and he’d never dance with her again. He’d never kiss her under the curtain of wisteria flowers. He’d never be able to tell her how much, how strongly he felt for her. 

So inundated with grief, he barely noticed when a hand settled on his back, and he felt a figure crouch next to him. A tattered breath fanned over his shoulder, and Mina reached over to pick up Ochako’s hand, holding her palm between her hands. Sorrow painted her expression, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, and she bent down to kiss her knuckles. 

“She’s gone.” Katsuki’s voice fractured, threatening to collapse into another thousand shards. “She’s gone.” 

At that, Mina lowered her head, and her eyes fluttered shut. “The curse broke when the sorcerer was pulled into the water,” she said softly. “We all felt the release at once. Even you, who had never been cursed, can see that this is the truth: the lake no longer reflects the moon and the wisteria flowers have begun to fall. Soon, this clearing will look no different than the rest of the forest.” 

Reaching up, she brushed a lock of hair from Ochako’s face, tucking it behind her ear with a gentle, sisterly fondness. Her next inhale was shaky as she continued to speak. “For so long, we’ve been cursed. Year after year, we’ve been in each other’s company—as have the souls in the lake.” That being said, she lifted her head and gazed at Katsuki with a slight quirk of her lip. “While the curse may have been lifted, there are lingering effects of enchantment tethered to the water.”

“What are you saying?” He didn’t dare hope. Didn’t dare allow that miniature, fluttering emotion to augment at her suggestion. 

Mina grazed her fingers against Ochako’s cheek once more, then shifted back. “Put her in the water,” she said quietly. “They’ll do the rest.” 

Katsuki regarded her, half in disbelief, but Mina remained solemn as her gaze remained on Ochako’s unmoving body. So he turned to face his maiden, peering at the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, at her pallid skin and rosy lips. Something in his gut whispered for him to listen to Mina, to heed her advice, to not dawdle, and to let himself hope for the best. 

With a shaking breath, he slung his arms under her head and knees and picked her up, cradling her close to his chest. Pressing his cheek against her hair, he ventured toward the water, step by step until he knelt along the dirt shore. The water, cold against his skin, rippled with every little movement, sending waves upon waves that disturbed the glassy surface. Yet, they no longer ringed in light. 

He took one last look at his maiden and pressed a feather-light kiss against her forehead. “Come back to me,” he whispered against her skin. “Please, come back to me.” 

Then, he lowered her into the water and shifted back, keeping his arms loose around her, reluctant to let her go. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Each breath, each beat of his heart was agony as he waited for something to happen, waited for some brilliant, luminous miracle to occur.

And then, the water around her body began to glow a faint cerulean. Katsuki’s breathing hitched as he watched two faintly translucent hands emerge from the water. One was large, thick and strong—obviously masculine. The other was smaller, lean and elegant—obviously feminine. Both of them moved to touch her, fingers curling over her body to cover the wound. Under their palms, the cerulean light intensified, glowing brighter and warmer until it was like staring into the sun, and Katsuki forced his gaze away to avoid blinding himself. 

When the light subsided, he turned back to find the two hands retreating into the water, and the moment they sank into the depths, the light completely vanished. There was no time to revel in shock, for the maiden in his arms shifted as her chest began to rise once more, life seeping back into her body.

It rose and fell in slow movements, and this time, the tears that stung Katsuki’s eyes came from joy. He pulled her from the water and pulled her head into the crook of his neck, where her deep breaths billowed against the hollow of his throat. Irrefutable proof that blood surged through her veins and her heart beat in her chest once more.

She was alive, he thought. Ochako was alive.

Burying his nose in her hair, he huffed a teary laugh, shoulders quaking from the coalescing emotions that grew from the most fundamental part of himself. Relief threaded across his bones, wove through his muscles, and lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders. 

Ochako was alive, and to him, that was all that mattered. 

 

--

 

“You—you reckless—you obstinate idiot!” 

His mother had never looked so stunned, completely at a loss for words, eloquence and dignity lost after his long-winded explanation as to why the royal infirmary now held a multitude of new patients. Neither his mother nor his father had uttered a word as the small group had emerged at the palace gates, beaten and injured with the former advisor’s scribe bound at her hands. Nor had they questioned why Katsuki had carried Ochako in his arms in a horrifying sight of drying blood and torn fabrics. 

