When Bashira woke up the next morning, she realized right away that it was later than usual. Without any strong concern, though, she shuffled around in bed and zeroed in on the bedside clock.

9:38 AM.

Panic pierced her briefly but Bashira calmed herself down with the mantra that "what's done is done". She wasn't in class, so she wasn't going to school. She hadn't woken up, so she could keep lazing. No one was going to come after her or deliver a punishment for taking the day off.

Bashira wasn't in Ashoro anymore. Her grandparents weren't her guardians anymore.

If anyone, it was Shoto that was "in charge" of her. And since Bashira hadn't been woken up (what had happened to her alarm anyway?) it meant that Shoto hadn't been concerned about making sure she made it in that day.

When the details of the day before started fitting together, Bashira figured that Shoto had let her stay home for a good reason. She didn't even remember coming home last night; she had memories in the battle simulator and some fuzzy things in between before being awake where she was in bed.

It was scary and embarrassing that Bashira wasn't sure which of the thoughts going through her head had actually happened or been a dream. She recalled burying her nose into Kirishima's shoulder, less bothered than she should have been by the sweat coming off of him, and having someone's fingers caressing her face. She couldn't pin who it'd been, though. Kirishima or Shoto?

Whom did she hope for more?

Ultimately, it didn't matter. Bashira honed in on what was real in that moment and she realized that she was still in the same clothes from the night before. The spandex costume was comfortable but gross. Who had put her to bed in that?

Then again, wouldn't anyone changing her have been way worse?

The idea of Kirishima tucking her in, at least, made Bashira nuzzle deeper into her pillow. He was such a heartthrob.

If it'd been Shoto, Bashira wanted to shrivel up.

They were supposed to be attracted to each other, weren't they? That was probably half of the problem. There was subliminal pressure there for the two of them to feel something – or was it more to not feel something? – and Bashira didn't want to assume or force anything either way.

It was difficult, honestly, considering Shoto was such a catch. Bashira was naturally drawn to him but, given the completely tasteless reason they we together in the first place, she couldn't help but hold herself back and reject the possibility of them actually being romantic. Which was stupid considering Shoto wasn't the type to flirt anyway. Bashira wouldn't have been all that surprised if Shoto had never even kissed a girl before.

Above all, of course, was the fact that Shoto was so far out of Bashira's league that she felt like an ant beside a lion whenever the two were alone in the same room together.

Until that point, Bashira had mainly been taking everything one day at a time. Were she and Shoto really only going to coexist until something happened to Endeavor and they could get the marriage annulled? How long would that take, and how could she not feel completely scummy about waiting around for someone to die? Was she supposed to hope the Number One Hero in the country would fail against a villain just so she could go back to… what? What was she ever really doing with her life anyway, and why did she miss that nothingness?

Bashira pushed her face further into her pillow, this time to try to block out the rest of the world.

What would she and Shoto's endgame be, realistically? They'd both been pretending that getting out of the marriage was inevitable when it was, in actuality, probably more of a longshot than either one of them could fathom. If they took matters into their own hands once they were legal adults, Endeavor could take his scorn out on Rei; she had been the bartering chip to begin with. Was a divorce really worth it if Rei's suffering was the consequence?

Thinking about Rei gave Bashira anxiety. How horrible had it been for Shoto's mom to be married off to Endeavor as not much more than a breeding mare? That poor woman. No wonder she hadn't been able to handle it. She's probably felt so much safer after being locked up.

Bashira imagined Rei as an older image of Fuyumi. Rei must have looked like Shoto's right side, just as Enji was imprinted on Shoto's left side. Shoto really must have gotten equal parts of both his parents.

What would their children look like – Bashira and Shoto's?

Bashira skipped past the middle part of the process – the feelings and sex and all – and allowed herself to fantasize about cradling a baby, her own freshly-born infant, and the overwhelming emotion that a moment like that always showed or described in movies and books. Bashira thought about holding onto the chubby fingers of a toddler as her son-or-daughter struggled to stay upright and take a step on wobbly legs. Shoto would watch on silently with an all-telling, upwards quirk of his lips.

It wasn't the worst possibility, was it?

Would Shoto ever think about the future actually working out for them, too?

It shouldn't have been so weird, but Bashira didn't know what to do. Once she got out of bed she showered, changed into clean lounging clothes, and shuffled out to the family room. She turned on the TV but didn't bother watching it.

Were there any dishes to do? When was the last time she swept the floors? Was there laundry to wash?

House-wife life didn't exactly suite Bashira. As much as she considered herself an unmotivated person, she knew that she thrived best while engaged in a regimen. She needed structure and feedback.

