Trigger Warning:

- depression

- subtle PTSD

Blearily, my eyes open.

How long has it been since I slept this well?

Letting out a morning groan, I take in my surroundings.

And what I see makes all vestiges of sloth vanish immediately.

I'm facing Selene. I am in her dorm room, lying in her bed. Lying next to her. Shock, amazement, incredulity and a thousand other unnameable emotions run through me as I try to recollect just how I ended up here.

After that unforgettable moment of blissful passion had passed, we simply held each other. I had eased my grip around her body a bit to stroke the fabric against her back, and she had taken to tracing indecipherable patterns against mine. We said nothing for a long time. Nothing had to be said. We were giving and taking comfort from each other. And it felt right. I never wanted to let her go. I wanted this moment to last forever.

So when she started to pull back, an inexplicable loss of sensation racked me. I was about to pull her back into my embrace when she said something that caught me off guard. "If it is not too presumptuous of me, may I ask you to stay? I don't want to be alone tonight. I assume you don't want to either." My jaw almost dropped. This night I had seen Selene push her boundaries not once, not twice, but thrice. Where did the girl who was troubled at the mere mention of crowds and intimate touches go? But it would be a lie to say that I was displeased with the development. She stammered, "I-I-I'm not suggesting anything illicit. W-We'll lie on opposite sides of the bed. W-We'll face away from each other even, if that h-helps. And … and separate pillows and blankets, of course. Unless you have begun snoring. In that case, a-another solution can be found."

My mouth finally worked. I cupped her cheek lovingly, and when she leaned into the touch, the joy that bloomed inside me was indescribable. "I know that you are not implying anything naughty," I whispered. "And I promise you that I won't do anything like that either. Using force would be despicable. But are you sure you want me to stay? I'm not averse to the idea, but you might want to reconsider."

Hesitation did cross her face, but she steeled herself at the last moment and nodded. "I trust you. And you trust me. So I should be honest with you as much as I can. Actually, I awoke to a nightmare, and I am afraid of falling back into it. At the same time, I am afraid that you might spiral into your agony again. I don't want the things that happened to me to happen to you."

At that, I cradled her other cheek and placed a long kiss on her forehead. That was my consent.

So she pulled out an extra blanket and arranged the pillows on her bed to accommodate for two. Like she said, we laid on opposite sides, facing away. My hand reached to rub my nape, and I bet that her face was inflamed. We bid each other good night, and fell asleep like that.

However, that is not how I wake up.

My back was to her and front facing the window side of the bed. Now it is the opposite. My back is toward the door, and I am looking at her resting figure. How we switched positions in our sleep is out of my comprehension. But not unbelievable. Because I love her, I want to protect her. Subconsciously, I must have expressed that desire by holding her and shifting from the window side to the door side because the door is where a threat is most likely to enter. That same subconscious desire also manifested in my fingers because they are intertwined with hers.

Gently, I try to tug them, but the attempt is half-hearted. In a battle between what I should do and what I want to do, I choose my desire: to remain put and memorize this moment.

I glance at my surroundings. Rainy grey morning light seeps through the partition between the curtains. Midnight blue walls acquire a subdued tone under the light. Deep indigo coverlets and pillows adorn the

bed. A sheer white mosquito net hangs above the bed frame. The scene is a replica of her bedroom at the mansion. How did I not notice any of that last night? If night were the interior of a room, it would be this. And I love it.

I gaze at Selene. Her unbound wavy tresses, now raven black, spills across her pillow like a waterfall. It reminds me of the new moon in the cosmos. A pointed ear peeks out like a star. The black shawl she was wearing is unknotted to form a second blanket. On top of that blanket rests the gift I gave her: the pendant. The unspoken declaration of my love. From all the times I took flowers from her hair, I noticed that she always wore them in sets of nine. But nine is an unlucky number in Japan. Seven is fortuitous. Superstitious, I know, but I wanted to balance all that misfortune with a little bit of happiness, so I chose seven teardrop petals. This present was long overdue, and a part of me had worried that she wouldn't accept. The fact that she did, the fact that she listened to me, encouraged me, hugged me, even kissed me … maybe she feels an infinitesimal piece of the boundless enormity I feel for her. Could she love me, too?