After their encounter with Dabi in the clearing, it was evident that their victory had come with the small price of injury. 

Shouto and Izuku remained relatively unharmed, with the exception of minor cuts and bruises and sore muscles that would ache for the rest of the week. They had led the group through the maze of trees, weaving around giants and their low-hanging branches. Shouto had stuck to Izuku’s side, occasionally checking for injuries that the latter might’ve missed, and Izuku allowed his partner to fret in his own quiet way. 

Eijirou, who’d been thrown back when Dabi had flicked his wrist, had hit his head a second time, hobbling alongside Mina, who held him up, his arm slung over her shoulders. She’d supported him through their trek through the forest, stumbling over roots and thick bushes with his weight pressing against her side. At times, their imbalance nearly caused them to topple over, and this resulted in Mina swearing under her breath as she grappled at Eijirou’s side to prevent him from keeling over.

Tsuyu had done the same with Kyouka, who’d stirred to consciousness after the former had roused her with a light splash of water against her limbs, using the last of the lake’s power to heal the cuts Toga had inflicted on her. Unlike the others, they'd trailed after the small group in silence, moonlight highlighting the haunted sheens in the whites of their eyes. They kept their arms looped together, hunched over with timidity as they ducked under low-hanging foliage and skirted away from inky shadows. 

It was a stark cry from when they had first stepped foot out of the clearing. Years and years of residing near the lake had broken them down, devastating any semblance of hope they might have once had. The concept of leaving had survived as a figment of their imaginations, and bringing that dream to reality had caused the maidens to choke on their emotions. With the curse broken, they’d finally escaped their cages and set themselves free.

To their side, Fumikage gripped tightly on the rope that bound Toga’s hands and arms together, keeping her firmly on the path back to town. After Dabi’s defeat, she’d fallen into shock, giving the hunter time to tackle her down and bind her limbs before she could recover and commit further damage. His face was grim as he pulled her with the group, weary that she’d pull another trick from her sleeve and try to escape. But even the scribe knew when to concede defeat because she followed him without a word, eyes still blown with shock, rendered speechless that they’d somehow defeated her all-powerful, blood-wielding sorcerer. 

And finally, Katsuki had remained at the tailend of the group, carrying a slumbering Ochako in his arms. He’d held her as close as possible, taking comfort in the light exhales that blew against his neck. The pulse that drummed in her chest was music to his ears, as were the quiet sighs that she uttered in her sleep. He ventured after everyone else, slowing occasionally to glance down at her and ensure that the color in her cheeks was from life and not an illusion of the night. And he never let her go, not even when Shouto offered to take her off of his arms for a moment of rest, not even when his arms cried out, exhaustion rooting itself in his soul. 

Luckily, by the time they left the woods and stepped foot onto the cobblestone roads, the festivities had ended, leaving silent streets that glowed under the flickering lamps. Tsuyu and Kyouka gazed at their new surroundings in wonder, clung to each other tighter as if this novel world would tear them apart. Mina, too preoccupied with keeping Eijirou upright, took a moment to absorb this new environment before resuming her temporary duty. 

Izuku and Shouto continued to lead them down the worn-trodden roads, past shops and houses with darkened windows, past the occasional cavorting candlelight that illuminated brick and wood, past the remnants of earlier celebrations. Their conversation fell silent as they led the weary group to the palace, and from there, Katsuki took over.

He had moved to the front of the group, ignored the curious, alarmed stares of the guards, even after one of them had dashed off to inform the king and queen that the crown prince had finally returned home. This led to a slew of chaotic cascades that eventually resulted in the current events in the king’s study with his mother and father, both of whom had grown pale at the dark stains that painted his tunic and cloak, and the bruises that hung under his eyes. 

“You, you—” Mitsuki paced back and forth, speechless after he recounted everything that’d happened in the past month. “Gods, you—” Her voice grew louder and louder in incredulity. Not even his father could stop her, for Masaru was equally as stunned as his wife. 

“Katsuki,” he started, voice hoarse. “How could you not tell us?” 

