Katsuki's steps whispered against the ancient stone, the air a heavy blend of incense and whispers about his looming heat cycle. These murmurs, thick with expectation and intrigue, trailed him to the sanctuary of his chamber, a silent plea for respite from the temple's prying eyes and the weighty mantle of the Saintess.
Elder Aito intercepted him, his voice dripping with a disapproval as potent as the incense. "Hiding in your chambers again, Saintess?" he chided, a false concern masking his greed. Katsuki knew too well that Aito's loyalty to the faith was as deep as his pockets were lined with gold from the noble factions, their ambitions entwined with the temple's prophecy.
"I seek solace and guidance in my prayers, Elder," Katsuki replied, his voice a calm facade over the simmering anger. His years within the temple walls had taught him the art of biting back his true thoughts, a bitter dance of diplomacy and restraint.
Aito leaned in, his words a venomous whisper. "The temple's future, the kingdom's peace, hinges on you, on the heir you must provide," he pressed, the threat veiled thinly behind a guise of divine urgency.
Maintaining composure, Katsuki responded, "The goddess will reveal her will in time, Elder, not at our convenience."
With a huff, Aito departed, leaving Katsuki in the quiet of his chamber. "If it were truly up to me," Katsuki whispered, a mix of scorn and defiance in his voice, "that prophecy would remain unfulfilled till the end of days."
The day's frustrations began to dissolve at the sight of Izuku, who stood by the balcony with a lightness that seemed to push the shadows back. "Thought you'd never make it," Izuku teased, drawing a smile from Katsuki that felt as rare as it was genuine.
"Did you doubt me?" Katsuki retorted, the irritation from his encounter with Aito fading into Izuku's presence. "Let's not waste any more time."
Leaping down from the balcony with Izuku, Katsuki felt the weight of his title lift, if only for a moment. "Remember our first escape?" he asked, nostalgia tinting his voice. "You were terrified."
Izuku chuckled, the memory bringing a softness to his eyes. "How could I forget? You wanted to see the fireflies by the Temple's lake. I thought the High Priest would have our hides."
Their laughter filled the space between them as they stepped into the shadows of the night, seeking a brief respite from the expectations that awaited them upon their return. It was moments like these, filled with shared memories and unspoken understanding, that reminded Katsuki of the bond they had—a bond not even the High Priest could chain.
Their shared memories and laughter were a brief reprieve from the expectations awaiting their return. Moving deeper into the woods, they reached Katsuki's abandoned shed, shedding their roles with each layer of clothing replaced.
"I still can't believe we're doing this," Katsuki said, touching the simple fabric of his disguise. The simplicity of the garments was a comfort, a far cry from the suffocating finery of his priestly attire.
"I promised you a festival," Izuku said, as he retrieved the magic charm from the pocket of his simple tunic, its surface dull in the low light yet thrumming with potential.
The activation of the charm was a moment suspended in time, as the soft glow filled the cramped space. Katsuki watched, almost in disbelief, as his vibrant gold hair dulled to a common brown, his fire-red eyes following suit. The reflection that stared back at him from the small, cracked mirror was a stranger's, and yet, Katsuki had never felt more himself.
"It's Kacchan tonight, remember?" Katsuki corrected with a half-smile, the thrill of their impending adventure lighting up his eyes.
"Right, sorry…Kacchan," Izuku corrected himself, his smile echoing Katsuki's excitement.
Katsuki's gratitude was palpable, a warm glow in the cool, dim light of the shed. "For this chance... thank you," he expressed, the depth of his thanks reaching beyond the words.
The charm, now a part of Katsuki's outfit, lay concealed, a secret shared between them. "Ready?" Izuku asked, the weight of the moment reflected in his gaze.
"Let's make tonight unforgettable," Katsuki declared, stepping into the night ready to embrace whatever fleeting joy they could find.