When Selene was hospitalized after my classmates and I rescued her from the League of Villains, I promised to myself and her that I would confess my feelings once I had made a name for myself. Once I had built a stable present and a secure future financially, socially, reputably, and every way in which I could provide for her. But last night, I wanted to say those three magical words. Again. And again. And for forever. Love cannot erase years worth of pain, but it certainly makes it bearable. For Selene, I wanted her to know that I would never hurt her the way the people who were supposed to be her family did. Whatever she had been through, I did not think less of her because of it. She deserved to be happy, and I wanted to give that to her.

But it's getting harder to control my feelings. I almost kissed her lips. When she hugged me, I hugged her tighter. And it still wasn't enough. I poured all my love into those neck kisses. It was reckless of me. She could have refused, and I wouldn't blame her. Despite that, I am not going to distance myself and push her away. I did that once; it nearly cost her life.

The mosquito net sequesters us in a little universe of our own. No families, no trauma, no villains. Just me and her. It is in this little universe that I tell her when she is asleep what I am not ready to say when she is awake. "I love you," I murmur. Her eyes squeeze just a little before stilling again. This time, my fingers do extricate themselves from hers, only to grasp hers again. A pair of kid gloves end at her wrists. I could take this chance to slip my thumb under their hem and feel her bare hands. I'm even tempted to do so, but I stop at the last moment. "I will only touch you there if one day you feel comfortable to touch me without any barriers." I seal the promise with a tender kiss to her gloved fingertips. One by one. All ten of them. "Before that," I continue in that same susurrated tone, "I will profess my feelings to you. One day, I will tell you how much I love you and ask you to be my girlfriend. I pray that you will say yes." That vow is established with ten more kisses on her knuckles.

This peace is broken when her alarm rings. I know that usually I wake her up, but as of this moment, I have a newfound hatred for alarm clocks. Selene jolts and her eyes pop wide open. They land on me. "Good morning," I greet with a shy smile. The intended effect rebounds. Bewilderment glimmers in her silver eyes, and her mouth opens to stutter. Incomprehensible words escape her lips as she starts teetering at the edge, unaware. I reach forward to balance her, but I am too late. She tumbles off the bed to the hardwood floor below, and I follow her likewise.

We land with a hard thump. Selene took the brunt of the fall, so as I help her sit up, I inspect for injuries. A flurry of questions escapes my mouth. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Does your head ache? Any sprains or dislocated joints?" She stammers no to each question, but I won't be satisfied until I see physical proof.

I tilt her face here and there, searching for bruises, until she calls out my name. "Sh-Shouto!" she exclaims. "I'm all right. Promise." Relieved, I rest my head against the crook of her neck. She continues, "I was simply surprised. Please don't blame yourself for this."

"If you say so," I reply. Still, I pull her into my lap and hold her. She yelps at the suddenness but does not resist. Rather, she crosses her wrists behind my nape and nestles against my heart.

"This is nice," she says after a moment. "You are warm." Oh. She must be cold. I bring her closer to me and heat my left hand just enough to not burn her. In turn, Selene pulls her shawl closer around us. Hints of white translucent organza covering her shoulders peak out. I can spot the darker skin of scar tissue beneath the nightgown. Whether she got it because of her quirk or from her abuse, I do not know. It hurts to see it all the same. I bend forth and press my lips against it. Her breath hitches. I am about to kiss the spot again when she lifts my head. However, she is unable to meet my gaze. "My scars … they're hideous. I don't want you to feel repulsed."

Selene is not one to wear diaphanous dresses because they reveal the physical manifestation of her vulnerability. So I want to tell her that she is beautiful with her scars. This is an opportunity I will not let go to waste. "For years I felt ashamed of carrying this red mark around my eye. It was a stigma. When you embraced me for it, I was lightened. Then why do you think I would be disgusted by your scars?" She doesn't have an answer, but silently she remains adamant on hiding them. Okay. I won't pressurize you. With a kiss to her cheek, I tell her as much. After slightly adjusting to a more comfortable posture, I rock her back and forth in my lap. Selene snuggles into my chest.