Mitsuki spun on her heel and threw out a hand toward him, as if pointing at the voice of reason. “Yes! How could you not tell us? Of all things—”

Katsuki, too tired to fight them, slumped back against the wall and carded a hand through his hair, tugging on his scalp. “I know, I know. I should’ve said something because it involved the security of the palace—”

“No, Katsuki, you should’ve told us because you’re our son,” Mitsuki emphasized, and he realized, through the veil of exhaustion, that the frenzied look in his mother’s eyes stemmed from concern for him and frustration directed toward herself. She whirled on the spot, crossing her arms. “Katsuki, the palace is important, the kingdom is important, but neither of them compare to how important you are to us—not as the crown prince—but as our son.” 

The defensiveness that’d begun to brew in his stomach churned into guilt, and he angled his head away in shame. “I...I don’t know,” he admitted. There were a multitude of reasons why he hadn’t told them: to protect them from Dabi, to keep Ochako safe, and so many more. 

“Katsuki,” his father started, “after all of this, are you all right?” 

“I’m fine,” he sighed, bones aching to leave and tuck himself in the infirmary next to Ochako’s cot. “I’m unharmed, for the most part.”

Mitsuki threw up her arms. “‘For the most part.’ Gods, what were you thinking?” his mother continued. “Putting yourself at risk like that—you could’ve died, do you understand that?” 

Gritting his teeth, he refrained from speaking. His mother stalked forward until she stood before him. In one swift movement, she raised her arm, and he braced himself for the slap he deserved. 

It never came. 

Instead, a weight fell on his arm, warm and firm, and she squeezed his bicep. Surprised, he lifted his chin to meet her motherly gaze. 

“I’m glad you’re all right,” she said gently, repressed emotion rising to the surface. Her words crested with relief and weariness as she squeezed his arm once more before dropping her hand.  

Masaru nodded in agreement. “We’re both are.” Then, he addressed his wife. “Mitsuki, it’s been a long evening. Shall we retire for now?” 

“May I be excused?” Katsuki cut in before his mother could respond and straightened, itching to return to the rest of his friends. 

Mitsuki stepped back and crossed her arms, the lines on her face deeper than before, rivulets of worry and distress that seemed to have aged her a decade. Again, he felt his gut churn at the concern and shock that must’ve plagued his mother and father. “I’ll have a servant send a fresh change of clothes to your room—”

“I’ll be at the infirmary,” he interrupted. She paused, taken aback by his abruptness. Then, her eyes softened. “Of course,” she acquiesced, “but we’re not done with this conversation. We’ll resume this tomorrow, and you will tell us everything. Do you understand?” 

He nodded, fingers twitching by his side in haste to return to Ochako’s side. Feeling dismissed, he pivoted on his heel and headed for the door. Before he could leave, his mother stopped him once more. 

“That girl—Ochako, the real one, I mean—you truly care for her, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question more than it was a statement. He paused at the doorway and turned over his shoulder to regard his mother and father. The thought of his maiden sent a warm feeling percolating through his chest, branching across his limbs until his fingertips tingled. Without realizing it, his lips had curled into a small smile, eyes growing impossibly fond. 

“Yes,” he affirmed quietly, “I do.”

 

--

 

Everything hurt.

All of his limbs felt like they’d been bruised beyond belief, sore as if he’d spent the previous week training nonstop with his mentors. His back was stiff, shoulders hewn from marble, but the worst of it all came from his neck, which felt like it’d been detached from his head and re-attached at the wrong angle. 

And he was tired—bone-weary exhaustion threaded through his body as he turned onto his back, shoving an arm under his head as a makeshift pillow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up in such a painful position. Slowly, as the haze of sleep cleared from his mind, he realized that the surface under him felt nothing like his bed; it was rough and scratchy and all-around uncomfortable to lie on. 

Even the sun seemed to beam from a different angle, slicing across his face in a shard of light. Surely, this couldn’t be his room.

As the thought rose to mind, sifting through the morning fog that filled his head, it finally clicked that he wasn’t in his room. Nor was he tucked in the large bed that’d absorbed his dreams and nightmares since childhood. 

No, he was in the infirmary. On a cot. Next to Ochako.

Ochako.

With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled himself from the depths of sleep and cracked open his eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. Sunlight invaded the room in a golden sheen that painted the walls with shades of yellow, and he could hear the early bustle of servants as they began their morning duties. A pitiful, whining groan slipped from his throat as he turned on his side, only to find a silhouette sitting on the neighboring cot.

