Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The loose, pale ringlets keep catching Izuku off-guard. They fall in his eyes and make him blink all the time, but he hasn't had the chance to buy a headband or something yet. Maybe once they're checked in-

A gentle hand comes up to brush them back, just two fingers tucking the curl behind his ear, and Izuku cannot help but tilt into the touch, smiling up at his partner.

"Thank you."

"Sap." But Tomura is still smiling slightly, something fond softening the crinkles of tension around his eyes.

It's enough to have Izuku rising on tiptoes to kiss his partner's cheek, just a brush of lips; Tomura flushes slightly, a sunrise beginning to dawn just along his cheekbones, more tanned than they used to be. It still suits him wonderfully.

But then the line is moving forwards and Izuku tightens his grip on his bag strap. (It's a simple thing, relatively plain in a shade of pale grey with some vague geometric designs on it; not so plain as to seem intentional and therefore potentially suspicious, but not anything remarkable either, and he probably put far too much thought into it, truly, but, well, being obsessively over-cautious is better than an increased risk of them both dying or, worse, being taken in-)  

"Passport, please."

"Of course," he nods, keeping his tone steady even as he steps away from Tomura's side in a way that has his skin crawling, all spider-shudders and frost. But there's nothing wrong. The false documents are very, very good, and the picture is recent enough to accommodate his appearance changes.

"Thank you, Saede-san."

"Thank you," he returns, bowing slightly, moving away once he is gestured to, stepping to the side of the next area to wait for Tomura.

He's very relieved that it isn't a long wait, nothing seeming to go wrong yet.

They go through the rest of the process, Izuku briefly glad that he isn't bringing a laptop that needs to be pulled out separately from the rest of their things, although Tomura has to get out their few new handheld gaming consoles, physical game cartridges included, and they both get their liquids out too, although neither of them have bothered to bring much at all. They less they bring, the less they could be recognised by.

And so far, they're fine. They've checked in, they're ready to go, sitting on uncomfortable chairs in the waiting area with their small bags at their feet, Izuku's head pillowed upon Tomura's shoulder, eyes closed.

(The air-conditioning is chilly enough for goosebumps to shiver their way along his skin. Izuku shamelessly murmurs a contented nothing when Tomura loops an arm around his shoulders, tugging him in closer, rubbing the palm of his hand up and down a freckled arm, warm-soft-soothing away some of the goosebumps.)

His mind, inevitably, drifts. Settles to something more happy than sad. They're really going. It will be warm; Tomura insisted on it, for the sake of Izuku's chronic pain, and he definitely isn't going to argue against that. It would be nice, he thinks. Maybe they can visit the beach together or something. Although, actually, they're already meant to be close to the sea, aren't they?

Either way, they're going to have to get jobs. Shoddy little jobs that will be unremarkable and probably very boring. Izuku is going to have to find a new way to help people; maybe, once they've been settled for a while, he could look into the processes for becoming something like a paramedic or a firefighter or something. (It doesn't matter if he spends years studying something, not now; they should actually have years and years, all the time in the world that they might want, to do whatever they want with. Of course, they only have so much money with them that they can fall back on, only so much attention they can afford to garner, but time is abruptly a free resource to them.

There is no carving out the exact hours to spend together, no need for lies and watching over their shoulders just to have so much as a glimpse of each other; they won't have to set timers to make sure that if Izuku gets too comfortable, if he dares to nap or to get lost in a game, he will not overrun on his safe timings to avoid suspicion.

The thought is surreal, and wonderful, and terrifying.

It is worth everything that they are leaving behind, to be together, to be safe, to not have to put any of their loved ones in danger.)

They're going to give themselves a chance.

Slowly but surely, they begin to settle into a life away from Japan, away from their routines, away from the people they have both known for so very long.

They avoid the international news. Or, rather, Izuku does. Tomura reads it for the sake of knowing if there's anything they should be wary of, but they both know that Izuku can't bear to have to read what is being said about him.

Because, for a month, there is nothing announced about Izuku in relation to Tomura. There are missing announcements, concerns, talk of potential kidnappings or reasons for running away. If it wasn't for the very specific and careful wording of the official UA announcements, Tomura actually wouldn't be sure that the heroes had even walked into their flat.

And, for that first while, there is no talk of a traitor, no mention of Tomura either.

Finally, however, it's been too long, and the bubble bursts. More information is given out, how it is suspected that Izuku may have been kidnapped or tricked or coerced into leaving with a villain, and they release pictures of both Izuku and Tomura. The word traitor isn't used by UA. It's used by the media, however; there are horrible articles, vicious articles, opinion pieces and debate panels who talk about how it has already been a month and Izuku is likely dead or a villain. A traitor.

The fact that UA still have more than enough faith in Izuku to then tear many of those media stations apart, to not even reveal the more private parts of he and Tomura's relationship, to not tell of their rendezvous and their relationship and their secrets... Well, yes, in some ways it saves UA face but in some ways this choice loses it for them too, particularly if it gets revealed later. They're taking a risk. A risk that is kind to Izuku, that gives him room to come back if he wants or needs to. It shows what Izuku had been so sure of: his class and his teachers are good.

And yet, despite this and even a little because of it, Izuku is glad that they have left. He is glad to be free.

He spends his mornings waking up to warmth. Tomura, regardless of the heat in their shitty little flat with no air conditioning despite the near-constant warmth of the weather, will always be draped over him or wrapped around him or curled into him, skin warm and breaths fanning sweet heat over Izuku's skin. It's a recipe for overheating, and yet Izuku wouldn't change it. Not when he can brush gentle kisses along Tomura's hairline or jaw, nuzzling into the soft vulnerability of his partner's throat. 

He has no fear of the hands that trail upon his skin, the fingertips that link his freckles together in little lingering traces of affection. 

His hands hurt less. His heart hurts less. Yes, some things are upsetting; the little glimpses of articles that Tomura is reading, in some ways made worse by his bare bones knowledge that UA is effectively trying to protect him, even now; the claws of nightmares that sink in around the warm edges of his sleep, the inevitable drag of the pain he will never quite be able to leave behind, not fully, because he will always have loved ones he can no longer hug, can no longer protect directly; the moments when he sees flowers that his Mum would like and knows he cannot give them to her, or when he sees a girl with a short brown bob, or someone with webbed hands, or someone with a dark red birthmark over one of their eyes. He sees pieces of his home, and he wishes that he still had that same home. Partially so, at least.

At least where he lives now has become a home, too. Or, well, Tomura has been his home for a long time already, which in all truth, is a wonderful thing, but still. He loves the stupid tap in the kitchen that always leaks and costs them that tiniest bit more on their utility, because he can time his breathing to the dripping of it when his trembling hands can't chop vegetables neatly. He revels in the sunlight and starlight and moonlight that seeps through their windows at all hours of the day because, here, they don't need to pull their curtains closed for fear of discovery. Or, more accurately in all truth, the fact that they have windows at all is wonderful. 

And he loves their bed. It's a safe puddle of two light sheets, because Izuku would actually perish if he got any hotter through the night, and the mattress is too narrow for both of them really, the springs near the base and edge are creaking things, but that's all okay. 

In their bed, in their home, there is nobody to judge them. There is nobody to worry about except each other, and most of that isn't as worrying as before.

(They have left behind the imminent threat of death. The potential of being discovered together and condemned. Yes, they are still at risk. Yes, they are still careful. They know no other way to be. But it is more a thing of planning, of caution, than of active paranoia. 

Izuku isn't sure the last time he didn't have to feel scared of those around him, wary of bullies or villains or people who will recognise his partner no matter that they both wear their hoods up, actions unremarkable.

To be able to walk down a street with Tomura's hand in his, no need for hoods up or furtive movements, is a miracle of their own making. They gave things up for this. It is well, well worth it just to be able to laugh unabashedly at Tomura's side as they buy rice and fruit and fish at the local food shop.

They get to be normal, like this, in the best way possible.)

Admittedly, they stand out a little in their tiny local community. They are the two foreigners who moved in to a cheap little flat together and who get little local jobs, Izuku going out to help the fishermen every day, already-tanned skin browning like a berry under the sun, an impossible number of freckles blossoming upon him, going well beyond constellations; there is an entire universe upon his skin.

Tomura keeps on trying to kiss every single one, only encouraged by Izuku's delighted flush and giggles. He can't help but grin, himself, even as he protests the fingers that brush along his side, teasing and tickling until Tomura is left breathless with his own half-heartedly-grumpy delight.

