Chapter 8: The First Night

The princess shut her eyes tight, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. Did he know that she was awake?

She made an effort to keep her breaths even as she slowly rolled a little further over. She cracked her eyes open a sliver, and felt her heart catch in her throat as they settled on the figure above her. Spiky blonde hair, eyes like rubies, that indecipherable stare – it was her thirteenth suitor, Katsuki Bakugou, living and breathing and standing over her with a knife.

It definitely was a knife, wasn't it? The pale light of the moon and her dying bedside lantern glinted off of something long and sharp, and there came the hollow tap of an empty scabbard at his side as he rustled closer. She felt the edge of the bed dip as he placed a hand on the blanket beside her shoulder and leaned even further over. His breath tickled the strands of fringe that hung by her ears. Her pulse was racing now, and it was becoming difficult to keep her façade up. She sneaked a quick glance back at him and-

Met his gaze.

Her mind rang with a stream of expletives as she burst into movement, swinging a knee viciously into his stomach and rolling to sit up. He buckled from the blow, red eyes widening in surprise, and she maintained the eye contact as she levelled a punch under his jaw.

A punch that he caught.

He trapped her wrist in his vice-tight grip, twisting it back, and blocked her graceless retaliatory headbutt with a low grunt. The momentum of her attack sent her flying forwards towards him, and without thinking she sent out her free hand to cushion her fall. He caught that one too.

His hold was painfully tight. She was teetering on the edge of standing, both hands ensnared in his, and terror was beginning to thrash in her stomach. He was a lot stronger than Monoma.

Their eyes connected again, and his expression hardened. In that moment, as she twisted and struggled desperately, she realised how pathetic she must have looked to him. He yanked her arms above her head and pushed her back, and a fluttering, intense fear took hold of her.

She was pinned on the bed, under him, and still he had that strange, angry stare. There was silence but for the rush of blood and warm breath.

"Fucking calm it." He finally said, an edge of disgust lingering on his words.

And suddenly it was not fear that filled the princess, but a bottomless, boiling rage.

"Then get off me." She retaliated, kicking him squarely in the lungs.

He winced, loosening his grip just long enough for her to slip a hand free, and she slapped a palm on his chest, sending him floating off with a burst of magic. She stood, catching her breath and watching him drift up and away, until he hit his head on the ceiling with an unpleasant 'thunk'.

He scowled, flailing in the air.

"What the fuck was that for?" he yelled.

Uraraka's mouth almost dropped in indignation.

"What do you mean, 'what the fuck was that for?'? I should be the one asking that! You've got a knife!"

"Everyone in Abrassa has a fucking knife!"

"Maybe, but not everyone in Abrassa has gone to the trouble of breaking into my bedroom!"

"I didn't break into your fucking bedroom, idiot!"

The princess almost couldn't believe her ears.

"Then what in the Earth Mother's name are you doing here?"

Bakugou, still pressed against the ceiling, grimaced.

"I'm not even sure anymore." He mumbled.

Uraraka narrowed her eyes at him. She picked a wooden clog off the floor and held it in perfect aim to throw it at his face.

"How did you even get in here?" She demanded.

"Listen, round face, I'm not sure that you really understand where 'here' is."

"Oh? And how is that, pray tell?"

He rolled his eyes and huffed dramatically. His voice was deep, gravelly, and filled with exasperation.

"If you had bothered to check your door, you'd see that it's still fucking locked from the inside."

She stepped around the bed, walking backwards to keep her eyes on him, and held a hand out to the door. Even in the low light, she could tell that the bolt was still in place, undisturbed. It was made of such heavy iron that it would take floating magic or else immense strength to remove.

"Fair point," she said, whipping back around to face him "but what is that supposed to mean?"

"You don't have to believe me, but I don't think you're awake right now."

"What?"

"Are you being fucking stupid on purpose or what? You're dreaming right now, idiot."

She stared at him in disbelief. It was nonsensical. She did not dream anymore, had not since…

She pinched her cheek. It smarted.

"I'm fairly sure I'm not."

"Then where's my fucking bird?"

Oh gods, she remembered, the fantasmin. She turned to look in its usual nestling spot, beside the wardrobe, and found nothing. Now she really was confused. How could such a large creature simply vanish?

She looked up to face him, and was not pleased to find him gloating with a self-satisfied smirk.

"You're right. That's weird." She shouted up to the floating boy.

"If you've lost it, I'll fucking kill you."

"I haven't! Look, none of this makes any sense. Why would I dream about you? Why would you dream about me? Why would we meet here; why does this feel so much like reality?"

"Fucking search me. I didn't ask to be plonked in somebody else's tower for the dream-gods' shits and giggles."

"But you're here. And I'm here. And this is real."

"Real enough for you to fucking slap me, I might add."

