She was plain looking at first glance. Black hair, long and straight. Shoto couldn't see her eyes from their distance, so they obviously weren't anything striking like red or blue. She was in traditional clothing, too, and he couldn't make much of her figure.
Shoto stood just inside of the shoji doors, appraising her.
Endeavor had told Shoto small things about her - probably only as much as he knew. Shoto doubted that his father had cared much about her character or personal traits. All that Shoto really knew was her Quirk: that manipulated time in some way.
That had been enough for Endeavor.
But Shoto watched her. He watched as she sat silently, stiffly, at the kotatsu, a quilt draped over her knees. She didn't look up when Shoto walked in. She only glared at the table-top, either in some kind of angry determination or in pure docility.
Shoto felt a tiny twinge of sympathy and edged into the room towards her. When he reached the kotatsu he kneeled down, but didn't pull the blanket over his legs. He hoped that separation gave her at least a little comfort.
Shoto didn't know what to say. He didn't have the best social etiquette to begin with, the unusual situation aside, so he waited for the girl to make some kind of move.
Eventually Bashira seemed to grow anxious with the tension, and her eyes drifted upwards. Shoto noticed that her gaze lingered on his hands first, and then up his torso, but hesitated before reaching his face.
When their eyes met, Shoto felt nothing. If he was being honest, he still didn't register what color her eyes were.
This woman, Bashira Kobayashi, was merely his arranged wife. She was nothing else to him.
Still, Shoto noticed that Bashira was grinding her teeth, trying hard to keep a straight face. Her stare was forcedly harsh but it lacked conviction. Shoto's gut again stirred and softened for her.
This wasn't her fault. She was a victim. They both were.
When his father had first told him about this arrangement – this Quirk Marriage – Shoto had been furious. One of his first thoughts was of his mother, who had been forced into a relationship with his father without her own approval or benefit considered.
While Shoto studied Bashira, he noted everything he would have expected. She was defensive and guarded, with a threat of aggression. Shoto knew she hadn't been as formally trained as him with her Quirk and probably wouldn't be much of a threat if she lashed out. He could handle any outburst she exuded.
Shoto just hoped it wouldn't come to that, despite the fact that he wouldn't really blame her.
The odds seemed in his favor as Bashira only continued to watch him. Slowly but surely, the tenseness in her features slipped away, morphing her expression into something more vulnerable. Her lips un-pursed and dipped downwards in a pout. Her glare loosened but didn't lose all of its wariness.
The silence between them became increasingly potent. Shoto sighed softly and turned his gaze to the side.
"It's obvious that neither one of us is here willingly," Shoto said, staring out the window to his right, "but the decision's already been made. We must each have our own reasons for going through with it. Let's just try to make this as painless as possible."
Shoto glanced back to Bashira. Her brows had furrowed and there was a bit of pink on her cheeks. Shoto could tell by the stiffness in her shoulders that she must be clenching her fists under the table.
He frowned. Maybe "pain" wasn't the best choice of words.
Things went quiet again between them. Was Bashira naturally the laconic type, or was it just the situation? Shoto wouldn't be all that upset if it was the former. He wasn't much of a conversationalist either. They could maintain their own space and lifestyles without getting in each other's way too often, once they were officially forced together.
"Why?"
Shoto re-focused on Bashira and was mildly surprised that she held his gaze evenly.
"Why are you going along with this?" she asked. Her voice was slightly hoarse. "What's your reason for agreeing to marry me?"
Shoto blinked once. His gaze drifted again as he thought back to the answer of Bashira's question.
A week ago, there would have been no way in living Hell that Shoto would have thought he'd be sitting across the table from a girl his father had chosen for him – the day before their wedding, none the less. He'd never even thought about marriage yet, so a Quirk Marriage was that much more outrageous. In hind sight he shouldn't have been so shocked, though. Of course his bastard dad would have been planning this all along.
Shoto still managed to underestimate his father sometimes. Endeavor was more than just brawn. The new Number One Hero had thought ahead to predict Shoto's reaction perfectly, and he knew exactly which trump card to pull. There was only one reason that Shoto was being obedient. There was only one way that Shoto would have ever bent to the will of that man.
"My father promised me something in return," Shoto said slowly. "Something important to me."
Bashira's lips twisted, clearly not satisfied by his vague answer, but she didn't push any further.
"At least you're getting something out of this, then," she said. Her features settled, and her expression became distant. "I just didn't have a good enough reason to say no."
Shoto wondered what exactly she meant by that but wasn't bothered enough to ask. She could elaborate if she wanted to. Or not. They had time.
They had the rest of their lives.
