Izuku shifted slightly, the movement sending a sharp pull through his shoulders as the rope overhead strained. His wrists, bound tightly above him, burned where the coarse fibers had rubbed raw, and his arms had long since gone numb. His knees dug into the packed dirt beneath him, soreness grinding deep into his bones with every minor shift.

The tent was still, heavy with the damp scent of earth and sweat. The stale air clung to his skin, thick with the metallic tang of dried blood. He could taste it on his tongue, lingering from where his lip had split under a soldier's fist. Outside, muffled voices passed through the canvas walls—distant, indifferent. A reminder that beyond this suffocating space, the world continued.

His head tipped back against the taut rope, blinking sluggishly against the dim flicker of torchlight. His body ached, exhaustion dragging at the edges of his thoughts, but his mind remained sharp.

He was waiting.

Waiting for the man who would decide just how much he had left to endure.

Verric.

The name coiled in his thoughts like poison, but it wasn't what kept his chest tight. It wasn't the looming pain or the threat of punishment that clenched his jaw and still made his insides twist in frustration.

It was Katsuki.

For days, Katsuki had shut him out. His words had been clipped, his glances distant, a wall thrown up between them that Izuku had failed to breach. Every attempt at reconciliation had been met with cold dismissal, each rejection cutting deeper than any blade.

But tonight—tonight had been different.

"Let him go!"

The words still echoed in Izuku's head, sharp and furious. Katsuki's voice, raw with defiance, burned through his skull like fire. He could still see the tension in his stance, the way his fists had clenched, his body coiled with rage as he demanded Izuku's release.

Katsuki still cared. Enough to fight. Enough to break his silence.

That meant something.

But now—now he was alone.

Izuku's stomach twisted at the thought. Left in the hands of men who saw him as nothing more than a pawn, a vessel to be used. The image of their jeering faces surfaced in his mind, their crude words laced with mockery. Izuku's fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms despite the rope cutting into his skin.

'I should be there. I should be protecting him.'

Instead, he had walked into their trap. Played into their hands.

And now, Katsuki was vulnerable.

A shuffling of boots near the entrance snapped Izuku from his thoughts. His body tensed, instincts coiling tight as the muted rustle of fabric announced someone's arrival.

The air shifted.

Heavy. Calculated.

Captain Verric stepped inside, his presence dragging the temperature of the room down with him.

Izuku forced his expression into something unreadable. He wouldn't give Verric the satisfaction of seeing doubt, of seeing weakness. His wrists strained as he straightened, shifting his weight against the bindings, forcing himself to look at the man who had orchestrated this.

Verric didn't speak at first. He moved with deliberate ease, his boots dragging slightly as he circled the space, inspecting nothing in particular—just lingering. His silence was its own brand of cruelty.

Finally, he stopped near the wooden table at the edge of the tent, his fingers ghosting over the hilt of a sheathed dagger. He turned, a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth, amusement flickering in the torchlight.

"So," Verric murmured, voice low, measured. "What exactly was the point of that little display earlier? Did you think shouting at my men would somehow inspire them to respect your precious Saintess?"

Izuku's jaw clenched, but he held his gaze steady. The ache in his shoulders, the throbbing pulse in his wrists—he ignored it all.

"Your men disgraced their oaths," he said, voice firm despite the strain tightening his throat. "Their words toward the Saintess were nothing short of treason."

Verric laughed, sharp and mocking. He crouched slightly, leaning in close enough that Izuku could see the cold amusement in his eyes.

"Treason?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Oh, Protector. You really believe that?"

His smirk widened. "Let me tell you something." His tone was casual, as if explaining an unfortunate truth. "The king doesn't care if my men mock the Saintess. So long as they keep their hands off him, what's a few words?" He leaned back, folding his arms. "Respect? That's for the king. Your Saintess is nothing but a vessel. A means to an end."

Izuku's hands clenched into fists. "You're wrong." His voice was tight, sharp. "The Saintess is the key to the kingdom's future. Without him—"

"Without him, there is no heir," Verric finished smoothly. "And that, Protector, is exactly why it doesn't matter what my men think. As long as he fulfills his duty, he could be dressed in rags and crawling in the dirt for all the king cares."

Izuku's stomach churned.

But before he could retort, Verric's voice dipped lower, colder.

"Of course…" Verric hummed, tapping a finger against his chin, as if in thought. "Once the king has what he wants, there's really no need to keep him around, is there?"

Izuku's breath stilled.

Verric tilted his head, smirking. "Who's to say the king won't offer him to someone as a reward? Or—" his eyes gleamed, voice lowering to a whisper "—maybe I'll take him myself."

The words struck like a physical blow.

Izuku's body jerked forward instinctively, muscles straining against the rope, rage flaring hotter than the pain in his back. His breathing sharpened, his fingers curling tight. "You—"

Verric's smirk deepened. He stepped back just slightly, watching with satisfaction.

"There it is." He let out a soft chuckle. "I was wondering when I'd see it."

Izuku's breath came sharp through his nose, heart hammering against his ribs. His hands trembled—not with fear, but with the raw, unbridled urge to break something.

To break him.