It was dark, but she could still make out the clear middle finger that was being directed at her from his position floating high above her head. She let out a deep sigh. What a strange boy.

"I might believe you for now, but you're treading on thin ice."

"I'm not treading on anything, cheeks, because you fucking floated me. You gonna let me down, or what? I banged my head pretty hard against this shitty stonework, thanks to you."

"I certainly won't! Just because I'm dreaming doesn't mean I've lost my senses; I'm not going to let an obvious threat just saunter back over to me."

"I'm not a threat!"

The princess couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"You just threatened to, and I quote, 'fucking kill me'. It wasn't exactly confidence-inspiring."

"Tch."

Bakugou took his hand away from the knife in his scabbard. The moon fell out of its covering in the clouds, and silky beams of light streamed in, painting him in soft tones of purple and blue.

"If we're dreaming, then you didn't actually lose my bird, so I don't have to kill you."

"Well, thank you for your generosity, o wise warrior that thou art."

"Fucking cut it out. Let me down."

Uraraka's neck was still craned to look up at him. She squinted in the darkness to make out the indistinct contours of his expression, and he glared angrily back at her. She did not really want to let him down.

"No, I don't think I will."

"Why the fuck not?" he yelled, with a frustrated gesticulation that pulled against the tinkling beads around his neck.

"You've made no guarantee that you won't hurt me."

"Why would I fucking do that?"

Anger sparked in her once more.

"Are you dim? You're going to have to better than that. What reason did Monoma have for coming after me, for-" she stopped to think, and the ugly pieces began fell into place "for trying to kiss me? Do you think that I understand it at all? I don't have to know what you're up to to know that I don't want you near me."

"I'm not like Monoma."

Again, that funny, pained expression. If only she could decipher the message behind those lips pressed thin.

"But you still joined the Suitor's Game."

"I didn't join it to marry you." He spat.

"Then why?"

"I have my reasons, princess."

"And what noble cause is that? So far, you've come at me with a knife and pushed me flat on a bed. There are some fairly obvious implications, here."

His mouth twisted in revulsion.

"I would never-"

"But how can I be sure?" she interrupted "You've done nothing to make me believe otherwise."

"Because I don't even li-" He stopped. Uraraka wondered what he was trying to hide. "You do realise I woke up in this shitty bedroom without any explanation first, right? I had no idea where I was. How'd I know I hadn't been kidnapped by some fuckin' psycho?"

"And your first reaction was to pull out a knife?"

"Duh."

The princess sighed. It was not a good explanation, but everything about this would have seemed wholly implausible not that long ago, and despite herself she wanted to believe that the boy meant no harm. Whatever the cause, there was a suitor currently stuck to ceiling, and her precious bird had disappeared.

"Anyway, let me the fuck down."

"Drop your knife."

"Hah?"

He seemed decidedly annoyed by the prospect.

She dropped the clog that she had been using as a potential weapon and slipped it on. After finding the other, she clicked over to stand directly under him.

"If you drop your knife, then you won't have a weapon with which to threaten me, and maybe we can have a civil conversation."

"It's a nice fucking knife! I'm not giving you a good jambiya for nothing."

"Then stay floating. How long will I go on dreaming? Until sunrise? That's only a few hours." She threatened complacently.

Bakugou let out a rumbling roar of frustration, and his hands began to glow with magic. There was a brief flash of blinding red light that matched his eyes and revealed his manic laugh and then, to the surprise of both parties, a few pathetic pops issued from his palms. Night poured in around them again.

"Shit." He muttered " 'S too fuckin' cold. If it was warmer I'd fuckin' get you."

"Well, it's never warm in Lasandu." Chuckled the princess, who was entertained by his passionate and impotent display of magic "So you'd better drop it."

With several curses and a grunt, he untied the scabbard and begrudgingly let go of it. It floated gently down to the princess, who caught it with her arms outstretched and returned its weight. She turned it over in her palms, inspecting the curling metalwork and the shine of the sanded horn in the moonlight. It really was a nice knife.

"Uh, hello? Fucking let me down."

She sighed and stepped back, craning her neck again to give him a last, proper look. What a strange situation this was, she thought for the hundredth time, what a strange boy the dream-gods had sent her. After tucking the scabbard into an elbow, she held the callouses on her fingertips together and let her magic softly flow from the small of her back and into her hands. Bakugou descended delicately, but finished his landing by stomping both feet firmly on the ground.

They stood for a moment and stared at each other. What now? Uraraka instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, and Bakugou, giving her a once-over, simply sneered. He walked off to sit cross-legged by the window sill and leaned on his fist. He fixed her with his unkind stare once more.

"For someone looking for a husband, you're both pretty rough on your suitors and pretty shit at fighting 'em."

"Shit at fighting? I killed a man today!"

Bakugou startled as the words echoed.