Like this, with all of this, they have a life, one all of their own. Things fall into place around them.

Izuku starts making extra little snacks and handing them out to the kids, and helping people carry things. When one of the locals' cars broke down in the middle of the street, Izuku and one of the other fishermen helped to push it up the hill to the mechanic shop. He smiles, oh-so soft and bright and open, hope a gleaming-fragile thing in his eyes, and people are pulled in.

Tomura surprises himself by ending up well-liked too, in his own way. He sits, and he is quiet, and he learns. He has no need to snarl, all posturing rage and the drag of fingertips, here, and it reminds him of nothing much in his life before this at all. Perhaps the closest thing is when he and his Quest simply exist together with no immediate pull or pressure.

The wise women teach him to weave. Those aren't official titles, but they are the grandmothers and the great grandmothers and those who never bore children but took the entire community as their own, and they teach him. They show Tomura, through few words and many repetitions, how to weave reeds plucked from the salt marsh that the children fetch on cooler days, how to braid vines or hair or rope, how to create knots and loops and shapes, from a child's toy to the nets that Izuku and his fellow fishermen use. Because, yes, travellers and merchants alike will come through the town, but few of their wares are bought here, and little is sold in return. It's a rather self-sufficient place, all in all, other than the regular deliveries that come from the far larger city an hour or two away by car.

It's perfect to hide in. It's even better to build a home of sorts in.

Both Izuku and Tomura pick up the language in snatches and phrases, all twisted in the prettiest-roughest way by the local dialect. The few times that they visit the city, catching one of the twice-weekly buses, it has them understood by the locals there too, so they find themselves content with it.

Izuku's shoulders get even broader, and both of them grow a little taller. (Izuku stays perpetually shorter than Tomura, to much teasing, but he equally ends up far broader, lugging nets and crates around, big piles of ropes or helping to push boats deeper into the sea-). If any of their community find it odd that, despite apparently both being about twenty, according to their fake papers and their claims if ever asked. Tomura keeps his hair fairly short, getting Izuku to hack the indigo and violet hair, straight and coarse as it is, shorter again with scissors every month or so. In return, as Izuku's hair gets long, the already-loose curls slipping down into something almost wavy with their own weight. Tomura, with hands made nimble by hours of weaving and knotting, twists those curls into braids, firm and secure, so that Izuku can continue to grow the ivory tumbles longer by the month.

One day, Tomura buys them a vehicle. He has been saving for a while, neither of them comfortable with spending too much of their savings in case they suddenly have to move, but he keeps back a small bit of Izuku's wages, and what he earns as well working shifts in the main food shop, and he swaps and sells some of the things he makes with the merchants who travel through, sometimes, until he can pull just enough out of their savings that they're both content in the security of it, and they can afford a little bike. It rumbles along with a deep, almost-jarring purr of a noise, except they ride it back from the city with Tomura driving and Izuku's arms looped around his waist, and it's perfect no matter how old and slightly bumpy it may be, neither of them able to care that Tomura's driving licence is forged.

They won't stay like this forever. But that's okay. They have found happiness together, safety, and they don't even have to fight for it, now.

(In the times to come, things do indeed change. Izuku will find that, despite the snack-giving and carrying things around, he has that restless itch, an urge, because he needs to do more, to help more people. And Tomura, too, will become restless, not just because of Izuku's tapping fingers or deep-still thoughts, but perhaps because he misses the city, the busyness and noise and anonymity of it all.

So they move. There's a bigger city, several hours away, and they shove their clothing and all of the little trinkets that they've collected that are important into a single big bag, and give out other bits and pieces to the kids because it makes them smile as brightly as the sun reflecting off of the sea in the corner of their eyes, and they get onto their bike and they go, to a new shitty little flat in a far bigger, far busier place.

Izuku gets himself enrolled into a local school, specifically for a course where he learns first-aid and driving and then some very much more in-depth aid, on his way to helping people far more, far better, in a way new to him yet oh-so natural, and he works a little part-time job around that, just manual labour, to supplement Tomura's full-time work and the little home-made things that the elder sells sometimes, because they're having to rent, now, and it's far more of a balancing act than their finances were before, but it's worth it. They enjoy being able to hold hands walking down a street teeming with people, shouts from market stalls and people cycling around with deliveries, all of it a more chaotic parallel to where they first began to dance around each other, a bittersweet thing that becomes yet sweeter by the day.

Even with that, they come back. The little place beside the sea, with its sometimes-dry, sometimes-sticky heat, with the bus that comes twice a week, with salt thick in the air... It would be wrong, not to go back. Particularly when they can bring treats, little toys and snacks, for the kids, and when the elder women pull them in to kiss their cheeks and lament that they need to eat more, when the fishermen laugh and scoop them up in big hugs and usher them to eat with them all. Izuku, hair held back in braids that Tomura twisted them into this morning, the ivory curls pulled-back and long enough to reach his ribs and far looser than what he was born with, but that's okay, because Tomura still finds him beautiful, always will, blue eyes with just enough a hint of green that they are still Izuku's in appearance as well as light.

They keep on coming back. They are always welcomed; in time, they are able to watch some of the children begin to grow up, broadening shoulders and gangly limbs, beginning to help out instead of play, at least sometimes. They are there for the passing of one of the eldest in the community, and Tomura surprises himself by weeping almost as heavily as Izuku, his heart aching deep and sharp.

But things are okay. Is it the life either of them imagined for themselves? No, of course not. They are still hiding. They still have people and places and things that they miss.

Through it all, however, they have each other. Izuku and Tomura no longer have to hide behind the façade of being Arc and Quest because, here, now, they can just be themselves. They can hold hands with heads held high, and they can curl close in bed, grumbling about how hot they get regardless of the fact that both of them refuse to move any further away and maybe one day they will have been together long enough that they no longer feel the need to stay wrapped up together but for the time being, no, they will make do with the clinging skin and the hot breaths because it's worth it, just to share a heartbeat.

Izuku and Tomura have built a home, a life, a love, together. It is worth everything.)

Chapter Text

Having a glass barrier almost a metre thick between them is beyond disconcerting. (It's heart-breaking, something in the centre of Izuku threatening to burst into splinters and a tsunami-)  Izuku isn't in danger. Not from the prisoner, at least.

Tomura is still his partner, as far as Izuku is concerned, and always will be. He knows, from the look in Tomura's eye, the aching depths that are impossibly warm no matter how choked it might be by restraint-fear-determination, that his love is reciprocated. There is no room nor need for doubt.

So he lets his tone settle into something semi-neutral, otherwise just nervous and maybe a little bit aggravated. If that aggravation is truly just despair at the situation, then so be it.

"Shigaraki. Good to see you."  Tomura tilts his head slightly, chin still raised,

"Probably not as good as it is to see you, Deku."

That single sentence has Izuku's throat tight, his eyes burning (his heart actually, genuinely stutters, something that should be impossible, but there are sparks on his skin and despair tearing at his bones, and when even his Quirk is grieving, is it so odd that it might force his heart to skip a few beats in the worst way?), because he can hear, buried oh-so many layers beneath Tomura's obvious tone, the bittersweet truth, how Tomura really does mean it, how he really is grateful to see Izuku right now.

Izuku is grateful too; it's been a month already, and that time itself has been far too long, and that's for Izuku, who has at least been free, able to snack and play games and have a life.

Tomura, obviously, hasn't been free, and it shows on him in the most horrifying ways. There is a pallor to his cheeks, a lack of sunlight that reads as something like fear and grief, and his hair is lank, lingering at his temples and the back of his neck. It's his eyes, more than anything else, that have Izuku so destroyed. Because Tomura, for all of his good and bad, has always had such a bright gaze, a thing of contentment-flaring embers, or of conviction-fierce flames, that red never dimming, never wavering, never faltering.

There is something missing in his gaze, now. He still loves Izuku, the younger teen has no doubt of that at all, but there is, already, a fresh shatter across the surface.

It's only been a month. How can so much have fallen apart so soon?

It makes it worse, he thinks, that Izuku was the one to arrest Tomura. He was the one to snap Quirk-cancelling cuffs around his wrists, and to shove down the overwhelming urge to whisper his love one more time lest it be overheard by any of the other myriad people around them.

