I'm back from my exam hiatus! I think I passed everything. Maybe. I have to wait until July for AP scores, and that'll be a sad day for all of us, rip.

Anyway, I thought I'd try my hand at a fantasy AU. Here's a song shoutout that helped me write some of this story: Wonderland by Chvrches, it's great and I've been listening to it on repeat for two days already.

So, I have a somewhat general idea of where this is going, but not everything is written out yet, so updates will probably be fairly inconsistent, as I'm also planning a few vacations over the summer too. I'm going to try to update once a week, but who knows. I'm also trying out longer chapters, so these should be more like 2000 words instead of the 1000 I was writing before. I hope you enjoy it!

Shouto froze in the middle of the street. Children ran past him without a care and the people around him were dressed in long cloaks and thick coats. They didn't even send him a glance, too busy in their own simple, happy lives. It was refreshing to not have everyone's eyes glued to him.

Winter was creeping around them. It wasn't quite cold enough to snow yet, but frost still grew up walls and around the edges of windows and everyone breathed out clouds. He usually liked the cold weather, welcomed it even. This year, however, it was just an ever looming reminder of his nearing birthday.

It was definitely cold enough that nothing that green should be alive, though, much less flourishing. Maybe that's why he had stopped to stare.

It was just a small flower shop, with foggy windows, weathered wood, and crumbling bricks. There was a sign with fading, golden letters hanging off the side that creaked in the winter wind. Pots and planters overflowing with flowers of every color sat outside, in the windows, or were hung from the awning. Bright green leaves fluttered in the breeze and vines grew up the walls and stretched toward the grey sky.

It was simple, ordinary and utterly unimportant in every single way. Shouto wasn't sure why he was still standing here, staring at it. His fingers were pale and pink.

He was busy still looking at the little building when two children, a girl and a boy, ran inside, hands joined and laughter ringing. The doorbell chimed happily down the street. Shouto tugged his hood further over his face and watched.

There were too many things growing in the window for him to see what was going on inside, but the green dumbfounded him. The little store didn't seem exciting or important, but something about it just glowed. He wondered why he had never noticed it before. Surely he must have wandered down this road before.

Shouto stumbled suddenly as a solid weight ran into him. "Stop standing in the middle of the damn street." A man growled. The white-and-red haired man scowled under his hood, turning to watch as he stormed past him. He glared at the man's back, but followed his advice and stepped backwards into the shadows of a store across from the florist's.

He looked back, surprised to see the children outside again, alongside a man. Shouto pressed his back against the wall, suddenly breathless. The man was carrying a large flower pot, defined muscles obvious through his shirt. His skin was tanned and freckled, his hair curly and messy and a pretty green, the same shade as the dark vines climbing up the bricks behind him. He wore a sunny smile, talking to the two kids at his feet.

Shouto felt like he was invading, watching these happy people and their happy conversation. It didn't seem like something he should be allowed to see. He didn't fit into that. Maybe that was why he was standing in the shadows all the way over here. He pulled on his hood again, wrapping his cloak around himself tighter.

The man set down the flower pot, like it didn't weigh as much as those kids combined, adjusting a few of the leaves and now the children's heights. He kneeled beside them, smiling and talking just as energetically as they were. Then the man held out his hand and it began to glow gently. The children watched in amazement as a flower bloomed from his palm and Shouto stiffened.

Magic.

He didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before. He should have, with all his staring. The pale runes, perfectly drawn on his tan skin made Shouto's own scars burn. The man passed the flower to the girl and Shouto forced himself to turn away and walked back into the crowd.

He didn't look back.

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"You went out again." Shouto didn't look up at his sister's voice. He had already heard the click of his bedroom door. He continued to fold his cloak silently, tucking into the box and sliding it far underneath his bed. He kicked off his boots, throwing them underneath too.

Fuyumi sighed, peeking over the side of his bed at him. Her glasses flashed. "You went out again." She repeated.

"I know."

"Father was looking for you, if he catches yo-"

"You know he wasn't looking for me." Shouto retorted. "He probably just wanted to experiment again." He subconsciously rubbed his arm at the idea.

Fuyumi frowned, picking at the silky fabric of her pale gown. "I know you like going out, but if he catches you, I-" She hesitated. "Even Touya wouldn't be able to protect you."

"I don't need protection." He answered, standing up and dusting off his clothes. "He can't control my entire life."

"Shou-"

"If I have to stay in this place any more than I already have to, I'll go insane." The white-and-red haired man murmured, sitting on the other side of his bed. Fuyumi paused, but she looked like she had more to say.

He glanced out the large window on the other side of his room, ignoring her. A glittering, cold city stared back at him. The sky was growing pink and hazy. Dinner would be soon.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Shouto, I know you're plenty capable, but you know the rules. I'm just worried." His sister said. Her cold fingers brushed against his sleeve and he pulled away.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"Please don't go out anymore."

"Fuy-"

"Shouto." She answered firmly. Her eyes were dark and he could imagine what she was thinking. Maybe something about their mother, or Touya's scars that even the maids didn't try to hide anymore. "Please don't go anymore." She whispered.

"I-" For some reason that man and his flower shop popped in his head. Shouto shook his head. "I can't promise that, Fuyumi. Sorry."

She sighed like she didn't expect anything else.