She had spoken without thinking. The thought came rushing, hit her like a punch to the gut. That was right, she remembered, it was only hours ago that she had ended someone's life. Perhaps the spirits had finished him off, but she had dealt that fatal blow. And all that time, he had looked so desperate, so unsure. There was that strange, horrible crack as the jar had smashed on his head, and the blood began to pour, and in that moment, she had truly wanted him dead.

She had killed a man. The thought twisted in her stomach. And Bakugou was still looking at her cautiously, and the moon was still high and cold in the sky, and though she was dreaming the dagger felt so hard, so real in her hands. She would think about it later, untangle her memories when she was finally alone. She was not ready, just yet; she would not cry in front of a stranger.

A twisted smile took form on Bakugou's face.

"Is that all?"

She turned to stare at him, eyes wide, trembling. If there had not been a bed behind her, she would have taken a step back. He watched the fear course through her with relish.

"Because in Abrassa, they say that you've done things much worse than that."

Her breaths sharpened, and despite the cold of the Lasandunian night there were beads of sweat forming on the back of her exposed neck.

In the haze of grief and fear and desperate, shameless survival, the princess had forgotten about the kingdoms beyond her own. The months had flowed by in the gelid waters of a mountain stream, each day the same story of hunger and snow. She had remained locked in her castle for days on end, hiding, sleeping away her starvation, wishing finally to join her parents again.

When the cloud in the valley would clear, she would see the land sprawl beneath her, and briefly recall that there was life beyond this wretched place. There were lands where the crops had grown, and the adults lived, and Izuku's smile would not have to be so hollow. There were lands where children could play and laugh, where princesses could marry who they chose, where the second sun lay closer to the earth. And in those lands, Princess Ochaco was known as a monster.

She had let the rumours tumble, take shape on their own. Like a pebble rolling down a snow field, they became enfolded in layer upon layer of embellishment and falsehood, and when they finally landed at the bottom of the mountain they were bloated and ugly. She did not know how such stories came to be, or how they were able to cut so close to the truth, but she knew that she could not stop them. Lasandu needed a villain, and she was such a natural, perfect fit.

But now, in the face of that eerie smile, she wondered if she had let them fly too far. Perhaps the truth had slipped out, on a snowflake in a winter's wind, and carried her sin all the way to the desert. What did he know?

"They say that you've done far worse things to feed yourself."

Her heart screamed and stuttered in her chest, and her lungs punched against her ribs to break free. She stammered into life.

"I've never-" she protested "I wouldn't – you don't know what it was like. My suitors, they-"

"Seems fuckin' rich to me when you - what was it again? - still sent a suitor up to cold, cold hell?"

His stare, those words, cut straight through her.

"How… How did you know about that? Know my words?"

"May I fucking remind you, I've got a soul-connection to the fantasmin. Anything you scream at it is echoing right back to me in my tiny, cramped fucking hiding place."

"I didn't… scream."

"I'm pretty fucking certain you did."

"I didn't mean to!" she said, pleading not to him but rather the silent jury in her head "I didn't mean to upset anyone, I was just- I had killed a boy my own age! That- it- it's not normal, I wasn't expecting to have to deal with that."

"Tch. Guess you're shit at a lot of things."

He was grinning. How could he? After she had confessed such a thing? She could not even begin to find the words to reply to him with.

"Anyway, you got it wrong." He continued "Hell ain't cold. It's burning, everyone fucking knows that. And it's under us, you send people down, not up."

His sudden pettiness caught her off-guard, and she couldn't help but laugh. There was a childishness to his arguments that she had not encountered for a long time, and his passion on such a meaningless point was almost refreshing. Her heart stopped trying to explode out of her breast, and strangely enough she felt at ease. She brushed one of her bangs out of her face.

"No, you're wrong. Hell has always been up in the sky; it has always been cold." She retorted.

"Hah?"

"How can hell be under our feet when that is where we bury our loved ones? To become a part of the soil, and join the Earth Mother, is the greatest honour of them all."

"Sure, you bury people in the ground or fucking whatever, but your soul, in the afterlife, it goes up. Up into the sky, where heaven is."

Uraraka looked at him as if he had grown a second pair of ears.

"Heaven? In the sky?"

"Uh, yeah."

"But it's so cold up there!"

"Fucking exactly!"

"But heaven is the good place! Why would a good place be cold?"

He frowned in confusion, and she returned the expression. They sat exchanging their unflattering squints until they realised that they were, to each other, foreigners. Bakugou had his silver lion's cape, and his curved dagger, and Uraraka had her wooden clogs and her woven cloak. He was from a land of sun, and deserts, and blinding heat, and she from a land of wind, and ice, and cloud. And perhaps that was their difference, they thought to themselves silently, that one of them craved the heat and that the other had travelled this far to escape it.