Ochako looked to be limned by gold, a halo of light surrounding her as she faced the large windows, awestruck by the sight. When she noticed him move in the corner of her eye, she turned to him with a small smile. “Katsuki,” she said softly, and it was a melody he’d never get tired of hearing. The way she uttered his name, decorated it with unending affection and care as if he were the only person in the world, caused his heart to stutter.

“You’re awake,” he said, words gravelly from slumber. Sitting up slowly, he winced at the crick in his neck but got up to perch on the edge of her cot, watching her carefully. Under moonlight, she was beautiful. Under the beaming sunlight, she was radiant—incandescent with life, demeanor swollen with fuzziness and surrounded by pirouetting dust motes. 

“I am,” she said, then turned back to the window, tilting her chin up to face the light. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen sunlight? How long it’s been since I’ve felt the sun’s warmth on my skin?” Her words caught, emotion lodged in her throat like stone. Katsuki knew the feeling, so he watched her patiently, waiting for her to finish her thought. “For so long, I’ve felt like the child of the moon, rising with her, transforming at her leave. Waking to the sun, to this warmth...” She hummed in satisfaction. “It’s indescribable.”

Indescribable was one way to put it. He didn’t think either one of them could ever voice how they felt. Ochako—overwhelmed at the sun’s constant existence, a presence that’d waited for years to greet her like an old friend. Katsuki—overcome with the union of relief, affection, and tenderness, all of it budding from his core and wrapping around his heart like ivy. 

He shifted forward, hovering just behind her. His exhale fanned across the back of her neck, and he waited for her to say something—anything. When she leaned back, the action a testament to her consent, he closed the distance between them, wrapping both arms around her waist and settling his chin on her shoulder, pressing his cheek against the crook where her neck met her shoulder. Together, they faced the open window and bathed in sunlight.

She sighed and rearranged herself so that they fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Through her gown, against her neck, he could feel her heart drum against him, and his eyes slid shut, reveling in her proximity. 

She was alive.

She was here.

She was with him.

“How do you feel?” he murmured, turning to press a light kiss where her jaw met her throat. His arm grazed the spot where the dagger had pierced her skin, and when she shivered, he tightened his hold on her. 

“I’m tired,” she admitted. “I feel like I could probably sleep for the rest of eternity, which is what would’ve happened if the water hadn’t saved me. Though…” Trailing off, her words feathered out of existence. 

“What?” he prodded, curious about what she had to say. 

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Then, she angled herself so that she faced him, the tips of their noses brushing against one another. Even in this position, he never let her go, opting to intertwine his fingers to keep her close to him. 

“This may sound ridiculous,” she started slowly, “but when I was brought back to life, I could’ve sworn I heard my mother and father.” Her voice grew meek at the memory, and she curled a hand around his intertwined fingers. “They spoke to me—I was sure of it. I could hear their voices as clear as day as they spoke. They comforted me, soothed me like they had when I was a child.”

“What did they say?”

At that, she turned away. “They said it wasn’t my fault—that none of it was my fault. That I deserved to live a life they would’ve wanted me to enjoy.” Before he could interject, she continued, as if she could predict what he’d been prepared to say. “I know what you’re going to say—that it wasn’t. But you have to realize that no matter how much I tried to convince myself of the fact, I couldn’t rid myself of the guilt that I’d simply survived. 

“But to hear them tell me, to have them smooth down my hair and remind me how much they loved me, how much they missed me, and how they would wait for me after I lived a long, fulfilling life—I don’t think I’d ever felt so light afterward. For the first time in years, I truly felt that I’d been a victim of circumstance and evil, that none of it was my doing.” 

“You got the closure you needed,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against her temple. 

When she turned back to him, there was a twinkle to her eye as she smiled. “I did,” she said, “and now I’m truly free.”

 

--

 

It took all of his will to finally detach from Ochako, but she'd waved him off with a flick of her wrist. There had been a newfound mirth to her gaze, warm and teasing and inviting—twinkling after he’d affirmed his mother and father would love to formally meet her after her recovery, and she'd ushered him away. 

To his knowledge, she wanted to check on the other maidens and verify that they were doing well. From there, he promised he would find her, and she’d responded with a kiss on his cheek.