Emerging from the shadows, they were greeted by a festival pulsing with life. The laughter, music, and a myriad of conversations wove a vibrant tapestry that stood in stark contrast to the temple's silence. The aroma of spiced meats and candied fruits filled the air, and lanterns swayed above like stars crisscrossing above them, casting everything, including Izuku, in a magical light.
As they wandered, each stall seemed a portal to another world. Freed from the weight of his title, Katsuki moved with an ease he hadn't felt in ages, his steps light, almost buoyant.
One stall, in particular, captured their attention—a craftsman's ode to the art of wooden toys. The meticulous detail of each piece, from knights and dragons to delicate fairies, spoke of a mastery born of passion and patience. Izuku, ever the sentinel, lingered a step behind, allowing Katsuki the space to marvel yet remaining close enough to ward off any potential threat.
Katsuki's eyes gravitated to a knight, its wooden armor polished to a sheen, a miniature guardian in a stand of fantastical creatures. He gazed at the solemn knight, the strings of memory—reminiscent of a cherished gift from his late nanny, now hidden from the prying eyes of the High Priest.
As he contemplated the idea of purchasing a trinket, a small boy, no taller than his waist, sidled up to the stall with wide, hopeful eyes. The child's attention never wavered from a wooden dragon, its wings spread wide as if caught mid-flight.
Without hesitation, Katsuki exchanged a few copper coins for the toy and crouched to the boy's level, the toy an offering, "I heard dragons are pretty scary in real life. Some are even bigger than a noble's house."
The boy's eyes lit up, a gasp of delight escaping him as he reached for the offered toy. "My dad saw one once during his traveling days, he said it covered the whole sky with his wings!" he said, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.
"Wow! Well let's settle on this little guy for now." Katsuki said, a genuine smile playing on his lips. "Just promise to take good care of it okay?"
The boy nodded vigorously, a grin spreading across his face as he clutched his new treasure. "I promise! Thank you, mister!" With a last look of gratitude, the child scampered off into the crowd, the wooden dragon held tightly in his grasp.
As Katsuki straightened, the warmth of the moment lingered, the child's delighted laughter still echoing in his ears. He turned to Izuku, whose expression carried a mix of admiration and something deeper, an acknowledgment of the rare glimpse into Katsuki's unguarded heart.
"That was a kind thing to do," Izuku remarked, the softness in his voice mirroring the gentle evening breeze.
"It wasn't a big deal," Katsuki replied, brushing off the praise with a nonchalant shrug. "The kid looked like he really wanted it."
The merchant's inquisitive gaze broke the moment, and Katsuki turned away."You seem familiar. Do you work at the temple?" he asked, squinting at Katsuki as if trying to place him.
The question sent a jolt of panic through Katsuki, the risk of discovery suddenly becoming all too real. "Ah, yeah, I do some work in the gardens there," Katsuki lied smoothly, hoping his discomfort wasn't as visible as it felt.
The thought of returning to the temple's confinement, of Izuku being pulled away from him, replaced by someone whose loyalty was to the High Priest's rules rather than to Katsuki himself, was an icy blade to his heart.
The merchant nodded, satisfied with their answer. "Thought I recognized you. Never forget a face, I tell yah," he said with a chuckle, turning his attention to a new group of potential customers that had approached his stall.
Katsuki let out a silent breath of relief, feeling Izuku's hand squeeze his shoulder in silent support. "That was too close," he muttered under his breath as they moved away from the stall, blending back into the crowd.
"Yeah, but I'm sure he would never have guessed you were the Saintess. It's fine." Izuku's voice was a soft murmur, barely audible over the cacophony of sounds that enveloped them. His reassurance was a gentle balm, soothing the edges of Katsuki's frayed nerves as they navigated through the sea of revelers.
The festival's energy was infectious, each stall and melody pulling them further from the shadows of their duties. The music's crescendo lifted Katsuki's spirits, allowing him a moment of pure, unburdened existence.