The princess laughed brightly, and the sound was like the quiet thaw of spring.

"Here in Lasandu," she said "the greatest punishment is death in the sky. The executioner floats you up, up until you freeze all alone. But to you, the sky must seem refreshing. It must be so nice not to worry about the cold."

"It's not fucking nice. You need to worry about water all the time."

"Oh, but you don't need to wear all these layers of clothes, and can't you walk about more freely?"

Here, he looked her up and down.

"Cheeks, I've never seen people wear as many clothes in my life as you do here. You gotta wear a shit-tonne of layers even to sleep. In Abrassa it ain't uncommon to go about without any shirt, and nothing but sandals on your feet. It's better, you don't have to put up with this itchy-scratchy shit."

She laughed again. It had been so long since she had argued over something so juvenile.

"You need to buy from a better weaver."

"I need to get the fuck back to Abrassa."

"Be my guest." Shot the princess "It's one less suitor to die."

"I'm not going to fucking die."

Uraraka raised her eyebrows, unconvinced.

"You're going to die," she said "whether you like it or not. One day your soul will float up into Abrassan heaven, and I will already be waiting there, because I will be in Lasandunian hell."

"I wouldn't be so sure, round face; this place is hell already.

It was true. But something about his tone, the confidence with which he spoke, put her on guard.

"Then why did you come here? Why join the suitor's game? You evidently don't have any intention to die or to marry me, and unlike me you're not being forced to by spirits."

For a second, Bakugou's sneer relaxed. His look turned serious.

"You don't wanna know why I'm here, cheeks."

She clutched the dagger a little tighter to her chest, and suddenly she saw him for what felt like the first time. Though he sat, he was evidently tall, and through the gaps at his collar and sleeves peeked the hard outlines of muscle. His face and eyes were an ordered collection of angles and straight lines that gathered the shadows in strange places. His skin was lightly tanned, likely from hours in the sun all those thousands of leagues away in his own kingdom. He was young, handsome, and strong, in the prime of his youth, and yet he had travelled all the way to this furthest and most desolate mountain and condemned himself to death.

And as the thought ran on, Uraraka realised that she did want to know why he was here.

"What's it like in Abrassa?" she asked, sitting down against a bedpost to face him. The carpet underneath was cold, and she pulled some blanket down from the bed to wrap around her shoulders.

"It has its good and bad points."

She pulled her knees to her chest and clutched the blanket a little tighter.

"I suppose that everywhere does."

Across the room, still leaning on his fist with that inscrutable stare, Bakugou clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"You don't get to mope just yet, cheeks, I ain't finished."

She looked back at him, pulling a sarcastic smile.

"Of course you aren't."

"Tch."

"And I have a name, you know."

" 'S not important. Round face."

She huffed.

"Well, as nicknames go, it's not very imaginative."

Bakugou resumed with a wicked grin.

"It's your most salient feature."

"I know," Replied the princess, softening, twisting her hair around her fingers "My parents used to say the same."

His eyebrows twisted in confusion, or maybe discomfort. Oh dear, she had made it rather awkward, hadn't she?

In the wide window behind him, the pale stars flickered shyly. The night was as black as charcoal, and scattered with white points like dust. The moon, wide and high and purple as a bruise, cast everything in a sub-aquatic glow.

A wide, dark cloud pulled across the sky as a curtain, and suddenly everything was plunged in obscurity. The flickering lantern on her bedside, with its warm orange halo, seemed far, far away as its light caught the whites of his eyes and the beads on his neck.

"Why did the dream-gods send me you, of all people?" she said, out-loud this time, without really expecting an answer.

"Fuck off."

"Oh, I would like to. I really would. I'm so tired, and you're so rude, and I really have no idea why I'm here."

He stood. His wet teeth glistened in the darkness. They were slightly yellow, like a lion's.

"Go the fuck to sleep then." He snarled.

She stood too.

"How can I? There's a strange boy in my bedroom."

"You've got my knife, stop being prissy."

"Monoma didn't have a knife, and he still did some serious damage."

"How many times, round face? I'm not like Monoma. I'm way stronger than that freak, if I wanted you dead, you-"

He paused.

"I what?"

"Just fucking go to sleep. I'm sick of this shit."

She let go of the blanket around her, and held the dagger in her hands. Bakugou's ugly sneer returned.

"Go. To. Sleep."

"How am I supposed to-"

"You keep the jambiya, settle down in your awful royal bed; I stay here. We both nod off. This… dream ends."

He sat back down, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. His arms were folded across his chest in something like determination. How quick he was to anger.

Uraraka watched him for a few moments. His eyes were closed, and he was as far away from her bed as he could be, her room being circular. There were still a few hours before the sun would rise, and she was tired.

She yawned, and walked back to her bed. She shoved the knife under a pillow before settling back into an inky, silent oblivion.