(Yes, it was their plan, and Izuku is loathe think how badly another hero likely would have hurt his partner, or quite likely even killed him, but that knowledge doesn’t erase the Atlas-sky hurt weighing upon his shoulders at knowing that this sight in front of him right now is still his fault-)

He was the one to sob not long later at all, the first moment he had an actual fraction of privacy, to collapse in the UA woods where he knows that there are at least some clearings that Nedzu doesn't monitor (he wanted to go to their flat, but he can't, he knows that there would be a lot of panicked concerns about him disappearing so soon after the massive fight, that he might have been targeted again by someone wanting vengeance already-), and so he curls up in the branches a thick, old tree, letting the rough bark ground him as he allows even a tiny portion of his utter grief seep through him, eyes burning with the depths of the ocean, breaths hitching, a fish writhing upon the sharp point of a hook, and, with this, Izuku falls apart.

He is alone. Izuku has just condemned himself to a life without love, and even worse, he has condemned the love of said life to a future without everything.

For all of the reasons they have made this choice, for all that it was their choice, Izuku still hates it, perhaps more than he has hated any other thing in the world: Tomura is out there, he is alive and breathing and Izuku could try and go to him right now, if he wanted, but that would be a disservice to them both. A waste of so much time and effort and anguish.

So Izuku lets himself fall apart in this tree, and vows to be better in the morning. For his Arc, if nothing else.

They've been talking around several random things for the first half an hour, Tomura bemoaning that he can't play video games and how even Sensei would let him and does Izuku play games? Surely a hero such as him mustn't have much time though, right?

And Izuku rolls his eyes, and half-heartedly asks questions about Nomu, and aches for how his partner cannot enjoy his favourite hobby, one of his only ways to relax. There's none of that left for him, now. 

Judging by the way that Tomura's eyes begin to narrow slightly, fingers twitching, he must notice Izuku's spiralling, how his thoughts are falling back into ugly, dark, self-recriminating grounds, the well-trodden grass of a graveside; he doesn't allow Izuku to linger any further, however, because the older man simply speaks up, something far too distracting to go ignored,

"I'm going to call you Izuku, Izuku."

"What- Why?" The disbelief is only halfway unintended, because Izuku didn't think Tomura would do this. (Equally, however, something in his chest eases a little, a knot wriggled halfway loose, to have even a tiny measure of their relationship returned to them-)

"Why not? You're my tie to the outside world, Izuku, so we're basically best friends now, right?"  It's a joke, an ugly tone that scrapes as nails down Izuku's chalkboard spine, except Tomura's eyes are suspiciously bright.

Izuku resists his own urge to tear up at that, and instead laughs, doing a very poor job of faking derision but hopefully it's enough that nobody will think twice, because he's far too busy soothing the chasm between his ribs with amusement, with a joy born out of Tomura's cleverness, to make the impression of it any better. He has to take his happiness where he can, right now.

And if that happiness is in Tomura sneakily being able to call him by his given name, then so be it.

"Right, sure," Izuku huffs, when his laughter has caught a little too roughly in his throat, a moment that threatens to choke him until he forces himself to speak instead of giving into it.

"Right indeed," Tomura returns, imperious and snotty and a hidden depth of sweetness, something that feels just enough like their old back and forth that it simultaneously warms and breaks Izuku's heart.

He doesn't think that he will ever stop Tomura, no matter their future.

"You got a haircut." It's the first thing that Tomura says when Izuku walks into the opposing room, and he has to push down a smile. Some of his own friends and co-workers hadn't even noticed at first glance.

"I did."

"It suits you, Izuku."

"Whatever, Shigaraki." Those two words hurt, viscerally, to say. He hopes they don't hurt as much to hear.

Only two years ago, he would have been able to smile whilst saying them, albeit he'd be calling the older teen 'Arc' as he teased him, poking him in the shoulder or the cheek.

That cheek is hollow now, concave and pale as bone, a sight that has Izuku struggling to eat himself some nights, when he can only think of the person he loves most wasting away in concrete and shackles and isolation. Sometimes he wonders how Tomura is even still sane and alive. (Sometimes Izuku wonders how he is too.)

But he cannot afford to focus on that, not here and now, not when they're face to face with each other through thick glass once more, Tomura in literal chains, cameras and guards watching over them, because he cannot afford to fall apart. And even if they did have actual privacy, it wouldn't be fair to make Tomura watch that, doubly so when it can't be controlled, can't be fixed.

So instead he just shrugs a little, immaculately casual, and forces his tone light instead of earnest-heavy,

"I got it for a press release. I've officially started up my third charity, this one to enact a criminal rehabilitation programme, to stop people spiralling all the way into villainy. It'll help prevent people like you."

On the surface, those words are cruel and biting and vicious. They are angry.

Yet beneath that, they are a promise, one that reflects pledges made so very many times before; always, their goal has been to better the world for the children who are like they are, who are growing up surrounded by people that hate or pity or ignore them, and the whole reason that they wanted Izuku to be the one to arrest Tomura was to support his credibility and reputation as a hero, his position to do exactly what he is working for now.

So he spits those words at Tomura, and he keeps back a smile only through sheer force of will, and he gets to see a gleam in those red eyes that should always, always have been there: hope.

Izuku wants for many things that he can't have, that Tomura can't have, but he is glad that they can at least share this much.

It's the fifth anniversary of Tomura's arrest and immediate admission into Tartarus.

Izuku wakes up sobbing. He can't control it, can't help it, not when it took him hours to fall asleep despite how he has purposefully exhausted himself with a double patrol the day before, and all he wants is to have Tomura's chest to lie across, a heartbeat to rest his ear against, and warm arms looped loose and low on his waist; failing that, even, he would just wish for Tomura to be free and happy, even if that wasn't at Izuku's side. Whatever it took.

But that isn't a reality. It isn't even a possibility, nothing like, and so Izuku lets himself cry until his chest is empty for at least a time, until he doesn't have to think or feel for a while, lying in amongst the sheets of his bed that still, even after five years, feels far too empty. (Tomura has never laid in this bed, has never been next to Izuku on this mattress or in these sheets, and that doesn't stop Izuku from wishing him here, but it works to make it all feel impossibly more lonely, more bitter-)

Perhaps it is a form of self-punishment, of trying to live a little more like Tomura, or just not to live too far removed from him, how Izuku puts so much of his money into his charities. His income has been growing steadily by the year with how he has climbed the rankings, now in his third year as a top five hero and his second as the number one, yet he has only moved flats once, and he only chose this one because it has better security and puts him closer to his agency.

It's tiny, and cramped, and the heating is more than a bit unreliable, it was literally the worst of all of the options in this building, and Izuku doesn't regret it, not one bit. If nothing else, it reminds him more than a little of the flat he used to share with Tomura, of the lack of windows and the concrete walls but not, to his ever-continued grief, as much home as that flat did. He has kept all of Tomura's belongings that he could, every single thing that was in their flat, yet even that much isn't enough.

The smell of him has long-since faded.

So Izuku keeps on pouring all of the income he can into his charities, only keeping back enough to live off of, for an emergency, and to buy his friends and family gifts that are as nice as they deserve. (On Tomura's birthday, every year, he buys something, a new game or console or something that reminds him of the older man, because he might not be able to actually give him anything, but if he can buy it in honour of his partner then that is something far better than nothin, and if it happens to comfort Izuku too then that is a single indulgence that he will allow himself-)

Izuku, later today, will go to see Tomura, and he will boast of all the good he has been able to do without a villain to distract him (with the blessing of his Arc spurring him on-), and he will resist the urge to press a kiss to his fingertips and then the glass, or to outright break his partner out of the awful place, because their plan, horrific as it is in so many ways, is working.

That fact is enough. It has to be.

Izuku knew today was different. There was a restless ache in his bones when he woke up, and he couldn't stop seeing the fresh, awful light in Tomura's eyes, the glisten of light atop an oil spill.

So when he gets the notification through on his phone that there is the beginning of break-out at Tartarus, he isn't surprised in the slightest bit.

And Izuku rushes, perhaps the fastest that he has long-since moved, enough that his bones threaten to shatter down the centre with sheer ozone-agony, determined to be the first to get there, to be the one who Tomura has to face. (The idea of leaving his partner to face anyone else, of leaving Tomura vulnerable to another person, let alone to someone who doesn't understand him, who doesn't know the kindness and warmth in his Arc's heart... It's a sickening thought, absolutely horrific. Izuku has to be the one.)