But there was no time to act. No freedom to fight back.

Because Verric was already reaching for the whip.

The first crack of the whip shattered the air.

White-hot agony tore through Izuku's back, his body instinctively recoiling. The impact nearly stole the breath from his lungs, but he clenched his jaw, forcing himself still.

He would not cry out.

The next lash sent his vision tunneling, his breath shuddering—but still, he didn't yield.

Another.

The whip carved into him, a raw, burning brand against his skin. He swayed, his muscles spasming with every impact, but his knees remained locked.

Verric wanted him to break.

He wouldn't give him that.

Finally, Verric exhaled, flicking the whip in a lazy arc. "That should do," he murmured, inspecting the fresh welts painted across Izuku's back. He took a step closer, crouching just enough to let his breath ghost against Izuku's ear.

"Learn your place, Protector." His voice was smug, triumphant.

Izuku spat, a glob of blood landing between them. His body trembled from pain, but his voice was steady when he answered.

"I know my place." His eyes burned as he lifted his gaze. "And it's beside the Saintess."

Verric's smirk faltered, just for a second. Then he scoffed, standing. "We'll see how long that lasts." With that, he turned, stepping out of the tent.

Izuku let out a slow, uneven breath. His body sagged against the restraints, his vision swimming. But his mind—his resolve—was clearer than ever.

He couldn't trust the king.

He couldn't trust the High Priest.

Which meant he couldn't trust that they would allow him to stay by Katsuki's side.

His lips curled, bloodied and determined.

Then they'd have to run.

The tent had long since settled into silence, save for the occasional rustle of fabric in the breeze and the distant murmur of knights patrolling the camp. Izuku lay still, his breaths shallow, his body hovering somewhere between exhaustion and restless vigilance. Each shift sent sharp reminders of his punishment through his limbs, the ache a dull companion in the suffocating quiet.

Then—movement.

Izuku's senses sharpened instantly. A whisper of air disturbed the tent's entrance, followed by the barely perceptible scrape of boots against dirt. His body tensed, instinct coiling tight, but even before his sluggish mind could register a threat, he knew.

Katsuki.

The scent of him hit first—smoke from the dwindling campfires clinging faintly to his robes, beneath it the crisp bite of night air and something uniquely his. Then, a hand, rough but careful, ghosted over his shoulder.

Izuku exhaled slowly, tension in his body loosening just slightly. "Kacchan," he murmured, voice hoarse and raw.

"Shut up," Katsuki whispered back, but there was no heat in his words. Only frustration. Only worry.

His hands worked fast, fingers deftly undoing the knots at Izuku's wrists. The ropes fell away, and Izuku barely had time to flex his stiff fingers before Katsuki was already pulling at his ruined shirt, hissing when the bloodied fabric peeled away from raw wounds.

"You're a damn idiot," Katsuki muttered. His voice was low, but Izuku could hear the tremor beneath the anger. "You let them do this to you, and for what?"

Izuku forced a small smirk despite the fire burning across his back. "Didn't exactly have a choice."

Katsuki's hands stilled against his skin, his breath uneven. "You always have a choice, dumbass," he muttered.

The words were sharp, but Izuku could hear the guilt woven between them. He sighed, shifting slightly as Katsuki cleaned his wounds with a damp cloth. The first press of water sent a sharp bolt of pain through him, his back arching instinctively as a hiss tore from his lips.

Katsuki's grip tightened on his arm. "You okay?"

Izuku blinked blearily, his lips twitching into something weakly amused. "You worried about me now?"

Katsuki scoffed, dipping the cloth back into the small vial of tincture before pressing it to another wound. "Don't start."

The sting was sharper this time, forcing a sharp inhale through Izuku's teeth. "Shit—Kacchan."

"You can whine all you want," Katsuki muttered, though his touch gentled, his hands lingering just a little longer against Izuku's skin. "You're the one who decided to be a damn hero."

Izuku let out a breathy chuckle. "It's my job."

Katsuki's hands stilled for a moment, his fingers pressing slightly against Izuku's shoulder. "Your job," he murmured, voice lower now, "is to protect me—not throw yourself into hell for it."

The words settled between them, heavier than the air in the tent. The warmth of Katsuki's hands was steady as he continued tending to wounds that weren't even his to bear. Izuku swallowed thickly, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his consciousness.

Then—softer, hesitant—Izuku murmured, "The reward… You don't think I ever valued it more than—"

Katsuki froze.

The tension between them thickened like a storm about to break. Izuku felt it in the way Katsuki's breath caught, the way his fingers curled slightly against Izuku's shoulder before pulling away entirely. A hesitation.

Then, finally, Katsuki's voice—quiet, but steady. "No," he admitted. "I never did."

A pause.

"Maybe…" Katsuki exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Maybe I just wanted an excuse," he muttered, voice thin now, raw around the edges. "Any excuse to push you away."

Izuku ignored the pull of pain as he turned, his hand reaching out—closing gently around Katsuki's wrist, grounding them both. Their eyes met, and Izuku's heart clenched at what he saw.

Something fragile.

Something breaking.

"What do you mean?" he asked softly.

Katsuki didn't look away. Didn't pull away.