Shoto wasn't the type to provide any of what Bashira needed. He did his own laundry; he washed his own dishes; he prepared his own snacks. Shoto was an independent man. Bashira understood as much, based on what she knew of his background, yet the realization left her feeling like she had no use at all. How she supposed to supplement him?

She was just there.

After a brief self-pep talk, Bashira shifted and lifted herself off of the couch and headed towards the kitchen where she assumed her school bag was. It only took a few seconds of searching to find it placed neatly beside the door. She padded over to collect it before returning to her well-worn spot on the couch. As she shifted through its contents lethargically, there was one thing that caught her attention. It was too bright to be hers: a pumpkin-colored notebook covered in ridiculous cartoon stickers.

Crap. It was Wakako's.

Wakako could just borrow paper from someone else, right? It wouldn't be a big deal. Bashira felt guilty for having kept it but it wasn't the end of the world. Copying the missed notes became her top priority, though, and she went to work to make sure she didn't waste Wakako's favor.

At what would have been the end of the school day, Bashira's spirits were higher than they'd been in a while. She written down Wakako's notes, gotten through three subjects worth of reading and highlighting, and was most of the way through her maths homework when Shoto got home.

Bashira heard him come in but didn't look up. The TV was still on but the volume was low. She split her concentration between the problem she'd been working on and tracking Shoto's movements in the next room. It didn't take more than a minute for him to find her and hover in the threshold.

When Shoto stayed silent, Bashira couldn't resist glancing over at him. She raised a brow at his presence and simply said, "Hey."

"Hey."

Bashira's brow inched a little higher. That was it?

Shoto must have read her expression because he shifted, crossing his arms loosely and leaning against the wall. 'So suave,' Bashira thought.

"How are you feeling?"

Bashira barely considered the question before shrugging. "Fine. I'm surprised I'm not sorer. Just generally low-energy."

Shoto didn't give any verbal or expressional response, so Bashira busied herself by going back to her homework. Why did it have to be like that? Why were they so awkward?

"I'm surprised too," Shoto voiced, a little late. Bashira's eyes darted to him. "You overdid it. You should know your limits."

Bashira felt her blood spike. Who was he to judge her?

"I'm not the one who was hospitalized a few days ago," Bashira quipped. She regretted the words even as she was saying them. They weren't fair, but they were coming out anyway. "At least I'm up and functioning."

"You stayed home to rest today."

"I never asked to. You decided that for me."

"Because I knew you would need it."

Bashira scowled but she weighed Shoto's logic. He was looking out for her, of course, but that didn't mean he had the right to use it against her. "I could have managed," she insisted. "I would have pushed through what I needed to do."

Shoto was silent, and again it took him some time before he graced Bashira with an answer. "I know you would have."

Bashira felt a zap at his admission. His expression didn't tell any lies – Shoto didn't tell any lies.

"You would have gone to class today," Shoto went on. Bashira hung onto his words. "…but you wouldn't have been focused. You were better off resting and going back once you recovered enough."

So Shoto could go back to his regular routine the day after being stuck to wires but she couldn't handle the same after only a heavy training session? Was she really that little to him?

"You aren't used to vigorous activity," Shoto added, as if reading Bashira's thoughts, "or such demanding use of your Quirk."

It was true. Bashira couldn't deny that. But did Shoto really have to point it out? Did he have to look down on her like that? She did have her provisional license and was capable enough to have accomplished as much. Just because she wasn't on the Hero track, did her skills not matter at all?

Bashira knew that Shoto was speaking frankly, as was usual, not sugar-coating anything to spare offense. Yet her pride couldn't help but to be shot at. She'd held her own well enough against his classmates, no? As outmatched and scared as she had been, she'd done her best and hadn't fantastically failed. She felt pretty proud with her performance so why did Shoto make it seem like she should be embarrassed?

Had she let Shoto down on a personal level, as his wife? Did she only prove that she wasn't good enough for him?

Shoto noticed when Bashira's expressions tightened, her jaw locking and her eyes narrowing ahead at nothing. He guessed that she was put-out by his comments so he kept talking in an attempt to placate her.

"Everyone said that you did really well, all considered. Your training simply hasn't been on par with ours. Your Quirk is impressive but its potential hasn't been fulfilled. We could talk to some teachers here, if you want. I'm sure they'd be interested in helping… you…"

Shoto trailed off when he took in the far-off look on Bashira's face. He connected the dots quickly.