Now, he stood in a study, peering at his friend as he scribbled away at some documents. “How do you feel?” Katsuki asked, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms. 

“Healthy as a horse,” Eijirou answered, rubbing the bandage that’d been wrapped around his head. He made a face and scratched harder, digging a finger under the tight gauze. “I don’t remember them ever being so itchy. But also, it really isn’t necessary. Honestly, it’ll scar over in a few days’ time. By then, it’ll be nothing more than a faint memory.”

His friend straightened at his desk, sifting through the stack of parchment that lingered at the corner of the surface. A disgruntled frown marred his features, and Katsuki quirked a corner of his lip. “I heard you tried to train this morning.” 

“What else did you hear?” Eijirou snorted. “Did you hear the part where the head guard refused to let me into the armory? Or the part where he had two other guards pick me up and station me here?”

Katsuki snorted, and the amusement that lightened the atmosphere was a nice change of pace. To see his closest friend alive and well after such a harrowing experience only cemented the gratitude that they’d gotten off with such consequence. Ochako had paid the dearest price with her life, but after she’d been revived, everything else had seemed so trivial. 

“Neither,” Katsuki answered. He craned his neck back to regard the twin guards that soldiered the doorway. “But that would explain why you’re being held here like a prisoner.” 

“Speaking of, they’ve got me drafting documents for Toga’s imprisonment. I need to report everything that happened that night as a testament to her guilt, but with so many people present last night, it’s safe to say she won’t be leaving anytime soon. But no matter—the real pain comes from writing letters to foreign diplomats and noble families, thanking them for their attendance at the ball.” Eijirou slumped back, head falling back in defeat. “Do you know how many people attended your birthday, Kat? That’s right—too many.” 

“Blame my mother,” Katsuki deadpanned as he moved to sit across from him. “But truly, are you all right? You could barely walk the night before.”

Eijirou lifted his head, sat up, and leaned forward, elbows braced on the large desk. The quill in hand trembled with movement, and tiny blots of ink decorated the current piece of parchment before he dipped it back into the jar of ink. “Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever forget such an event,” his friend admitted. “And it won’t be something pleasant to remember, but in time, I think I’ll be fine. For now, it’s just a matter of preoccupying myself. If you’re asking about my body, I’ve already told you—healthy as a horse.” 

Then, Eijirou brought his hands to his lips and steepled his fingers. “How about you? How are you? It can’t be easy after watching the love of your life die, then be brought back to life.”

Katsuki sat back and palmed the nape of his neck, twisting his gaze away. He could feel Eijirou’s stare level on him, constant and probing. “No, it’s not.” He sighed. “It was an emotional whiplash. One moment, I thought I’d lost her, lost my world, lost everything, and it was agonizing. I don’t think I’d ever felt such a prolific pain in my life.” 

The memory served as barbs in his chest, digging deeper as he remembered the way she’d whispered her goodbye. “Then, to learn there was a chance she could be brought back to life—I didn’t want to hope because I don’t think I could’ve handled it if she didn’t come back. I don’t know what I would’ve done, if I’m being honest.”

“But she came back,” Eijirou interrupted, then sat back and set his intertwined hands on his lap. “Do you remember our conversation earlier in the month? About letting her go?” It seemed like ages ago since the discussion had taken place. “I didn’t know what to expect,” he confessed. “I thought it would inevitably end in heartbreak, whether it was because she would remain cursed and you would marry someone you didn’t love, or because, in the worst case scenario, someone would perish. 

“I mean, we were dealing with things outside of our realm of understanding—magic. The clearing was enchanted: the lake had somehow infused the moon, the wisteria flowers never wilted, and the maidens—the maidens turned to swans in daylight. It wasn’t difficult to fear the worst possible outcome. And in fact, people did die. Two people, in fact. But she came back, and she lived. The outcome was so much better than I could’ve anticipated.”

“She’s alive,” Katsuki breathed. “And I just—I don’t know. I’m elated—of course, I am. But I think part of me is still a little afraid she’ll disappear if I’m not by her side.” Swiping a sweaty palm down his trousers, he grimaced. “Gods, I don’t know.”