Izuku's hand in his anchored Katsuki to the moment, a silent vow shared between them to cherish this single night of rebellion. "I want ..." Katsuki's voice trailed off, lost in the music and the possibility of a life unshackled by expectation.
"I know," Izuku's soft response acknowledged their shared longing for a freedom just beyond reach.
The song ended, its melody echoing in Katsuki's heart, a siren's call to the dance floor's embrace. Seized by an impulsive courage, he took Izuku's hand, leading him into the midst of the festival's revelry. It was more than a dance; it was a declaration, a moment of defiance against the destinies laid out for them, a shared insistence on being nothing but themselves in this stolen sliver of time.
As they stepped into the dance, the vibrant melody of the festival wrapped around them,the weight of Katsuki's burdens dissolve. Here, amidst the jubilation of the townsfolk, he found a sanctuary. The rhythm of the music and the warmth from Izuku's hand in his sparked a solace Katsuki hadn't dared to hope for.
Illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight, they moved as one. Each step and turn was a silent vow, a dance around the fate that sought to claim them. Katsuki, with his fiery spirit, led with a boldness that was tempered by Izuku's serene presence. Izuku, in turn, moved with a grace that complemented Katsuki's intensity, his calm resolve an anchor in the whirlwind of Katsuki's emotions.
This wasn't merely an escape, but a declaration of their enduring strength and connection. As their dance mirrored the crescendo of music, Katsuki saw in Izuku not just a childhood protector but a kindred spirit. Their eyes communicated more than words could, acknowledging their shared fears and hopes.
When the music faded, their reluctance to part echoed the bittersweet reality awaiting them. "That was..." Izuku's voice trailed off, a sea of unvoiced emotions between them.
"Freeing," Katsuki whispered, the word heavy with meaning. They withdrew from the dance floor, the magic of their moment fading as the charm that disguised Katsuki waned, the ends of his hair flickering back to their natural gold.
"We need to go. Now," Izuku's whisper cut through the night, urgency laced in his tone. His words were a reluctant concession to the inevitable, a signal that their brief respite was over.
Izuku's reassurance, a gentle hand on Katsuki's shoulder, offered a sliver of solace. "We'll come back again," he promised, a vow that held both hope and an unspoken acknowledgment of the challenges that lay ahead. Katsuki didn't respond, aware of the false truth of Izuku's words, when they both knew that he would be on his destined path before long.
Their return was marked by a comfortable silence, a silent conversation of shared glances that spoke volumes of their bond. The vibrant lights of the festival receded into the distance, leaving them enveloped in the moon's soft glow, each step a reluctant march toward the confines of their predetermined roles.
The looming structure, a sanctuary for many, felt more like a prison to Katsuki, its silent halls a far cry from the laughter and music they had left behind.
Climbing back to Katsuki's quarters, they moved with a stealth that had become second nature, the nearby tree their silent ally in the clandestine return. Izuku's whispered "Trust me" was more than a reassurance; it was a pledge of unwavering support, a promise to stand by Katsuki through the trials that awaited them.
As they arrived at the sanctuary of Katsuki's balcony, the residue of the evening's escapade enveloped them—a blend of exhilaration and yearning. The vivid disconnect between the festival's unrestrained joy and the temple's solemn atmosphere highlighted the intricacy of their predicament, serving as a poignant reflection on the fine line they tread between obligation and desire.
With a nod, Katsuki allowed Izuku to lift him, marveling silently at the strength and determination that Izuku always seemed to summon in defense of their shared moments. They maneuvered through the branches with the agility born of necessity, the tree a silent accomplice in their clandestine return.
Once safely on the balcony, they shared a brief, triumphant glance, their eyes reflecting a shared joy in their minor victory.
"We made it," Katsuki breathed out, a mix of relief and lingering excitement coloring his tone.
Izuku chuckled softly, the sound a balm to the night's chill. "We always do," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth.