It's worth the rush because Tomura has skirted the shore a little to a swathe of forest, where there are now trees falling with great crash-creak-groaning noises, clouds of leaves and dust and dirt thrown up.

"Shigaraki!" he roars, loud and ringing and shattering beneath its own weight.

The destruction stops.

Izuku, however, does not. No, he's still running, sparks still an aurora-strewn thing upon his skin, and then there is the sight that he has been waiting for: Tomura.

Beautiful, bloody, free, Tomura.

"Fuck," Izuku breathes, and it's more a laugh than a word, a creaking, broken thing so full of joy that it hurts. Tomura, too, laughs, although his is a far thicker, brighter thing (it is so tantalisingly wonderful and Izuku wants nothing more to kiss him until they're both impossibly breathless-),

"So rude, Izuku."

"So free, Tomura." Using his partner's given name once more, as it should have been the last six years, is utterly euphoric. Doubly so when Tomura grins fiercely, hands twitching at his sides,

"So wonderfully, wonderfully free."

There is a pause, a moment where the blade hangs upon both of their necks; there is one final choice to be made, one final fate to befall them.

And, much like the choice they made over six years ago, this is not a pretty decision. It isn't what they most want. It isn't what will make them happiest. But it's what will push Izuku's career the furthest, what will afford him the most chance to set their world to rights. It's what they want most for the rest of the world.

And Tomura is tired. Izuku can see it in the slump of his shoulders and the slackness of his jaw and the way that he smiles a little, lopsided and barely there yet the most stunning thing Izuku has ever seen all the same. Tomura is tired, and maybe he hasn't quite kept all of his sanity, that shatter in his eyes having lingered to this day, but he is here, he is with Izuku, Izuku is with him; if these are to be their final moments together, then it is more than enough for Izuku treasure.

"Kill me, Quest."  It's a quiet thing, yet it is desperate, the claw of nails into earth, the no-air choked breaths of someone trying not to drown in the soil that has been piled six-feet high above them.

Izuku cannot say no. Not to Tomura.

They dare, in those final moments, to say the words that they have only ever said once before, to whisper them in amongst the rush of air, the way that Tomura staggers, how Izuku punches, his knuckles crashing into the same cheek that he has kissed so many times.

There is blood, hot, iron-rotten, and Izuku punches a second time, following Tomura down, crouching over him, and he isn't breathing, the air frozen in his lungs because Tomura's blood is on him and he's punching yet again. Something cracks. (His heart is breaking, but there's no way for the world to hear that. Not over the sound of bones and brains and the keen at the back of Izuku's throat-)

Izuku still isn't breathing. Neither of them are. Tomura's eyes, red as the blood that Izuku can taste, that is on his knuckles, that he can see everywhere, are open and glassy and empty.

Tomura is smiling.

Izuku- Izuku wants to take his bloody hand and pull his own ribs apart, wants to scream and sob and smile a rictus-agony thing, wants to be with Tomura's soul, not his body, but that would just defeat the whole fucking point. 

So instead he crumples, letting the way that he's kneeling over his partner have him collapsing on top of Tomura entirely (his Arc, his beloved, his through-glass villain-), burying his face in the neck that has no breath or blood left to ground himself with. Tomura's hand is resting slightly against his ankle; Izuku is completely uninjured.

The fact that he hasn't touched Tomura in six years hits him sudden and hard and ugly. This... This is the first and last contact they'll have in that time. (He can't count the- the fighting, he just can't, it wasn't them, not really, or at least not wholly-)  He just killed the person he loves most in the entire world, and he should be standing upright, fist raised with Tomura's blood a thing of pride, yet he can't. It would be impossible, in this moment, in this fractured blink of kissing the base of his partner's throat and pretending that he wasn't the one to steal the breath from it.

"I'll always be yours, Arc."  

And then he's staggering to his feet.

Deku has no room for grief. In the wreckage of this tiny swathe of forest that Tomura has destroyed, he gathers branches and dry twigs and piles of leaves, and he dumps them atop the person he loves most, and he pulls a lighter out of his utility belt.

He sets it all alight. There are at least two drones above the freshly-made clearing but he genuinely couldn't give less of a fuck right now; arguably it's actually better that his movements are being recorded by the news stations, at least this way they will see how out of it he is, how he genuinely took the- the villain down, and how he is stumbling as he sets the funeral pyre up, and then sits and watches it burn. Izuku breathes in the smoke, pretending it's the same as sharing the same air as Tomura. He watches the flames, the red glow to them, and pretends it's Tomura smirking at him as he thoroughly destroys Izuku at some sort of game. The snaps and cracks and spitting of the fire are sharp in his ears, and he pretends that they are the lock of their old flat door clicking open, ready to let Tomura into their little home.

Izuku pretends that he could be happy again.

Finally (far too soon-), however, other heroes arrive. And Deku does not move (Izuku cannot look away, cannot speak, cannot pry his way out of the grief-), simply lets them talk at him and move around and check him for injuries. Deku snaps, once, for someone to leave it when they move towards the fire. None of them deserve to disturb Tomura. No, he is Izuku's Arc, he is Deku's villain, and not a single other person can disturb that.

That message must get across in whatever words he spits, because most of the heroes begin to leave again. Only a few (ones who, if Izuku were more aware, he would register as his once-teachers and one of his own closest friends-) stay behind, sitting somewhere behind him to wait, talking quietly. Izuku easily ignores it, focusing instead on the crackle of the fire, the pop of bits of body that he doesn't want to think about, doesn't want to figure out. Equally, he ignores the scent of flesh, the char and bitterness and almost-rot of it.

Izuku revels in the warmth, and tries not to fall too far into the lie that the warmth is Tomura's arms.

The broadcast that is showing, for days afterwards, is him, round-shouldered where he sits on the ground, staring upon the pyre, a dark silhouette against the vicious light. He cuts a lonely figure, featureless and grieving, for all that none will truly know the depth of the latter.

Most assume he is watching the end of an era. The end of a reign of terror, or at least the potential of it; his rival, his nemesis, his villain is dead. And Deku, solemn, ensured it.

Izuku, solemn, didn't allow himself to sob over it. Not in that night anyway.

No, his tears wait until he is alone, until he is curled up in his flat by himself, hiding under the blankets that he and Tomura once shared but that haven't smelled of his partner in years. (Now they smell of smoke and blood and death. Izuku's entire being is a thing of grief, charcoal-smudged around the edges, and if the entire point wasn't his survival to be the number one hero, the hero who would change Japan, the entire fucking world, for the sake of saving others their pain, then Izuku thinks he would let that grief consume him too-)

But as it is, Izuku will outlive Tomura by years, as many as he can bear to survive, enough to enact the change they both wanted to see and that he hadn't been able to during Tomura's incarceration. 

Because without his Arc, he has been living a half-life at most, one that can never truly be happy. The other half of his heart is gone.

So Izuku will do what he promised himself and Tomura that he would. And if, once he is satisfied that he has done what he can, that things will be fine without him, he sees no more point in living?

Well, his knuckles will just have to bloody one final time.

Chapter Text

Their plan is worse for Izuku, and they both know it. They know it, and yet Izuku refuses to give Tomura any other option.

One of them dies, or both of them die; whatever happens, Tomura cannot be the one to survive, and they both know it. He is too ostracised, there is too much blood on his hands, he isn't stable enough. It's openly acknowledged between them. Izuku, however, well. He has a support network, both publicly and personally. He- he isn't as stable as he surely appears but he barely has any blood on his hands at all. He is a hero.

There's no true question or debate about it, in the end: Tomura will die to Izuku's hand, their love will be kept a secret, and Izuku will change things, will continue their progress.

And so it is that Izuku finds himself stood here, in the brief, haunted quiet of a dying-down battlefield.

He is numb to the blood on his hands. He's entirely numb, actually, static in his bones and grief a faint thing pounding at his heart that he ignores more than he pays attention to, because he doesn't know how to even begin paying attention to such feelings right now.

He doesn't want to be pulled away from Tomura's side. No, Izuku wishes he could lie down right here and not have to get up again, but that isn't an option. Instead he squeezes Ashido's hand and Kouda's shoulder, before turning once more.

Scooping up Tomura is easy, and reminds Izuku bitterly of carrying his Quest once or twice before, or in all truth a dozen times, when the taller teen (they're both men, now, really-) had fallen asleep whilst they played games, or whilst Izuku read something aloud for them both, and Izuku had to carry him back to bed.