Peaceful silence passes for what must be minutes but feels like eons. Breaking the serenity, I chuckle, "I don't want to go to class today."

It is responded by a giggle. "Neither do I. But we have a quiz today."

"Let's take it another day."

Another laugh. "You know how strict our teacher is. The make-up quiz will be harder."

"Let's use your birthday as an reason to ditch school."

"That is not a viable excuse."

"Then promise you'll devote your evening to me."

At that, she raises her chin, the question evident in her eyes. Caressing her back, I explain, "I wanted to thoroughly express my appreciation for you. The necklace wasn't the only gift I had planned to give you. Tonight, I want to give you the rest of them."

Her cheeks shade an adorable pink. "What sort of gifts?"

"That is a surprise until then." With a soft smile, she tries to reject the offer by saying that the necklace and my felicitations were more than enough. But I won't hear any of it. I've been planning this for a while now, and I will see it come to fruition. I cover her lips with a finger to shush further argument. Yet the softness of her lips is more distracting. My thumb rubs across the surface. "Here is a little secret: there are books involved." That quiets her. Her next attempt at propriety is weaker. To get her full cooperation, I persuade her one last time. "Did I say book instead of books?"

"All right. I-If it makes you happy, I will … I will spend the evening with you," Selene mutters begrudgingly. But I know she is looking forward to it. This is just her desperate effort to keep her pride. I'll grant her that, though.

"Come to my room after class. The surprise begins there."

The rain hasn't taken name of stopping any time soon.

I don't care.

Nothing will spoil this evening.

I'm finished preparing the final touches when I hear a knock against my dormitory door. It's Aizawa-sensei. He asks me to come to the lounge. "It's Hanada," he tells me. "She's crying, and you're the only one who can calm her down."

A thousand thoughts race through my mind, each one worse than the last. Why? What happened? Yesterday, it was me that was having a breakdown; now it's her. Who dared to hurt her? I swear, I'll reciprocate the pain to that bastard thousandfold. Dashing past the elevator, I make for the stairs, every stride covering three steps. Each footstep resounds with an audible, hard thud. At the base, I almost stumble into someone. I almost imagine the person muttering that it took me only five seconds. With a quick apology, I move forward.

There she is. Sitting on the ground, clutching and hugging an object close to her. Selene is trembling. I sit in front of her. "Hey. Selene? What's wrong?" I try to reach out to her by touching her hands. "Talk to me."

Finally, my words reach her ears. She looks up with tear-filled eyes and stammers, "Sh-Sh-Shouto, look! My cane! My dragon head cane! I got it back. Just now, a package arrived for me from an anonymous sender." Stunned myself, I glance closer at the cane in question. Indeed, it has a silver Japanese dragon with embedded onyx eyes and an ebony handle.

"That's great, Selene, but this is probably a different cane. That one washed away in the river during the summer, remember?"

She refutes profusely. "It is the same! Look! The smoothness from years of use and the dimmer glow of the metal. It makes the same sound on the ground, too!" She emphasizes her point by hitting the floor with its base repeatedly. Okay. I'll acquiesce and suspend my disbelief. At least she's crying out of joy. But she is not listening. She moves back and forth, muttering nonsensical phrases. Actually, maybe she is speaking in French. "Aoyama," I call out. "Could you please translate?"

He shakes his head. "Not fully. She's speaking in Spanish. From the cognates, though, I think she is saying that she missed the love of her life. An eternity has passed since they were separated and, like star-crossed lovers, they are reunited at last." Not far away, Bakugou fails to suppress his boisterous laughter. Aizawa-sensei grumbles something that distinctly sounds like he regrets even bothering. A few of my other classmates also smile in amusement. So is it just me that is irritated? I mean, I get that the cane meant a lot to her. It was her companion and she needed it to move around … but really? Why does the cane get to receive more affection than me?! A moment of self-reflection passes. Am I jealous of a cane?

I'm wondering what I should do when Selene rises, wipes her tears, and snaps her geriatric cane against her knee. Huh? Did she just break metal? Then she breaks the halves into fourths and melts them in the dust bin. "Now that I have my true love - my pride - back, I have no use for the unlovable replacement." And just like that, she leaves the common room.