Eijirou scoffed. “Well, I can’t really sympathize—I’ve never seen someone be brought back from the dead. But, I think I’d take advantage of the fact that she’s still here. Make the most of it instead of ruminating over the ‘what if’s or fearing the future. In fact, I’m surprised you’re here at all. Honestly, I thought it would’ve taken a while before I’d see you again since I expected you to spend every breathing moment by her side.” 

At that, Katsuki burned hot under his collar, but he cleared his throat, the corner of his lip ticking up into a half-smile. “How could I forget my closest friend?” 

“Don’t flatter me.” Eijirou picked up the quill and brandished it. The sight was almost comical as the feather waved in his direction. “Now, get out and go be with your maiden. I’ve got letters to write.” 

Katsuki guffawed as he stood, chair scraping behind him. “Very well. I’ll come find you again later.” 

His friend, who’d ducked to begin writing, shooed him with a flick of his wrist. “I have desk duty for the next few days, so you’ll know where to find me!” 

 

--

 

Even after undergoing such an eventful ordeal together, Katsuki observed that Izuku remained nervous in his presence with the way his fingers twitched against his sides. The servant refused to look him in the eye, keeping his head bowed low, and Katsuki lamented that this habit would be difficult to break. 

“You called for me, Your Highness?” Izuku asked, and Katsuki noted that his voice no longer trembled. An improvement, to say the least—a minor one, yet it paved the way for potential. 

Katsuki cleared his throat and leaned against the courtyard pillar, cocking his brow. The afternoon sun beat down on them both, clearing away the last vestiges of spring as the weather began its transition toward summer. “I did,” he answered. “Why were you in the kitchens?” 

At that, Izuku lifted his head, brows furrowed in confusion. “Your Highness?”

“Why were you in the kitchens?” 

“I—I work there?” It came out more as a question than a firm answer. When Katsuki didn’t elaborate, Izuku continued, stammering his explanation. “I just thought that with everything over and done with that I’d be sent back to my original station. I didn’t think there was much use you could get out of someone like me…” He trailed off, jaw working as he scuffed his boot against the dirt. “I’m a servant, sir. I don’t have the sort of training it takes to work directly for a prince. I’m not Eijirou. I’m not qualified.” 

Izuku took a deep breath, turning a faint shade of red after airing out his clarification. Katsuki continued to regard him intently, and when silence finally swathed them both, the prince exhaled sharply and dropped his arms. Izuku twitched at the sound, wiping his hands against his sides.

“Izuku,” Katsuki addressed him firmly. “Did I ever specify that I needed you to be like Eijirou?”

“No, sir.”

“Did I ever say your new position came with the stipulation that you needed to be properly trained?” 

Izuku’s eyes blew wide as he reared back in surprise. “No, sir, but—”

Katsuki held up a hand, cutting him off. “Did I have Eijirou draft an official document overnight to have you return to your former position in three days’ time?”

“Well, no, but—”

“None of that,” Katsuki said. He stepped forward and clapped a hand to Izuku’s shoulder. The servant jerked in response before freezing in shock at the casual contact. “Izuku, you and Shouto have done me a great favor by keeping the maidens safe. You’ve proven that you’re more than capable and that your loyalty to your friends is one of your greatest strengths. That’s all I need at the moment. Everything else—all of the training and diplomacy—can come later. Anyone can learn such skills, but to find such a person is rare.

“I won’t force you to take the position, but I also want you to know that if you choose to do so, you can work directly for me. Your options are open, but I’d be grateful to have you by my side.” 

Stunned into speechlessness, Izuku gaped at him in disbelief, lips parted as he blinked at him. Katsuki dropped his hand and stepped back, allowing space for the servant to breathe once more. 

After a breve of silence, Izuku stuttered, “I—I don’t know what to say.” 

Katsuki cocked his head. “You can start by letting me know whether you want the position or not.” 

That seemed to snap him out of his daze, and Izuku nodded fervently. “I would! Gods, I would be honored to work directly for the crown prince.” As he spoke, eagerness painted his tone, eclipsing the shock that’d marred it previously. 

Though unpolished, Katsuki could see the potential that sat underneath the boyish, naive demeanor, ready to be dug out and flourished. Izuku was sharp and loyal, and he would make a great ally in the future. 

“Good.” Katsuki turned on his heel. “Eijirou is stuck on desk duty, so there are a few things I need done for today. Come, let’s get started.”