But he doesn't let that bitterness overwhelm him, for all that it inevitably tangs at the back of his throat, iron-rich and gutting. It has a rotted fruit sweetness underlying it, tight in the rise of his ribs, yet Izuku continues to breathe, accepts the weight in his arms with a certainty, a gravity that he is more grateful for than begrudging, and refuses to let himself waver.

Izuku holds his head high, his dead partner in his arms.

It's Nedzu-sensei that he approaches, the creature far enough away that Izuku's knees are threatening to give in spite of his resolution.

"Nedzu-sensei, please don't let-"

"His body will be disposed of properly, Midoriya-kun, don't fret."  And Izuku knows that he can trust that, there's a reason he went to Nedzu specifically, because he fears what would happen if he left Tomura's body alone and free and ready to be snatched up, be it by villains or the Commission or other rogue actors entirely.

His love's body cannot be desecrated. It would break Izuku. Utterly, completely, and in a way that he could not hide.

(More than he's already broken, at least. More than the chasms that have already spread through him, itching along his skin, burning in his bones, until it feels like his heart is bleeding out in his chest, blood congealing in his lungs, in his veins, in the back of his throat, choking-

But he can, and will, hide it. He will keep his glacier-shattering grief buried in his chest despite how it seeps acid all the way up to his scars, hiding all that he possibly can.)

Izuku lays his Arc down, then, gently, delicately, a care that he should not dare to show yet right now cannot help, in these final moments. He knows that Nedzu is on their class' side no matter what, after all, and nobody else has strayed too close in this moment. Perhaps that fact is why he dares, in a second of utter stupidity, to duck that tiniest bit closer, hopefully merely slumping over his fallen foe to the outside eye, and allows himself to brush his lips over his partner's brow, one final time, one final glimmer of affection, adoration feathered over cold flesh.

Tomura is gone, and Izuku wishes with all of his heart that they could have done things differently.

Time passes slowly, then. There is the drag of a clock hand, the mindlessness of dates, the half-hoping glances at his phone, wishing for a message with a familiar username yet knowing, as certain as the feeling of a chest falling still beneath his palm, that the same username won't come.

For the rest of the world, however, or at least Japan, things move on, or rather jump forwards, far too quickly, in leaps and bounds and chattering. The headlines, particularly, are fervent, and are exactly what Izuku and his Arc had planned for. (Had hoped so desperately for.) They are lauding him, the leader of a new generation, the Symbol of Faith, the chance for people to believe in heroes once again, and in Izuku specifically. Like this, he is in a position to act. To change the world that hurt him and Tomura so badly.

Izuku's time to act hasn't quite come yet, however. No, he has to patrol, and pass his exams, and try not to let it become obvious that he has an agenda. Or at least not to the public.

One advantage of this, at least, is that he is able to hide his grief far more easily. To feel it, in some small, overwhelming part, without succumbing to it entirely.

Even that much has him lingering in bed, stuck in the sheets that smell too much of him and not at all of his partner, clinging to them with nightmare-slick sweat, burying himself in the darkness and imagining, vaguely, that it is a grave, a tomb, the heat-pressing weight of the blankets pulled over his head the dirt that should surround him, the wall at his back what should be the angled wooden surfaces of a coffin. Or perhaps he should have burnt up as Tomura did, a conflagration-creature, all embers, flames, bones that shatter from the sheer heat of it-

The world moves quickly, yet he barely moves at all. It's a nauseating feeling, one that only keeps him lingering, loitering in his mind, in his agony, in his ever-constant drowning, and his friends and teachers try their best to help, bless them all, and Izuku couldn't be more grateful, yet none of them know. They think, reasonably enough yet so, so wrongly, that his grief is a thing of being lost, of trauma that has piled up, catching onto him all at once from years of moving on and on and on again without time to breathe. And, well, they're likely a little bit right. 

But not a single one of them could know, could likely even fathom, how his heart has been shattered, utterly and absolutely. How he has loved someone who was perhaps the other half of him, and something else entirely, his mirror and opposite, his Arc. 

And now he is without that, at his own hand.

Some days Izuku doesn't know how he could possibly face another day, with the guilt and grief, thorn-tangled, cutting like barbed wire through his entire being, inextricable, blood-pooling. He forces himself out of bed, more and more often, three days a week and then four, five, until he isn't entirely wallowing in his grief (his loss, his depression, his marrow-deep dissolution-), a small part of him feeling genuinely better, most of him still spiralling, but he pastes a smile on his face all the same. He goes to the gym, he goes to the library, he attends classes when they start back up again.

Izuku forces himself to live when he isn't sure that he even wants to, for the sake of being a hero that everyone else needs. It's worth it, for them all, for he and Tomura's dreams, no matter how impossible so many times seem.

(He just wishes it didn't hurt so much.)

It starts small. Izuku mentions a few of his intentions in passing mid-interview. He talks to Toshinori about starting more charities. He makes public appearance after public appearance for his own already-established charity. Shouto and Yaomomo and Ashido help him organise a gala, one that he invites the Bakugous to, and Toshinori, and Hawks, and so many more heroes and friends of friends and already-sponsors of the Helping Hand Foundation, and on he goes.

Then he begins to do interviews exclusively about his charity work. He goes around schools and talks to kids, one on one and in big auditoriums, and signposts some of them to services that might help where their teachers or parents have-could-would not. Every appearance he makes outside of patrol furthers his image. His influence. 

Deku, Midoriya Izuku, Quest, makes ripples, then waves, then a tsunami-tide of growth. Of change.

His class follow in his wake, and then more heroes beyond.

Many things aren't fixed, or not entirely at least, but things change. They improve.

(A year in, he almost changes his hero name. He misses, with all that he is, being called Quest. He knows that he can't do it, partially because he can't bear the thought of his favourite name, the one branded upon his heart, being said in any voice other than Tomura's...

And, well, if that wasn't enough of a conflicted emotion place to be in, Izuku is also aware, above all else, of the public complications of changing his hero name now, several years into being such a well-known figure.)

Charities are created, and supported, and promoted. A few laws, mostly pertaining to self-defence and mandatory Quirk counselling for children with all Quirks that are difficult to control, not just ones deemed dangerous. There are reforms, and developments. Two days before Izuku's twenty-fifth birthday, he finally, finally, gets the paperwork confirming his successful petition for a villain rehabilitation programme.

It's his fourth attempt, admittedly. The first failure had crushed Izuku so terribly that he couldn't leave his bed for two days, sobbing into a blanket (one that once smelled like Tomura but now smells of nothing but Izuku's detergent and, in one small patch near the top, faintly of iron where he bled on it once after patrol-) before simply blinking at his ceiling for a time, drifting in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of the shifts from day to night and back to twilight.

Izuku hadn't given up, however.

He works far too hard, in those years. Izuku knows it, his friends know it, to some degree even the public know it. Because he patrols, and attends interviews, and eats meals that he rarely tastes, and spends nights researching in between fitful bouts of sleep, learning laws and regulations and processes, works with brands, with social media pages, with charities, both his own and others', until he can make the motions that he's most desperate for. He drives change, and saves people, and other villains die at his hands, almost all of them without his intention. 

(Whilst none of them hurt as much as Tomura, of course they don't, it's often extra-bitter, because somebody, somewhere, must have loved that villain just like Izuku loved his Arc. He has condemned someone else to the grief that he still faces every day.

They might be villains, but they are humans too. And Izuku wishes that he could fix it all for every single one of them. He wishes that he could fix it for himself too. Oh, how he wishes.)

Some days, inevitably, Izuku collapses. He does his best to last until the end of his shift, until he's at least back at the Hell Agency if not his home entirely, but some days the grief and exhaustion and utter defeat are just all too much. Because he can wake up in the morning with chest wide-open, raw, ribs snapped outwards to leave his heart and lungs exposed, but he'll force himself up, time and again, because he has obligations, he has things far more important than himself and his grief to deal with, and he can't afford to wallow in bed all day, leaving his friends in the lurch and worrying the public.

Izuku is supposed to be a hero. But even heroes break.

And sometimes he can't fix the things that he wishes to. He tries, he fucking tries, time and again, day after day, never allowing himself to fall apart as he most truly wants and needs to.