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His siblings were already seated when he arrived. He claimed his seat beside Fuyumi without a word. Touya winked at him and Natsuo waved from across the table. Fuyumi didn't look up from her lap, she was probably still upset about earlier. She should know by now, she did ask him the same thing every time. Shouto spotted a few servants lingering in the other doorways, watching them wearily.

"Heya, Shouto." Natsuo smiled.

"Hello." Shouto answered quietly. A waiter dressed in red rushed forward to push in his chair and fold his napkin his lap, but Shouto waved him away. "I'm fine, thank you."

Touya scoffed, propping his elbows up on the table. "You'd think they'd know by now we don't care. Dad's the only one who has a stick up his ass about his napkin."

"Touya!" Fuyumi hissed, eyes wide and darting toward the large doors, engraved in gold and bronze.

The redhead smirked and shrugged, ignoring her. "When I'm king, I'll have one person on the kitchen staff, the chef."

"If you become king." Natsuo added beside him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're assuming he'll actually die so you can take it. I just assumed we're all such disappointments that Father'll outlive us all so none of us can take the throne. Or maybe he'll give it to Shouto, just to fuck with you." Natsuo shrugged, running a finger along a burn in the table.

"Natsuo!" Fuyumi whined, glancing between her brothers and the doors. They both snickered at her worry. Shouto knew all the joking was a mask too. Anything to avoid their reality.

"Well, I don't want the thron-" Shouto began as the doors opened. He snapped his mouth shut, staring at the table instead of his father.

They all straightened up in their chairs, arms hidden under the table. The white-and-red haired man felt the sudden heat flash as his father passed behind his chair. Smoke filled his nostrils. The air felt thick.

His father sat at the head of the table, his beard smoldering. His siblings were silent. Fuyumi was staring at her hands again.

The servants brought out their steaming food silently and they waited, like always. Their father didn't say anything at first, fire stifled to a flicker so he could eat. Shouto picked at his own food without looking up.

Touya and Fuyumi sat closest to him, as assigned. Shouto didn't know how they could withstand the heat. It felt suffocating all the way from here. Natsuo sniffled.

"Shouto." He forced himself to not flinch at his name, looking up slowly at his father. His siblings were all staring at him and Fuyumi gave him a nervous look that was less than reassuring.

He swallowed. "Yes?"

"Have you decided a date yet?"

A date.

The date.

His gala.

He stifled his sigh of relief and Fuyumi relaxed barely beside him. "No, Father, I haven't."

The king glanced back as his plate disinterestedly. "Your birthday is only two months away. When will you have one?"

"I don't know."

He scoffed and his flames flared. "A prince should be able to pick a damn day without this much trouble. If you can't decide, then I can just pick a date for you."

"I will have one. Soon."

"End of the month."

"Yes, Father."

The room was silent except for the clinking of silverware. Shouto became invested in his plate again, although his food was tasteless and dinner felt like it always did. Suffocating.

The party was just a show. Tradition his father couldn't get around.

Shouto might make a choice that night, but it sure as hell wouldn't be his.

His father didn't speak for the reminder of the night, so neither did the rest of them.

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"Your Highness." The maid breathed in dismissal, bowing barely. She kept her face down as she slipped past him. She was trembling, fearful in her posture.

It made the prince's heart ache. He wished they lived in a place where they didn't have to be terrified all the time. He wished he did, too. He thought of a perfect world full of flowers and sunny smiles for some reason.

Once she was gone, he walked into the bathroom. The water in the tub was steaming. After a moment, Shouto managed to force himself to stick his right hand in the water, cooling it carefully. His runes glowed a pale blue. The hot water was rough on his skin and the steam in his face made it hard to breathe. He was panting, a moment later, when he pulled his hand out and wiped it off on his shirt.

Even after all these years, he couldn't stand hot water touching him. His baths were always lukewarm or cold.

Some flowery scent hung in the air as he undressed, an attempt to hide the smoky smell by the maid, he knew. They must hate it as much as he did. It didn't work, however. This castle could be scrubbed from top to bottom and it would still smell like smoke and ash.

Going out was the only time Shouto could ever breathe.

He tossed his clothes to the floor haphazardly. Some servant would collect it later.

Shouto slipped into the water finally, almost cold on his skin. He welcomed it. Heat was too suffocating. This castle was always too hot.

It was too silent, the drip of the faucet deafening in the large bathroom. Perfect pale tiles and counters and ceramics. Shouto hated it.

He untangled his hair from its braid, now windswept and knotted. It fell around him in a mess of scarlet and ivory. His father wanted him to cut it, but Shouto liked it, so he never did. His father wouldn't start a fight over something as small as how long his hair was. It was a quiet rebellion.

Shouto detangled it quietly, sliding lower in the water. It rippled and his heartbeat echoed in his ears. The soap stuck to the scars up his arms, crudely carved symbols and letters. They were shades of pink and red against his pale skin and nothing like the runes on the man from the florist's.

Something about that man refused to leave the prince alone. He had barely left his thoughts since Shouto had left him and the children. He remembered the way his hand has glowed, the way the flower had twisted and bloomed in his fingers.

He kept replaying it in his head, alongside his bright smile.

As always, if you liked it, please comment below, or follow for update notifications.

If you'd like to scream at me some, I'm revamping my writing blog on tumblr, that's @writing--trash. Or you can go to my main, where I post about bnha and my ocs, @cultured--trash.

Thanks for reading!