Wrapped in a blanket against the night's chill, Katsuki and Izuku sat close on the stone bench of the secluded balcony. The moon bathed the area in a soft glow, offering a momentary escape from the world beyond.
Katsuki let out a sigh, breaking the silence. "Being out there, it's like we were part of a different world. Away from all... this," he gestured vaguely, encompassing the sprawling temple grounds that had been both their home and prison.
Izuku turned to him, a smile playing on his lips. "It was fun, wasn't it? To just be us for a change," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that spread through the cold air.
Their conversation wandered into visions of a life unfettered by the temple's constraints. Katsuki sketched out a dream of unfettered freedom and simplicity, a life markedly different from what was assigned to him. "A cottage nestled in the woods, as far from the temple. Just living, really living."
Izuku's response, tinged with a gentle realism, yet supportive. "It sounds perfect," he said, his voice a quiet affirmation.
Curious, Katsuki nudged further, seeking Izuku's own dreams. "And you? What do you wish for beyond standing watch over me?"
"Wherever you are, Kacchan. That's where I want to be, doing whatever you want to do." Izuku replied, his words a pledge woven into the fabric of their lives.
Katsuki felt a warmth at Izuku's declaration, a bittersweet comfort against the chill of the night. "Even if it's just a dream, it's ours," he murmured, a vow of shared hope amidst the uncertainty of their futures.
But the reality of Katsuki's position intruded upon their dreams. "I hope to never present... the very idea of laying with a stranger, being forced to give birth to their child fills me with dread," Katsuki confided, the fear of an unknown future casting a long shadow over him.
Katsuki noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor, detecting a slight hesitation before Izuku could conceal it. But when he spoke, Izuku's reply came with a steadiness that belied that brief falter Katsuki had noticed.
"We might not escape destiny, Kacchan, but we'll face whatever comes together," he promised, his gaze firm yet carrying an intensity that spoke volumes. For a moment, Izuku seemed to struggle with something unsaid, but whatever it was, he didn't voice his concerns.
His smile, though reassuring, didn't quite dispel the shadow that had momentarily crossed his face, leaving Katsuki with a flicker of curiosity about the thoughts Izuku kept unspoken.
Their conversation flowed into a comfortable silence, filled with the ambient sounds of the night. Izuku's subtle shift, the restrained concern, and the reassurance offered through both words and the warmth of his presence spoke louder than any direct confession. The ambient sounds of the night, the distant murmurs of the temple, and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze served as a backdrop to the complex tapestry of feelings Katsuki navigated.
A chance brush of their hands on the cold stone bench sparked an electric charge, fleeting yet profound, stirring within Katsuki a whirlwind of emotions and realizations that had been quietly brewing. It was an accident, a mere whisper of contact, yet it ignited a tumult within him, a realization that had been simmering beneath the surface since their dance.
Izuku had changed; they both had. The boy who had once followed him, eyes wide with admiration and loyalty, had grown into a man who stood beside him, equal and steadfast. During their dance, Katsuki had felt an undeniable clarity, recognizing Izuku as something far more significant than a mere guardian or childhood friend. This moment of revelation was intense and overwhelming, causing Katsuki's heart to race with newfound understanding and a desire he had yet to fully acknowledge.
In the charged stillness, as their proximity shrank to a whisper's breadth, Katsuki was hyperaware of every shared breath and heartbeat. The electric tension of nearing lips suspended them in a moment, fraught with a cascade of emotions. Katsuki's focus sharpened on Izuku, noting the subtle catch of breath, the warmth emanating between them, magnifying the significance of their nearing touch. The pull between them was undeniable, a culmination of shared history and silent battles, drawing Katsuki in.
However, as their lips hovered on the cusp of contact, Izuku's sudden retreat sent a shockwave through Katsuki, chilling the warmth that had enveloped them. Izuku's expression, a complex tapestry of shock and unreadable emotions, mirrored the turmoil within Katsuki. The abruptness of Izuku's withdrawal, halting their moment before it could blossom, was a silent rejection that echoed loudly within Katsuki's heart.
