Bashira didn't intend to skip class. She'd only wanted to get away – far away – during lunch break.

When the warning bell came, she'd ignored it. Bashira figured she could stand to stay put for a few more minutes and get her head in a better place. But then the final bell rang, and at least five more minutes passed afterwards. By that point she'd considered herself a lost cause as far as going back to class went.

Bashira remained in her hiding spot instead: behind a building she didn't know very well, sprawled out in the grass next to a wall where there weren't any windows. Even when her mood was reeling it was calming to be in a that hidden, quiet place. She revisited the interaction with her classmate plenty of times and dutifully acknowledged that she was in the wrong for reacting so badly. Yet at the same time no matter how much she went over it, it still made her angry. Such an insignificant thing got her blood boiling. Stupid, childish, irrational tears stung in her eyes.

At some hour, after so much time had passed, Bashira reminded herself that she was only wasting the opportunity she'd been given by wallowing. Again.

Even if getting to her next lesson was the absolute last thing she wanted to do, Bashira could still do something proactive.

Bashira dragged herself up from the ground and trudged towards the gym.

Maybe her teenage angst could at least be some good physical fuel.

It was close to three hours later when Bashira called it quits. The gym had been pretty quiet during regular class hours but she'd noticed the influx of students pretty easily and figured it was mid-afternoon by then.

Bashira kept at it, though, for a little longer. Adrenaline was a fickle thing and she wasn't about to waste it during the rare occasion that she actually had it.

Sometime around 16:00 Bashira finally did retire from the fitness ring and retreated to the women's locker room. She'd felt great. She probably hadn't ever had such an extended training session in her whole life. And exercise induced endorphins anyway, didn't it? She should definitely try to forget about how horrible working out was sometimes and focus more on how high it'd made her that day, once she'd pushed herself far enough.

Trouble was once Bashira had showered, changed, and packed up for her way home, all of those amazing chemicals were rapidly receding. It was only a few minutes after she'd started making her way off campus that Bashira's body started failing. She felt heavy, unsteady, and so, so tired. The last half of the way home was covered almost completely in a daze, as if she were drunk and only barely functioning.

Bashira remembered dragging her feet into the dwelling and dumping her bag on the floor. She'd reactively started heading toward her room, but Shoto was sitting at the dining table like he was actually waiting for her… which was about as expected as having the Witch of the West as a dinner guest.

"Oh. Hey." It took almost every ounce of energy Bashira had left to meet Shoto's eyes and keep her gaze from spinning. Shoto didn't say anything right away. He was staring at her, maybe even glaring at her. It was about as much interest than he'd ever directed at her before.

"Have you been training?" Shoto asked the pause. It was hardly a question. He'd taken in her freshly washed hair, still flushed cheeks, and obviously fatigued stance. It didn't take a genius.

To Bashira's nod, Shoto scowled. "You over did it."

Bashira couldn't bring herself to answer. She only stood where her feet had stopped, willing herself not to waver in her stance.

Shoto slid his chair back and brought himself to his feet. He made his way to Bashira, strolling languidly.

"You won't even make it to bed by the looks of it," he said as her approached her. Bashira didn't pay him much attention at first, but when Shoto's hand clasped over her wrist her sense jolted her into the moment. "Don't make it worse," was all Shoto said as he bent his knees slightly, poising to lift her.

It was half an involuntary reaction and half obedience when Bashira's legs buckled. She fell back into Shoto's arms, wincing as if she was expecting to be dropped, and then lost her breath when Shoto plucked her up like she was nothing.

Bridal style. He was holding her bridal style.

'Does he even realize the implication here?'

Bashira gawked at Shoto, her expression probably something stupid. She was looking at his right side, the silver and grey side, which was the one that she preferred anyway. She'd noticed the scar on his left side, of course, but it was more the stark contrast between the red of his hair (and scar) and the green of that eye that didn't seem to fit him. His left side was more approachable, more reflective of his personality: soft, but all the same distant and stormy.

Shoto didn't have to carry her far. Bashira only really had the chance to blink a couple of times before she was being placed at the end of her bed. Shoto took a few steps back once she was settled.

"Do you need water?" he asked her. "You should make sure you're hydrated."

Bashira nodded, more as a brainless instinct than anything, and watched Shoto leave the room. She was still for a moment, her feelings a mess, before she got some of her wits about her and crawled back to lie in bed fully. Her limbs were both lead-like and like a ragdolls, somehow. She'd probably only get up again if she had to pee so bad that her bladder hurt more than her legs did.

Shoto returned, carrying a large glass of water and a granola bar.

"There isn't much food here," Shoto said, "but you should eat something, too."

Bashira murmured her thanks when Shoto placed everything down on the table next to her. She knew she should dig in but felt a little self-conscious with Shoto analyzing her.

"I'm heading out to dinner," Shoto decided after another brief pause. "Get some rest. I'll bring back something more substantial for you." Bashira melted for the briefest moment until Shoto added, "Don't be so reckless next time. Know your limits."

Suddenly, she felt more patronized than cared about.

Whether or not Shoto noticed Bashira's shift, he shifted his weight and went on. "You got a letter, by the way. I left it out on the table."

Bashira knew that Shoto didn't have any austere intention when he announced the mail, but the news made her blood freeze regardless. Whatever little moment they'd almost had became nothing; it was the first time in almost three weeks that anyone from her old life had reached out to her.

Maybe it was junk mail. Wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake? It wasn't like Bashira had given her address to anyone beside her grandparents, or told any of her friends the exact details of her sudden relocation. Who was she to suddenly be hoping anyone felt strongly enough to go digging and find her? Only credit card and magazine companies were that dedicated.