 

--

 

The air was quiet, the sun barely breaking the horizon as its fingers crept along the skies, touching clouds and turning them into shades of fire. There was a stillness that blanketed the kingdom as its citizens slumbered, tranquil and serene. Off in the distance, Katsuki could hear the telltale rattle of carts against cobblestone as the early merchants entered the town, ready to begin setting up shop for the early risers that would wake soon.

Katsuki was silent as he traveled behind the three cloaked figures, all of them holding knapsacks on their arms, filled with new gowns, some food, and generous purses of coins. By his side, Ochako settled a hand on the crook of his arm, fingers squeezing him lightly as she watched the sun rise to meet the treetops. 

Ever since the curse had been lifted, the four maidens had opted to rise early in the mornings to watch the sun grow into existence, setting the skies ablaze with light. They would either climb to the highest tower or sit by the largest windows to watch the entity that used to imprison them in different bodies. To rise before the sun and to watch it greet a new day was a form of freedom that they relished in. 

“How are you?” he murmured, ducking his head. 

Ochako sighed wistfully, expression forlorn. “A little sad, I guess.” He thinned his lips in sympathy and set his palm over hers, fingers overlapping the back of her hand. “But that’s to be expected.” 

Mina tittered at something Kyouka said, and Tsuyu swatted at her, cheeks blooming with color. No doubt from her sisters’ teasing. Together, they journeyed past the palace doors, coming to a slow stop at the large gates that separated the palace from the town. There, the trio turned to face them, conversation coming to a gentle stop.

“What will you do now?” Katsuki asked, watching them curiously. Their plans had been kept a secret from everyone else; not even Ochako would tell him, only revealing that they were still deciding on what to do with their newfound freedom. 

A smile curling on her lips, Tsuyu answered first. “I’ll actually be working with Shouto at his bookshop. He says he has an empty room that I can take—he’s offered me food and lodgings and a way to interact with the townspeople,” she said. Then, with a light blush, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, growing embarrassed. Mina and Kyouka cooed at her as Ochako giggled. 

“It’s only temporary,” Tsuyu confessed. “Being in town gives me a chance to be with Fumikage until we can figure out our relationship, not that it’s a bad thing. It’s just—we both need to adjust to our new lives. He no longer needs to visit me in the woods, and I’m no longer constrained by time. Now, we can simply be together and love each other. What once seemed impossible has now become our reality.” 

“Do you think you’ll get married?” Mina asked. 

Tsuyu’s cheeks flared even brighter, but before she could answer, Kyouka cut her off. “It’s not a matter of if they’ll get married. It’s when they’ll marry. They’ve talked and dreamed about the day they can be with one another without any barriers or obstacles.” 

“And you?” Katsuki nodded at Kyouka, who hefted the bag higher over her shoulder. Her mouth curled to one side as she lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Will you remain in town?” 

She shook her head. “No. I’ve thought about it, but ultimately, I think I’m going to visit my old village.” The surprise must’ve been prevalent on Katsuki’s face because she gave him a bitter half-smile. “It seems counterintuitive, I know. Who would want to revisit the place where they watched their family and friends perish? But—” She turned away to gaze into the woods. “—I want to honor the area. By now, there must be trees that have sprouted from the ashes. And really, what better way is there to gain closure?”

“It’ll be a difficult journey,” Mina added, “but that’s why I’m going with her.” Kyouka nodded, and they hooked their arms together. “I feel the same way about my village. Neither of us have anything here to bind us to the area, so we’re going to take some time to find ourselves. First, we’ll visit Kyouka’s village. Then, we’ll go to mine. Like Kyouka said, we hope to find some semblance of closure, even with everyone gone.” 

They glanced at each other before Kyouka stepped forward, pressing a fist into Katsuki’s arm. Though her countenance was friendly, there was a warning gleam in her eyes. “We’ve all talked about this, but if you hurt Ochako, I’ll make sure you never walk again.” While it sounded like a jest, he knew very well that she would easily carry out her threat and hunt him to the ends of the world, so he nodded with resolution. After all, he had no plans to break his maiden’s heart. 

That being said, she stepped back, and Tsuyu ventured forward, leaning forward to fold Ochako’s hand into hers. “My dear,” she started. “Thank you for saving us—thank you both for liberating us from the curse. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express my gratitude. And—” Her gaze softened. “—I’ll miss you. I’ll miss all of you.” 