Izuku lives long enough as a hero to see the rise and fall of another supervillain, for all that the woman doesn't quite wreak the same havoc as All For One had; her network isn't spread wide, but that's inevitable in comparison to a century-and-a-half old monster. He takes her down himself, in fact, snarling and snapping and only an ounce of regret in his chest.

One of their sidekicks-turned-heroes is the one who provides his primary support. Yaomomo and Sero and Shouji are there too, fighting underlings, and so many more of their Agency are here, because this is the heart of their territory, and this bitch thought she could dare to hurt Izuku's people.

Izuku clenches a hand around her neck, sparks skittering on his skin in a way they haven't in years, and he doesn't smile, in that moment, but he doesn't quite feel bad either.

The fight ends, clear-up takes hours, rebuilding entire weeks, but that's okay, because people are alive, ones who wouldn't have been if Izuku didn't save them, and it isn't a happy ending per se, but it's a happier ending than it could have been.

Life (messy, ugly, blessed, awful life-) goes on (lonely, full of friends, without his partner-) and Izuku can, at least, take some comfort from the hope that his Arc would be proud of him.

(And one day, perhaps soon, perhaps far off, he will embrace his Arc once again, will hear himself called Quest in that voice that he ached for in every moment that he breathed, and then, finally, Izuku will break, falling apart in safety. He will be loved, and love in return, and the years of agony will be worth it, for the pride in that smile, the appreciation in those hands, and the adoration in that gaze.

Izuku and Tomura will love each other, in that space and time that isn't.)

Chapter Text

Call them selfish, but Izuku and Tomura don't want to die. It's as simple as that.

So they have tried to come up with literally any other solution. Above all else, they have to stay together, in some way, whether that's in life or not. And Izuku, in all of his optimistic, terrified genius, might just have come up with one of the very few solutions that might work: he has to convert Tomura. Publicly, openly, perhaps in ways that neither of them would truly like, but it might just work.

Because if they tell enough of the truth, if Tomura is the one to give himself in, if he gives up enough secrets, maybe they'll be able to wrangle some sort of plea deal. Some sort of... rehabilitation, even.

Izuku has already started setting the groundwork for it, the beginnings of plans for how to help prevent people falling into villainy, and to give them a second chance after they've fallen into it. He doesn't have his programme established yet, but he's been hashing out the plans with Nedzu and Midnight-sensei and Toshinori-san and a series of social workers and police officers. It should be enough.

Honestly Tomura has more faith in it than Izuku does.

(That, if anything, is actually the point though, isn't it? When Izuku is uncertain, when he questions himself, his decisions, his ideas, it is Tomura who looks him in the eye and has faith. It is Tomura who questions him purely for certainty, to understand, but never for a lack of trust. It means more to Izuku than he could ever articulate.)

Izuku is in the middle of class when it happens, much to his own discontent. But, well, it was the plan, so he can't complain. Or not too much.

He's still the first to surge to his feet, or, well, at the same time as Aizawa-sensei but before everyone else, because he was nigh-on expecting the alarm to ring out, locks engaging on the windows and door.

"Kids, stay down. Wait for the annou-"

"Attention, students and faculty. A single villain is attempting to gain access to our campus. Please remain in your classrooms. Members of the Heroics faculty are dealing with this, and the police have been alerted. Do not contact anyone else at this time. And I repeat, remain in your classrooms. Thank you."

Nedzu's voice is a reassurance, frankly, and yet Izuku still aches, desperately, deeply, to rush out, to break through the walls if he can't get through the windows, whatever it takes to get to Tomura and ensure that he's safe, that the heroes won't tear him down the moment they see him. Because, yes, they had a plan to make Tomura as non-threatening as possible, but still. It's never a guarantee.

(Izuku isn't sure how faith in UA's heroes would waver should that happen. Because they're genuinely good heroes, they really are, but if they destroyed the person he loves the most in the world... Izuku doesn't know how he would feel, beyond utterly devastated.)

So he's on his feet, already headed for the window, trying to see if he can make out any of what might be going on. He barely registers Aizawa-sensei getting out a specific key to open one of them, the hero clearly one of those who is responsible for getting to the gate.

There are hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm, one webbed, another with a thumb raised. The window lock clicks shut again behind Aizawa-sensei.

"Deku-kun, wait."

"But-"  He's protesting against one of his friends, too preoccupied trying to get a good view of his partner to really be able to register who is speaking to him in this moment, nigh-on pressing up against the windows, one hand reaching for a handle, unable to help how his Quirk is beginning to shudder through him. ...He can't see anything.

"The teachers will be able to handle it, Midoriya, I am certain."

Izuku knows that Iida is right, but that is his exact fear.

Equally, however, Izuku isn't supposed to know who is out there or what is happening right now, he isn't supposed to know that it's a member of the League, let alone that it's Tomura. He can't afford to fuck this up somehow. 

So Izuku acquiesces. He stays at the window, but he isn't the only one, and he squints at the gate that they can't really see from here, trees and distance obscuring it.  (He doesn't realise it, but there are sparks skittering over his skin, sinking in the valleys of his skins, painting them in aurora-tones, a valley-bottom river of celestial light. His eyes, focused, blind to his own surroundings, are that little bit too bright, an eerie match to his Quirk-born sparks. 

And his class do not flinch, do not falter, still close at his side, as they all watch what little they can see, because they aren't unfamiliar with the fear of UA being attacked once again.)

There are shouts, all of a sudden, because there is a dark figure that could only be Aizawa-sensei, standing beside several Ectoplasm clones with a figure in between them all. One with pale hair and dark clothing and what looks like bound hands.

Izuku's heart breaks at the sight, even in the same instant that he has to bite back a sigh of relief that, despite literally catching his tongue between his teeth, burns at his lungs.

It takes two full breaths for the others to recognise Tomura, but then they're all shouting, a clamour almost riotous enough to match the tempest in Izuku's thundering heart.

"Is that Shigaraki?"

"It looks like him!"

Keeping his breaths even is a genuine struggle for Izuku, taking in every fractured moment, every single movement of Tomura's steps, trying to ascertain if he's hurt, if he's injured, if he's okay.

"It can't be!"

"It must be though!"  His class, around him, are still shouting, still trying to understand, some sounding a little scared, most of them just confused and in shock, and Izuku doesn't blame them,

"Why would Shigaraki be here?"

"It definitely looks like him."  

"He wouldn't have just let them take him in, surely?"

"Aizawa-sensei is there though," someone adds, and the confidence in that is at least shared by Izuku. If he would trust anyone with Tomura, it would be Aizawa-sensei, despite the personal trauma that he must have regarding Tomura. At least Aizawa-sensei is good, and theirs.

"But nobody looks injured."

"What the fuck is even happening?"

The talking continues, one of Izuku's breaths catching (Aizawa-sensei's hand is coming to settle on Tomura's shoulder, a jailor's grasp rather than a friend's clasp, Ectoplasm's clones bunching in closer the further into campus the group walks-), a second, a third, before he zones back in again,

"And we didn't see any fighting or anything?"

"I would suggest we wait until Aizawa-sensei or one of the other teachers give us more information," Yaomomo offers, speaking over everything else with a suitably calm tone, albeit also sounding more uncertain than usual.

Despite the tempest brewing in his own chest, Izuku nods, and pitches his own voice to carry, trying desperately to keep it steady,

"Yaomomo's right. The teachers seem to be in control. If they- If they needed us, Nedzu would let us know."

There are several discontent murmurs then, but nobody is disagreeing, and most of the class begin to head back to their desks, for all that most of them don't actually settle into their seats, no, gathering in little clumps of people, perching on desks and leaning against each other and talking very quietly, still unsettled.

In all truth, it probably doesn't help that Izuku is still staring out of the window, wishing with all he has that he could just do something.

That, of course, is the moment that Tomura is close enough to look up, and logically he should have to scan the entire building to see Izuku and yet he looks up and instantly they lock eyes.

Izuku gasps, or sobs, or stops breathing entirely, he isn't entirely sure, but either way he's leaning forwards, one hand pressing to the window, sparks pooling in his scars that scorch at the glass. He couldn't care less. Not when Tomura flashes him a grin, something sharp and arrogant on the surface yet, even from an ever-shorter distance, where it's becoming easier with every step to distinguish individual features, Izuku can make out the wobbliness of it, the fear in those red eyes.

Because they trust each other, absolutely and unwaveringly, but they have no guarantee of being able to trust anyone else, no matter how much they want to try.