'Speeding up time isn't very useful. It means that everything around me moves faster but I'm more or less catatonic in the meantime…Really, the only time I ever speed things up is when I want to skip out on being lectured…'

Bashira was using her Quirk to block him out. She was using her Quirk so soon after over-using her Quirk, which left Shoto annoyed. But he was stumped as to how to snap her out of it.

Pat her on the cheek? Shake her arm? Pour water over her head?

Shoto was saved from the decision when Bashira blinked, her eyes fluttering as she very obviously fell back into real time, and she finally focused on him.

"Okay," was all that Bashira said. Shoto had to deadpan at that. She really had no idea what she was agreeing to.

"It's decided, then," Shoto proclaimed in all seriousness. Inwardly, he scrambled to come up with some scheme. Creativity wasn't his strongest suit. "You'll leave tomorrow. I've arranged your transportation. Just remember the password and you'll get through just fine."

It was some perverse sense of amusement that Bashira's reaction brought him. He probably wouldn't have caught it if he weren't looking but since he was, Shoto noticed the very slight widening of Bashira's eyes as they bulged, her brows pinching together for just a second before she regained her expression.

"Uh, come again?"

"You weren't listening."

"You weren't saying anything I needed to hear."

"I was complementing you and offering more training."

"…Oh."

Bashira felt heat buildup in her cheeks but she lifted her chin to help her look less ashamed.

They fell into a lapse after that. Bashira was weighing her words. She didn't want to blurt something out – something reactive and snappy – that would make Shoto more irritated. Shoto was simply waiting for her to say something, not feeling the need to say anything more for himself.

As Shoto watched Bashira, with her face a faint pink but a defiant glare in her eyes, he was reminded of the children he'd had to handle during his remedial course as a first year. It was a good thing he'd gotten that practice.

"I'm sorry," Bashira said, her lips twisting. Even though it came out as a grumble it wasn't insincere. "But I don't want you babying me. I don't like it. I over-did everything but it's not like it's normal for me. Could you even count how many times you've wiped yourself out during training?"

Bashira half expected Shoto to argue. 'That's different, I'm a Hero Course student. It's expected of me. You should just study more, there's no need for you to be working with my classmates.'

Shoto's thoughts were completely different, however. 'I couldn't count how many times, but it was almost never of my own doing. It was my father pushing it all too far. The only other times were when I let myself get too emotional during a fight…'

Bashira was on the defense. Shoto could tell by the stiffness in her shoulders and the intensity that she was drilling into him. So he glanced away.

"You're right," he admitted, feeling but not seeing Bashira's surprise. "I understand your perspective. Still, I don't like seeing you in that kind of state, so please be more aware of yourself."

Again, it was silent.

Bashira was floored. She'd been preparing for a few different responses but the one Shoto gave her wasn't one that she ever would have guessed. He didn't like seeing her knocked down? Was it because weakness just wasn't acceptable or because he cared about her?

It was too much for her to think about while she was still sitting in front of him.

"Okay," Bashira uttered in submission. "I'll try."

Shoto only nodded, but then a new emotion flickered across his features.

"I'm sorry too," he said, "for going through your phone this morning."

It was record breaking. Shoto was usually pretty predictable. How did he manage to shock Bashira more than once over the course of only one day?

"You... went through my phone?"

"I wanted to turn off your alarm."

Ah, so that answered that question.

Unable to read the blankness that suddenly shadowed Bashira's features, Shoto shifted and gazed off to the side. "You should really put a passcode on your home screen."

Bashira was still for another long second, until she snorted and deflated into her seat. "Did you look at anything else?"

She didn't have anything particularly scandalous in her phone... at least she didn't think she did. At some point, when Bashira'd been stuck in the house early on and was feeling particularly resentful, she'd gone through her photos and deleted a lot of the ones she'd taken with her old friends. She'd gotten rid of some racier ones she'd taken for social media that she now regretted. Really, she'd taken good measures to erase the person she'd been in Ashoro and get a fresh start in Musutafu.

"I didn't. Just your clock settings."

Bashira sighed. She believed him. Shoto was a trustworthy guy.

Shoto's posture was statuesque, unmoving and looking only a little uncomfortable. He wasn't watching Bashira anymore, almost too pointedly avoiding her gaze, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was cute.

A cross between a smile and a smirk played on Bashira's lips while she studied him. After some moments she straightened up, taking in a deep breath. She rolled her neck until she was facing Shoto head-on. "I need to finish my homework. Do you want to go to dinner together around 17:00?"

Her husband blinked, reminding her of a child caught off guard when they'd been expecting to be scolded. It was too cute.

"Sure."

They'd never actually eaten together, sans the grand meeting in the dorms. That had gone fine so why keep shying away from it?

Bashira, for one, was finally ready.