Katsuki released Ochako as she surged forward and embraced her friend. The other two folded themselves into the hug, throwing their arms around one another, converging into a small group of joyful tears and promises of reunion. Katsuki stepped back to give them space, folding his arms behind his back.

“We’ll come back,” Mina vowed, swiping the back of her hand against her eyes. Kyouka sniffed, nodding in agreement. “We’ll come find you, and we’ll tell you all about our adventures.”

“And we’ll be waiting,” Ochako cried, hugging her sisters closer. “We’ll always be here, and we’ll always have each other.” They remained close, and Katsuki could see that this goodbye, while temporary, caused them to ache deeply. Years upon years, they were each other’s companions, had grown a bond stronger than blood, forged from compassion, trauma, and love.

And now, they were going their separate ways.

Tsuyu was the first to extract herself, lifting the knapsack higher on her shoulder. Mina was next, followed by Kyouka, then Ochako, who let them go, reluctance infused in her movements. She hugged herself, cupping her elbows with a sad smile playing on her lips. The breeze played with the ends of her hair, chestnut locks fluttering across her face. 

They watched one another, taking in this last moment of unity, before the trio turned to face the gate. Together, they would leave the palace. Together, they would venture out into the world. And at last, they would go on their separate paths.

Ochako remained by Katsuki’s side as they watched them begin their journey. She sniffed quietly, and he moved closer, looping his arms around her waist to pull her into an embrace as they watched the trio of maidens take their first steps into new adventures. She leaned in close as he tucked her head under his chin. The three figures grew smaller and smaller with each passing moment until they were no more than dark specks on the horizon. 

“And you?” He broke the silence between them. “What will you do?” 

Ochako huffed a watery laugh, moving to return his embrace, pressing her cheek against the crook of his neck. “I don’t know. You see, I’ve met someone, and I think I’d like to stay with him.”

He arched a brow, snorting in amusement. “Have you?” 

She hummed. “I have, and I’ve given him my heart.”

“Is that so? Tell me, what’s he like?”

His heart stuttered when she pressed a light kiss against his pulse. “He’s a little hot-headed and impulsive, very reckless with his words and actions. He can be brash and blunt. Oh, and he can be so, so impatient.” 

“Really?” He clucked his tongue and tugged her closer, burying his nose in her hair. “Doesn’t sound like someone worth giving your heart to.”

Ochako shifted and reached up, settling her palm over his heart, warm and gentle. “Ah, but that’s the thing,” she said. “His bravery is admirable, and there are moments when he can be kind and gentle all at once. While he may not show it, his heart swells with love and care, and he’d never admit to being a romantic. He keeps his word, even if it means traveling through the forest at sunset, dealing with curses, and fighting against wicked sorcerers.” 

He pulled back but kept his hands planted on her waist. “And you say you’ve given him your heart?” 

She chortled, laugh airy and light. “I have! To think I’ve given my heart to a prince.” 

“And to think I’ve given my heart to a swan maiden,” Katsuki said, bending down to press his forehead against hers. By now, the sun had risen higher and higher in the sky, and the flames extinguished to reveal wisps of white drifting against a canvas of blue. The slumbering town began to wake, and the sounds of families and merchants began to fill the morning air. 

Despite that, they remained in their private embrace, as if the world had fallen away to leave the two of them suspended in time. Katsuki met her eyes, scarlet meeting chocolate, and warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading across his body, down his limbs, until it engulfed him in a tender blanket. Everything that mattered stood in his arms—his love, his world, his everything. 

Ochako reached up to touch his bottom lip, and he pressed a light kiss against her fingertips. “But more than that,” she said, voice softening to become a hushed whisper. “I’ve given my heart to a good person, a good man, and that’s so much better.”

Notes:

Once again, a huge thanks to NiiArt and too_toohonest for being fantastic partners to work with! If you haven't yet, check out NiiArt's beautiful piece because I honestly can't get over how beautiful everything is <3

I enjoy fairy tale retellings, and I've had this one on my mind for a while, especially after writing Sunlit Roses (a Kacchako Beauty and the Beast AU), so it was a pleasure to bring this fic to life.

As always, you can find me on Twitter or Tumblr.