The void Izuku left was palpable, marking a deep emotional divide. Katsuki grappled with feelings laid bare, the phantom sensation of a touch unfulfilled haunting him, emphasizing the distance now placed between them.
As the initial shock faded, Katsuki felt a growing discomfort that mirrored his tumultuous feelings of rejection and confusion. Each wave of unease served as a harsh reflection of the gap that had formed between them, leaving Katsuki navigating a tumult of emotions left unaddressed.
Izuku, realizing the impact of his actions almost immediately, widened his eyes—a dawning understanding or perhaps concern clouding his gaze—as he took a step back, his hand instinctively covering his nose with his sleeve. This additional layer of rejection deepened Katsuki's wound.
"Kacchan, I didn't mean—" Izuku started, his voice halting, laced with an unmistakable worry that battled with the distance he had imposed.
Katsuki, hurt and trying to shield his vulnerability, cut him off, "Just forget it happened," his words sharp, a defense against the pain that Izuku's retreat had inflicted.
Izuku responded with a reluctant urgency, "It's not that, Kacchan. Your scent—it's changed. I think your heat is starting." The tension in his voice betrayed a deep internal conflict, torn between the urge to stay close and the pressing need to act.
The acknowledgment struck Katsuki like a thunderclap, the ramifications of Izuku's observation sending a wave of cold realization through him. The emerging signs of his heat cycle introduced a profound layer of vulnerability amidst his already tumultuous emotions.
The realization of his impending heat cycle hit Katsuki with a sudden clarity, unsettling the world around him. As he grappled with fears about his future and the evolving dynamics with Izuku, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with tension.
Izuku's voice broke through the tumult, laden with a palpable sorrow, "Kacchan, we... we need to get help." His words faltered, betraying a moment's hesitation, as if the path forward pained him as much as it did Katsuki. The look in his eyes—a turbulent mix of regret and determination—revealed the depth of the dilemma he faced, torn between his duty and the desire to protect Katsuki from the inevitable.
Katsuki's response was immediate and desperate, "No, please don't tell them, Izuku," his voice laced with an urgency that transcended the fever, beginning to claim him. The prospect of facing his heat, and all it entailed, without the autonomy he so fiercely cherished, filled him with a dread he couldn't voice.
"Please, don't," Katsuki's plea was weak, barely audible over the roar of his escalating heat. The fever that swiftly overtook him was unrelenting, his skin aflame with a heat that felt like a betrayal by his own body. He curled in on himself, an instinctive effort to contain the overwhelming sensations that besieged him, leaving him feeling exposed and desperately alone.
In the silence following Izuku's departure, Katsuki felt the cold absence his friend left behind. Each shiver, despite the fever's warmth, underscored his vulnerability and the daunting journey ahead. The dictates of those in power had him tethered to their whims, and this awareness envelopment in a profound sense of despair.
In the oppressive silence that Izuku's departure wrought, Katsuki felt the full weight of his impending fate press down on him, suffocating in its inevitability. The fever that ravaged his body seemed to mock him with the heat of his own helplessness, a cruel reminder of the control slipping inexorably from his grasp. As he curled inward, seeking solace in the protective cocoon of his own misery, a black void threatened to engulf him, whispering that resistance was futile, that his fate was sealed.
Yet, in the depths of this despair, a stubborn spark of defiance flickered to life, refusing to be extinguished. It wasn't hope—it was too raw, too angry to be hope—but it was an unyielding refusal to accept his destiny without a fight. "This can't be all there is," he hissed into the darkness, each word a rasping defiance against the despair that sought to claim him. It was a desperate acknowledgment, a refusal to let go of the belief that there must be some escape, some way to wrest control of his life back from the precipice on which it teetered.