If she wants to forget about it, then who am I to make her remember?

Ignoring my classmates' gaping expressions, I follow after her.

When she steps into my room, I watch her closely for her reaction. Just like how her room is modeled after her bedroom at the Hanada mansion, my room is designed after my bedroom at home. With tatami floor panels, bamboo-lined walls, a double-screen door, and plenty of space, it resembles authentic Japanese quarters. I even have a bamboo plant in one corner and the Japanese handicrafts I bought on top of my dresser. Everything is clean and organized, but for the first time, I worry whether it is enough. The bedroom is a reflection of one's personality, and I truly wish for Selene to love it. To love me. I think I finally understand why she was nervous when she showed me her room at the manor last winter.

Selene observes every detail with a keen eye. Ultimately, she stops at the Temari ball sitting above the dresser. "It's been so long since I've seen one of these," she remarks. She turns around to face me with the ball in hand. "Your bedroom is beautiful. Tranquil does not even begin to encompass it."

My bated breath finally releases. She likes it. She likes my room. Would it be bold of me to think that she more than likes it? I close the distance between us and envelop her hands cradling the Temari ball in mine. "If you like it, you can keep it. I promised you many gifts, remember?"

"A-A-Are you sure? I don't think I should."

I've never been more certain of anything. "It has a flower design. You wear flowers. It's the perfect match."

"But-"

I silence her protests with a finger pressed to her lips again. "Keep it. Please." For just a sphere of yarn she is making such a fuss. How will she react to other presents I have for her? With further ado, I open the package sitting on my bed. Inside is a tsukesage: a modest, semiformal kimono worn by married and unmarried women. The one I chose is made of silver pearl color silk with pink sakura blossoms and violet plumerias patterned on it. She looks at the gown and is taken aback. I explain, "I've never seen you wear traditional Japanese clothes, so I wondered how you would look in one. Maybe it was audacious of me to buy something without knowing whether you liked it or not, but if you don't mind, could you wear it for tonight?"

Selene hesitates before tracing the flower design on the fabric. "It is not that I dislike Japanese cultural clothes. Actually, I find them more beautiful than the western gowns I tend to wear. It's just that it has been years since I last wore one, and when I did, some distressing events took place." Oh! Then she shouldn't have to wear it because I asked her to. I open my mouth to tell her that I don't take offense by her rejection of the gift, but she beats me to it. Steeling her nerves and heart, she says, "But I cannot let those memories shackle me forever. It was not the dress at fault, instead it was the people involved." She lifts the box into her hands and walks toward the attached half-bathroom. "Thank you, Shouto. I will be sure to cherish it."

The corners of my lips try to quirk up at her quiet bravery. For some reason, a part of me thinks that she's trying to be bolder than how she truly feels. Her voice wavered at the end when she expressed her gratitude. I begin to mull it over as I wear my matching yukata. Just then, she comes out, and all doubts flee my head. There is only one sentence that repeats itself like a litany: By the angels, you are magnificent.

My eyes trail every detail. The way the tsukesage's modest color scheme contrasts wonderfully with the riot of fiery leaves and berries Selene adorned in her devil-horned monochrome gradient hair. The angle at which the misty light hits the silver fabric perfectly, creating the shimmering effect of water under the moon. Before last night, I had been in such proximity to her only a handful of times. I was afraid that I had gotten the size wrong, but no. My memory served me right.

She starts to blush under my scrutiny.

Now that I think about it, I've always thought that she was beautiful, but I never actually told her. Last night was the first time I did. Remembering her insecurity about her scars this morning, this is a mistake I must rectify.

"You look ethereal," I remark before the pestilent words of self-worthlessness can invade her mind. "An artist's inspiration."

My muse …

Tonight I will only be able to rest after capturing your essence on paper.

We take a stroll through a familiar, obscure path through the forest. The rain has a bitter chill to it, so I pull Selene close to me and let my body heat warm her. Frequently, she has to wipe the water from her glasses when she gives up and puts the glasses away in their case. Before we cross the threshold into the clearing, I step behind her and cover her eyes with my hands. "Just follow my directions," I whisper into her ear. "Keep going forward."