"You've been the only constant," Katsuki admitted, voice firm despite the ache laced within it. "The only one I could ever call family. But in the capital…" His throat bobbed, his gaze flickering, as if the words pained him. "After I bear the king's child… there will be nothing left for me."

Izuku swallowed hard. He already knew the answer, but he said it anyway. "The High Priest said you'd be able to rest," he forced the words past the weight in his chest. "You'd be taken care of. Be without want."

Katsuki let out a humorless laugh—quiet, but sharp. He shook his head, eyes filled with something Izuku couldn't name.

But he knew it wasn't hope.

"Yeah?" Katsuki murmured, his tone bordering on bitter. "That's what they tell you?"

Izuku didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Because the truth was already sinking between them like a stone in deep water.

Katsuki was right.

There would be no freedom waiting for him at the end of this journey. No safety. No peace. Only the weight of a crown that wasn't his, the bars of a golden cage that no one would ever unlock.

And Izuku, standing just outside, unable to reach him.

The candlelight flickered between them, casting shadows against the canvas walls, shifting Katsuki's expression into something unreadable. But Izuku could still feel it—the weight of something raw, something unspoken pressing between them.

Izuku swallowed, steadying himself before he spoke. "I planned to ask the king…" His voice was quieter than before, a thread of hesitance woven between the words. "…to let me continue protecting you. To stay by your side."

For a moment, Katsuki didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Katsuki scoffed, shaking his head as he reached for the damp cloth again, dabbing at Izuku's wounds with a touch that was far gentler than his expression. "You're insane." His voice was low, laced with something bitter. "You want to ask the king to let you stay? To throw yourself in that cage with me?"

Izuku didn't flinch, his voice unwavering. "I already planned to."

Katsuki's fingers stilled against his back, breath catching for just a moment before he let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Of course you did," he muttered. "Stupid, stubborn idiot."

His hand lifted, grasping Izuku's face, rough fingers pressing against the bruises on his jaw, tilting his chin up. Izuku barely had the strength to keep his head upright, but he leaned into the touch anyway.

Katsuki's thumb brushed over his cheek, his gaze sharp yet unreadable. "Don't do this." His voice was quiet now, not an order—but something close to a plea. "Take the reward, Izuku." His fingers curled slightly against Izuku's skin, his breath warm against his face. "Get out of this life while you still can."

Izuku's chest clenched, his fingers twitching against his sides. "Kacchan—"

"Listen to me." Katsuki's grip tightened just slightly, his eyes burning with something unreadable. "Go. Explore the world. See the places we always dreamed of. Find some quiet little town and settle down with someone. Hell—have a bunch of brats that look up at you like you're the damn sun."

Izuku's throat felt tight. He searched Katsuki's face, looking for something—anything—but all he found was resignation. A quiet acceptance that made his stomach churn.

Katsuki huffed a small, forced chuckle. "And when you do," he murmured, softer now, "tell them about me. About us. Make sure they know I was your best friend." His lips curled into something close to a smirk, but his eyes didn't match the expression. "Don't let them forget me—not until you do, too."

Izuku's fingers twitched, his body stiff against the weight in his chest.

Katsuki waited. Waited for Izuku to agree.

But Izuku only stared at him, held his gaze, let the words settle like embers burning in his ribs.

Then—quietly, firmly—he shook his head.

Katsuki's brows furrowed. "Izuku—"

"Run away with me."

The words left him before he could think them through, but they were true. They had always been true.

Katsuki's entire body locked up.

For the first time in the entire conversation, he looked completely caught off guard.

Before he could respond, movement.

The faint rustle of approaching boots outside.

Katsuki stood abruptly, his body tensing. Izuku could see the shift in him—the immediate focus, the silent calculation of his next move.

"Kacchan."

Katsuki flinched.

Slowly, he turned, red eyes wide, almost unnerved in a way Izuku had never seen before.

Izuku met his gaze, unwavering. "Come with me." His voice was softer now, but no less certain.

Katsuki's jaw clenched. "There's no way we can—"

Izuku gritted his teeth, forcing his body to move, his muscles screaming in protest as he pushed himself up onto shaking legs. He was trembling, barely upright, but he stood.

"I'll find a way," Izuku said, breathless but determined. "But I need to know you'll come with me when I do."

The approaching soldiers grew closer, their voices faint but nearing the tent.

Katsuki's eyes darted toward the entrance, hesitation flickering across his face.

Then—finally—he met Izuku's gaze once more.

A moment stretched between them.

Then, Katsuki nodded. Once.

"If you find a way," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "I'll go with you."

Izuku exhaled, something almost relieved blooming in his chest.

A small, tired smile tugged at his lips. "Then I'll make sure to keep my promise," he murmured. "But this time, you'll be at my side. Like always."

Katsuki's face flushed red, his mouth opening as if to argue—but the heavy steps outside were too close now.

"Idiot," he hissed under his breath.

Then—in one swift motion, Katsuki turned and disappeared into the night.

The tent flap barely rustled in his wake, the air stilling once more.

Izuku sagged slightly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him—but his resolve remained.

He had a plan now.

And he wouldn't lose.

Not this time.