Tomura speaks, then, something that Izuku can't lipread from here, and Aizawa-sensei's head whips up, staring at their class too. The realisation there, the rage-concern-fear, makes Izuku want to cringe.

("Look who it is, Midoriya Izuku.")

Before he can actually react, however, Aizawa-sensei is scowling fiercely, grabbing Tomura by the shoulder and pulling him around to the side, the clones all shuffling around quickly enough to accommodate the movement as they change direction, no longer headed for the main building. Probably for one of the gyms, Izuku assumes. It's likely the easiest and safest place to keep Tomura before the police get here and they can take Tomura to an actual jail.

This was their plan, nigh-on to a tee, and yet Izuku wishes more than anything to charge down there and whisk Tomura away entirely.

There are three days where, for Izuku, nothing truly changes. They get very little information, other than Shigaraki Tomura has given himself in and, from Toshinori, Izuku is told that All For One is dead, at Shigaraki's hand.

Still, their knowledge overall remains only that Shigaraki is in custody, and they're expected to just go on with their normal lives despite that.

Somehow it's more difficult than when they knew the villains were out there and active. The unknown, perhaps, is what it makes it difficult. But, well, at least the entire class' unease makes Izuku's near-desperate frustration a bit less notable for their teachers and each other. After all, they all know that he was an oddly central target for the League, that there is a tension linking him and Toshinori and the leaders of the League-

It somewhat excuses Izuku's restlessness, the way he has been twisting and tangling his fingers to a point of his chronic pain getting so much worse that he can't even write. Aizawa-sensei frowns at him and drops hand warmers on his desk and the other teachers abruptly aren't setting them full-on essays even though Cementoss-sensei mentioned planning to set them one this week. Or the way that he clearly isn't sleeping enough, spending half his nights wrapped up in blankets that didn't originally belong to him but do, at least, smell a little bit like his Arc still.

Such things are meagre consolations, truly. Not when Izuku just wants to be called Quest again.

Finally, however, the change comes that he was waiting for: he is asked to come to the prison and speak to To- to Shigaraki.

For his part, Tomura has been insisting, until he has bitten his lips bloody, voice hoarse, that he will only speak with Izuku present, although he calls him Deku, of course.

And so eventually Izuku is indeed asked, by a very reluctant Toshinori and careful Nedzu. And he agrees, of course, because he is a good, virtuous, optimistic hero-in-training. (Because he loves Tomura with all of his heart, and the possibility that, like this, their plan is finally beginning to work, even if it is only in its infancy, brings him so much relief that he has to try not to sway with it-)

He walks into the visiting room with a thundering heartbeat and trembling hands, grateful that those very same things can and should be misunderstood as nerves from others. From outsiders.

To Tomura, however, it is blatantly a thing of hope and excitement and utter relief. And he isn't wrong.

Izuku doesn't speak until he's sitting down, eyes drinking in every slip of pale skin and tumble of pale hair and glint in those red eyes, dual beating hearts staring directly at Izuku, raw-nerved and adoring.

His voice, however, doesn't pound or waver, almost casual,

"Deku."

"Shigaraki."

They both breathe then, deeply, a little too sharply, and that jagged edge carries through into Tomura's next words, pointed, dragging, the slow slide of a blade against the fragile skin of Izuku's heart, no matter how knows the lies in the words for what they are, and the truths too,

"Look, I don't like you. But you're All Might's protégé, and Stain recognised you, and Sen- my old master was interested in you. You're an actual hero, it seems."

He lets those creeping hurts bubble into something fully-felt that underlies his response, pushing away the soft awe that he always feels when his Arc calls him a hero.

"I- What do you want? They said you would only talk to me." 

"They were right. I want you to be the one that I tell the truth to."  The words in the centre of that (I want you, I want you, I want you-) make Izuku shudder, a desperate thing, a keen kept trapped in his throat through stubbornness alone, even as he formulates an actual response, something safe, something calculated carefully enough not to give anything away, something that isn't a profession of his love,

"Why? What significance do I have? You could literally have All Might here, listening to-"

Tomura snarls, scowls, leaning forwards with Quirk-unburdened fingers clenching around the counter in front of him, utterly vehement,

"It has to be you. He used to say we were similar, you know. I think that was something he was actually right about."

"Oh. I- Okay."  Izuku knows that it's a risk not to refute that instantly, but equally acting shocked will give Tomura the chance he needs to get a word in edgeways, and that's the focus of this. They both know it.

"I was discriminated against for something I couldn't control. I hurt people I loved because I couldn't control my Quirk. I spent years suffering. People who said they loved me lied to me. This society cast me aside. And then I grew up, and I realised I could do things my own way. But I had Sensei to lead me; you had yourself and All Might. And I'm not saying that I'm some fucking saint, but I- I couldn't just fucking say no to Sensei. Not if I-"

"-wanted to survive," Izuku interrupts, except it's in chorus, in a sharp-edged sort of harmony.

Tomura's grin is a bloody wolf's, and his gaze is gleaming in a way that only Izuku knows.

(Izuku wishes, oh-so desperately, to be able to hold that smile between his palms, to feel the appling of Tomura's cheeks beneath his own hands, the warmth and joy.

He wishes he could even just hold his Arc's hand. It would be enough, Izuku thinks. Not everything he wants, not what he craves most, but enough.

But even that is impossible right now, he knows. There is no recourse from this.)

The silence settles, briefly, in between them, a familiar comfort no matter the circumstances of it. Tomura's expression has slipped back to something that is, on the surface, neutral. Izuku cannot help but tangle his hands together once more, no matter the sharp-bitter ache along his scars. (Izuku knows the truth of it, knows the layers of warmth, the memories behind the light in Tomura's eyes when they look at each other, knows the curl of his hands and play of his hair as it tumbles around his shoulders.

He knows many, many things about Shigaraki Tomura, about his Arc, but he doesn't know if Tomura will ever be free, and that is a horror all of its own.)

"Your hands."  Izuku startles, at that, knowing what his Arc means, because his hands are shaking even now, atop the counter in front of him, and he knows, in that moment, with no doubt at all, that Tomura can tell he's been aggravating them in the last few days.

They both know, in that moment, that they understand.

"You got those scars in pursuit of being a hero, didn't you?"  It's a change of subject, to them, but not to those listening, not when nobody else knows the unspoken weight to Tomura's initial statement, the observation and concern behind it. (It makes Izuku feel a little bit remorseful, admittedly, for how he's allowed himself to get so wrapped up in his own head that Tomura now has to worry about him-)

"I did, yes," Izuku allows, a response that he hardly thinks about at all, still too caught up in the pounding of his heart, the way his hands ache, how desperately he wants to break through the barrier in between them to be able to hold his Arc close. 

"I can respect that."

"Oh?"  It isn't quite a challenge, isn't quite an invitation, is just caught somewhere in between, and it has Tomura tilting his head slightly in return.

Except then he's smiling again, sharp but smaller than before, the centre of it almost soft.

"You sacrificed a lot for what you believe is right."  Izuku wasn't entirely expecting that, in all truth, and that comes across in his slightly puzzled response, head tilted,

"It was the right thing to do." 

"Exactly."

(He doesn't know it, but Tomura's heart just double-beat, a fierce, aching thing, because his Quest's curls just fell around around his eyes in that precious way of his, shadows around aurora light, the veils of night against stars, and oh, but how he loves this hero of his.)

There's a pause, then, a moment where the very air seems to be precariously balanced, a precipice threatening to crumble.

"The right thing..." Tomura doesn't falter per se, however he shifts slightly, clearly gathering his words, so that he can speak without a tremble,
"I killed my Sensei, because I don't believe he's right anymore. I haven't for months now. And he never would have let me go. Not alive."  The half-parroted words shatter grief and pride through Izuku in unequal, overwhelming measure. He can barely force himself to breathe through it.

"What do you think is right then?" he asks, glad that his wavering voice makes sense for the hero-student Deku just as much as it does the partner Quest.

"I think that a lot of society is corrupt. That too many heroes hurt people more than help them. But I think it can change. I think you might be the one to change it, Deku."

The faith in that isn't hidden, isn't buried beneath layers of deception and careful masking. No, it's nerve-raw, left bare, vulnerable enough to have shudders echoing all the way down his spine. It's true.

His Arc has so much trust in Izuku (in his Quest-) and he's determined to live up to it.

It takes months of talking, of moral lessons, of negotiations and careful planning and Izuku juggling too many plates all at once, of doing his best to simultaneously show his faith and try to prove he isn't being naive. 