With a tremor from the cold or from my proximity, she does as told. Following through with what I said, I tell her when to turn. She almost trips over a rock, and I barely manage to snake my arm around her waist in time. Finally, I tell her to stop and remove my hands from her eyes. Slowly, she opens them. And blinks. Once. Twice. Then, "Everything is blurry from this distance." Oh. Right. She's nearsighted. And the heavy mist must not be helping either. Selene moves ten steps closer until she can see the object.

A plank of wood supported wires bound to a thick branch of a sturdy tree by the edge of the pond. Leafy vines with chrysanthemum, alstroemeria, hesperantha, goldenrod, and marigold flowers climb and coat the wires. It's a flower swing. One I made for her. Selene gasps and brushes the petals and leaves, as if she cannot believe the sight.

"H-H-How d-did you … I mean, w-when … This is …" she mumbles.

I narrate that it took me a while to get the materials and learn how to build. Instead of heading to the boarding house immediately after classes ended, I spent an hour or two everyday trying to construct a durable swing. "Guiding the vines wrapped around the tree trunk to entwine with the wires was the hardest part. They were so stubborn."

Selene lets out a weak laugh, but the incredulity in her eyes remains. "It's enchanting. Like something out of a faerie-tale. No. That's not quite right. Shouto, this whole day has been a faerie-tale. Since the midnight hour until now. The necklace, the embrace, the kimono, and this. You've made me feel joyful so many times today that it scares me. Happiness is an illusion, and the more one feels it, the more one is hurt when it inevitably disappears."

"What are you getting at? Do you dislike it?"

"No," she denies vehemently. "I love everything that you gave me. And that is why I am afraid. Shouto, as someone with a disability from an abusive household, I learned a long time ago to never let the positive feelings overcome me. They only hid the pain, so that it returned with a vengeance later. Believe me, delayed pain hurts more. So it's like a faerie-tale. There is magic and elation and vitality that mask the inescapable tragedy. You've given me more attention and care in one day than my father has given me in eleven years. It scares me that after today, that agony will come back stronger than before. Thank you for everything, Shouto. If you may, I have one selfish request. Consider it my birthday wish, if you must: please do not adore me so much. I do not deserve it."

For a long time, I say nothing. Her words are still sinking into me, confusing me. She is not asking to end our friendship. Regardless, It is a selfish request. And what I am about to do is even more selfish. Without a word, I grab Selene's arm and set her down on the swing. She doesn't resist. Rather, she stares at her lap, self-resentment making her unable to meet my gaze. So I crouch to my knees to stare up at her. "Look at me," I finally command. She shakes her head and buries inside herself further. I cup her cheeks and lift her face. "Last night, you told me that our lives were more parallel than we thought. And because of that, your perspective had truth to it. The same principle applies to me. What isn't a shame is that you have trauma and a disability, or that you are unable to talk much about either of them. What is a shame is that you don't take your own advice when you expect the other to. So easily you declared that I should stop caring about you, when actually it is because of the lack of care you received from your family that you hold yourself back so much. Don't say that I cannot dote on you when you were the one who initiated the hug and those kisses." I feel her facial muscles itching to turn away again because I'm right. "I know what you are talking about when you say happiness is an illusion. You forget that I've done the same thing as you: distance myself from others, suppress all the good emotions, let the negative emotions like rage consume me. And what did it get me? The pain that comes after happiness hurts a lot, I agree, but the misery that follows unfeeling is unfathomable. Selene, don't make the same mistake I did. You're my moon, and I am a blossom of the dark, remember? So let's write our own faerie-tale; one where we have already endured the tragedy, so that there is only jubilation at the end. Yeah?"

Very slowly, she nods. She moves to the side of the swing to give me space to join her.

I swing us back and forth gently.

She curls into my side and hugs me.

"I'm sorry," Selene says.

"If you can give me all the leaves in your hair, accept the remaining of my gifts without a fuss, and promise to stay the night, I'll forgive you."

With a snort, she leans back to unravel said leaves.

And with a smile, I proceed to do it for her.