Despite the fact that Bashira hadn't responded, Shoto pivoted and made for the door. "See you."

Bashira didn't move, waiting until she heard the front door open and close before she un-tensed and semi-relaxed into her pillow. She was torn between keeping put to let her body recuperate and jumping up while she had the impulse to check whatever was on the table.

While caught up in the debate, she somehow only fell asleep.

Bashira wasn't sure what had woken her at first, but after only a second of coming-to she stiffened and bolted up well before her mind could connect the dots. She blinked a half dozen times, her eyes struggling to adjust even though the only light was coming from outside of the room. The figure next to her had to have been Shoto – who else would be in her room? – but she still had to force herself to calm down.

Shoto didn't acknowledge Bashira's reaction. "I brought you some udon and spicy stir-fry. You like hot things, don't you?"

Bashira's thought were still jumbled, mainly from sleep, but some corner of her mind was wondering if Shoto had been watching her, taking notice of her habits and preferences.

"Yeah," Bashira breathed. "I like hot things."

Once he was sure that Bashira was awake and in-the-moment, Shoto switched on the lamp on the side of the bed. Her take-out container was on the side table, a napkin and utensils folded on top. "I'll get you more water," he said. The glass from earlier was still full, untouched, but a cold refill would be more enticing.

Bashira stared blankly ahead as Shoto went through his motions. It was strange to have Shoto waiting on her but Bashira tried not to think too much into it. He probably looked at her as more of a duty than anything. It wasn't about actual concern. It wasn't like he had particular feelings towards her.

Shoto came back with a fresh glass of water – and an envelope. He placed the water down first, then tilted the letter so that the address side faced him.

"I have to admit I'm curious about your mail, too," Shoto said. He waited a beat before holding the mail out to Bashira. "The return address is my family's compound. It's from my sister."

Bashira was stunned but she reached out to take the letter from Shoto. The return address didn't mean much to her at first, but it was Bashira's name as the addressee, and Fuyumi Todoroki as the returnee.

'So he has a sister' Bashira thought. The revelation was a reminder that Bashira really didn't know much of anything about Shoto. Was Fuyumi younger or older? Were there any other siblings? What was their relationship like? Were they all Heroes too?

There were a million questions that came up just seeing Fuyumi's name and the easiest way to get answers was opening the letter and reading what the other girl had to say.

Bashira glanced up at Shoto, who didn't show any signs that he intended on leaving, then flipped the envelope around to tear it open, almost too carefully. She pulled the page out and unfolded it.

Bashira,

This is weird, isn't it? We're family now but I don't know when I'll meet you. Our house has always been full of boys, so I hope that we'll see each other soon. It will be nice to have a sister to talk to.

I went to visit my mother recently and she had a lot to say about you. I know it's all probably overwhelming, but it may comfort you to know that we all care about you. My mother, me, and even Shoto. He may not show it all that obviously, but my little brother is a good man. I'm sure you've noticed by now. You don't need to worry about him. He's on your side. We all are.

To be honest I don't really know what to say. I just wanted to write to you. I hope things are well. I know U.A. is pretty strict now but maybe the next break you have off with Shoto, the two of you could visit together? I promise it won't be awkward! You're always welcome here.

All the best,

Fuyumi

Even when Bashira finished reading she didn't take her eyes off of the page. It was a simple note, and while Bashira kept her feelings dulled and numb to its meaning at first, she felt herself getting more emotional as it all sunk in.

This girl, her new sister-in-law whom she'd never even known existed, wrote to her just for the sake of writing to her. But her family, her own flesh and blood, was still keeping mum.

Bashira noticed that she'd started gripping the paper more tightly than she should have and did her best to loosen up. She looked at Shoto again, who was waiting patiently to hear what she had to say about the correspondence.

Shoto was handsome. It wasn't the first time that Bashira had thought it. When they'd met, as soon as he'd walked into the room, Bashira had been both glad and angry that he wasn't some troll-ish gnome. It made it harder to resent him, with him being so pretty.

Then he'd also been cordial and accommodating. Shoto gave Bashira plenty of space but still paid attention from a distance, and he listened when she had something to say. He hadn't wanted the marriage any more than she had but he hadn't treated her any less because of it. His friends care so much about him that they'd started caring about her. His family cared enough about him to start caring about her.

With the way things had ended up, if it weren't for Shoto being the one she'd married, Bashira wouldn't have anything or anyone. She'd never realized how fickle her relationships with other people had been compared to the bonds that Shoto had within his world.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Bashira seemed to shrink in front of Shoto. Her expression sunk and grew more shadowed.

"It's nothing," Bashira said. Her tone was steady despite the air around her. "Your sister just wanted to introduce herself. She said we should both visit, when we get that chance."

Bashira wasn't looking at Shoto anymore – she was staring straight down at the covers – so it was hard for Shoto to gage her.

"And what about you?" Shoto questioned, his head tilting a fraction. "Would you want to do that?"

He didn't get an answer very quickly. Bashira didn't respond at all, at first. She was either ignoring him entirely or seriously contemplating.

"Yeah." It was a simple but decisive word. "I think I might like that."

Shoto knew he was missing something; he knew he didn't understand whatever gears were turning inside of Bashira's brain, but he simultaneously accepted and dismissed the notion in that moment. He never really knew what she was thinking and probably never would. "Okay," he said instead, "then we'll do that."

Bashira couldn't help but let her lips quirk up.

Against her better sense, she liked the sound of "we".