But, finally, they release Shigaraki into the custody of The Helping Hand Foundation, and specifically the villain rehabilitation branch of Izuku's charity. Sponsored by All Might, by Nedzu, by several more heroes that Izuku has met, or who Toshinori has specifically spoken to in order to introduce Izuku to, thinking that they would like to support this sort of charity.

Tomura is their first "big, official project", although Izuku protests that wording vehemently every time someone uses it. Of course they have other things going on, too, and Izuku feels like he spends more time in meetings and writing emails and looking over proposals than he does school work or training, some days, but he signed up for this, and he gets very good at reading things whilst on a run or using gym equipment. Luckily he's always been fairly good at multitasking.

And so, on the day that Tomura is released to the hold of Izuku's charity, it is a thing of quiet victory and soaring hope.

It's an almost impossible task not to run and leap into a hug with Tomura the moment he sees him. Of course they've seen each other quite a few times over the last several months, but it has always been in prison cells or in formal meetings, part of Tomura's psych assessments or the negotiations for just how this programme will work, particularly given the case by case nature, let alone Tomura being the first one entirely.

Instead, however, Izuku gets to walk Tomura around the flat he had specifically chosen, alongside several others admittedly, for Tomura to live in. It's close to UA, roughly in between it and the nearest large pro hero Agency (it belongs to the trio of Trapler, Iron Reach, and Sand Stick; it's convenient that the Agency specialises in capture and rescue, given the circumstances, and also that they are one of the main Agencies that are sponsoring the Helping Hand Foundation-), and is of a reasonable rent for somewhere with good security.

It also has lots of sunlight, and a decent kitchen, and a single bedroom big enough for a double bed. It's not otherwise that big, and it certainly isn't anything amazing, but it's enough. It's a space that could be home.

Izuku's hope is a choking, sun-fierce thing, drowning him even as he smiles, as he presses a key into the hand of someone he loves, as he stands beside Tomura, not holding his hand in the way he would prefer yet cannot, however it's enough, a few others gathered around them, all with varying degrees of comfort, but that's fine.

Tomura has semi-permanent Quirk suppressants, now. They are bands, just about skintight, one for each wrist, a far more humane version of Quirk-suppressing handcuffs. But he doesn't mind, from what Izuku can tell. No, if anything he seems to revel in the ability to just pick things up without a second thought, to have one of the things making him a villain in society's eyes taken away.

It also makes most people notably less nervous around Tomura which, well, isn't quite what they want in that the reasons for it aren't ideal, but still, it's an improvement overall. Izuku is glad for it. He's glad for how people are beginning, oh-so slowly, to see beyond the past and the Quirk that have been the defining features of what most people see, of Shigaraki.

None of them yet know Tomura, know how he laughs at dumb NPC dialogue, or how he huffs when he sets about tidying up Izuku's horrendously messy notes in a way that doesn't disrupt the sparse logic but also removes the absolute chaos of them. But perhaps, like this, they will get the chance to.

"I hope you don't mind, but I, uhm, took the liberty of getting you a games console. I'm sorry it won't have any of your old save data or anything though," Izuku adds on, laughing sheepishly, a genuine remorse settling deep in his marrow for the things that they have lost, that his Arc won't be able to get back, for all of the hours they spent together that were so often saved to Tomura's games rather than his own. But for security reasons, they couldn't give Tomura access to his old accounts anyway, no mater how much Izuku would have preferred it.

But he's left a post-it note, one of his own, a sakura-shape that he knows Tomura will recognise, below one of the controllers with his user code, because it's been over a year since they first shared them and he doubts Tomura will remember it. But he'll recognise the post-it notes, and he'll certainly recognise the format of a user code.

Even without that, the way that Tomura smiles at Izuku then, Arc to Quest, a brief, beaming thing, wrought of sunlight and hope and a gratitude deep enough to shudder in Izuku's own chest, is a reminder of days long-gone.

(Neither of them know it, but that smile has the adults around them faltering slightly, because all at once they can all see the child that was hidden in the confines of a villain, the person who has joy and hope and hobbies that they enjoy whole-heartedly.

For Izuku, it's just the Tomura that he knows and loves.)

Izuku goes on to say that there are some initial groceries in the cupboards, some chicken and vegetables and spices and eggs, plus some instant ramen and canned stuff in the cupboards, and two bags or rice in one of the cupboards. Everything's all set up to be lived in. There are bedsheets and blankets already made, some sample-sized toiletries in the bathroom. It's ready to be a home.

(Izuku has every intention of 'sneaking in' to Tomura's flat regularly. There's a convenient fire escape not terribly far from Tomura's bedroom window, further than any normal person would be able to reach, but a bit of a jump and maybe some Black Whip make it perfectly accessible for him. It wasn't entirely a priority, the general security and safety of the area, not to mention what Tomura would like, were Izuku's highest concerns, yet equally he's quite aware that his own presence is pretty high up on Tomura's lists of wants. So this flat really is perfect.)

And, eventually, they're able to leave Tomura. He has a job lined up, starting in three days, and, for now, daily calls with his assigned therapist, and weekly meetings with his case officer and a local detective.

That night the only thing that keeps Izuku from sneaking straight into Tomura's flat is the knowledge that it's going to be watched for the first two weeks at minimum, and that he has a new friend request to accept. And then a server call to follow.

"Quest."

Hearing Tomura's voice is a shattering moment.

"Arc."  The word is a sob, so warped, so torn, that it is hardly recognisable, and yet Tomura is hushing him, soothing him, his own words trembling viciously. Oh, how Izuku wishes for his partner's hand around his, the warmth of his partner against his side, but this- this is enough. It's more than they've had in over a year, after all.

They breathe together then, and Izuku isn't the only one crying, for all that his are wretched heaves rather than choked-off gasps (he aches to not be able to soothe that grief away for his Arc, to not be able to hold Tomura close and do everything in his power to ease away his pains, his every sob and ache-), and it's impossible to do anything else, right now, like this, because months of careful half-truths and outright lies have been for this moment and the relief- the relief is a chasmic thing.

After a time, of course, they begin to calm down. It takes a while, for both of them, but still. It's okay. There's no shame to their pain, they know. Not when it's shared, heart-and-marrow deep, cutting right to the quick of them.

"Thank you for waiting."

"Thank you for everything. Just- everything. I'm so, so proud of you, Quest," Tomura murmurs, far softer than usual, no hint of begrudging affection or false haughtiness, just an open, raw sort of truth.

Izuku almost starts sobbing all over again.

Instead, he burrows further into his blankets, curling up so tightly that he can hardly breath at all but it helps, a little, to ease how desperately he misses the curve of another body against his own, and tries to formulate some sort of response.

"I just- It was for you, Arc."  It's breathy and barely-there.

More than anything else, it's absolutely heartfelt, dredged from the shadows against his breastbone.

And he can hear much the same depth in Tomura's words, the utter warmth and utter loss all in one, the wish to be together even through the relief for Tomura's pseudo-freedom, alongside how much they simply adore each other,

"I love you. We- You didn't have to do all of this, but you did, Quest. And I love you."

"Oh. Oh, but I love you too, Arc. So much."

There is nothing more that needs to be said, at least for such heavy topics. No, they both lie in their beds, call still going, and breathe together, nothing more and nothing less.

(Now they can be together. It will take time, and they will likely never be able to go public with it, but visits and becoming friends is not an unreasonable thing to allow those close to them to know.

In snatches, in bits and pieces, in days and months and years, they are able to spend time together how they always would have preferred, in privacy, yes, but playing games together with Tomura occasionally kissing the crown of his head. They get to learn to cook together, Izuku repeating the lessons from his Mum so that they can eat meals together, and if they happen to cook enough for Tomura to heat up for an extra day or three, then, well, it eases some of ache of being apart.

They are able to be themselves, and it isn't a full, entire thing, not when they keep their love to Tomura's flat and will always have to, under the programme, even after he is able to pay for it himself, but it's still more than enough for them. More than they had expected to be able to find, to forge for themselves. It's enough, honestly.

Izuku and Tomura can fall asleep together, like this, as they should, as they both crave, curled into each other, breathing against dark curls or a pale throat, trusted, affectionate, all of it so very warm. So very safe.

Arc and Quest are able to love each other, and to live out their lives. It is far from perfect, but they have each other.

They're happy.)

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