Recap:
Shoto felt his shoulders tense at the mention of her father, it was a cruel reminder.
"He's not allergic to anything," Shoto said, in a stiff voice.
(Y/N) Felt confused at the stiffness in his voice.
^ • ^
The shift in his voice had been subtle, but (Y/N) felt it like a cold draft. One mention of her father and the "Prince" was back-stiff, distant, and shielded.
She didn't push it; she just watched him walk away toward the bedroom, the golden sunset light making his silhouette look lonelier than ever.
Later that night, the villa was silent again, but the air felt charged. (Y/N) couldn't sleep.
The adrenaline from the fight with Mirko had ebbed away, leaving her muscles aching and her mind spinning with the faces of Class 1-A.
She stepped out onto the balcony of their shared suite. The salt air was cool against her skin, and the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below provided the only rhythm in the dark.
She leaned her arms on the railing, staring out at the moonlight dancing on the black water.
She felt like that water-tossed around by forces she couldn't control, pulled by the tide of two powerful families who didn't care if she drowned.
"It's a long drop."
The voice came from behind her, low and steady. She didn't turn; she knew the heat that followed him. Shoto stepped out onto the balcony, dressed in simple black sweatpants and a t-shirt.
His hair was damp, and in the moonlight, the scar over his left eye looked less like a mark of shame and more like a map of everything he'd survived.
"I've seen higher in the French Alps," (Y/N) replied softly, her voice carrying on the breeze.
Shoto stood a few feet away, leaning his back against the glass door instead of joining her at the railing.
He looked at her profile-the way the wind caught her loose hair, the quiet strength in her shoulders. He realized he had spent the whole day being surprised by her.
"You're good at what you do," he said. It wasn't the stiff voice from the kitchen. It was honest. "The way you anchored that villain... it was better than the reports said."
(Y/N) finally turned her head, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. "Is that why you're out here? To give me a performance review?"
Shoto looked down at his hands. "No. I'm out here because I don't know how to be in there. With you." He gestured vaguely toward the bedroom, the massive bed that felt like a battlefield of its own.
"My father... he didn't exactly raise me to understand how a home is supposed to feel."
The mention of Endeavor hung in the air, a mirror to her mention of her own father earlier. They were both just high-ranking pawns in a game their parents had started decades ago.
"Neither did mine," (Y/N) confessed, turning fully to face him. She shivered slightly as a cold gust blew in from the sea.
Without thinking, Shoto stepped closer. He didn't reach for her, but he let his left side flare-just a tiny bit-radiating a soft, comforting warmth that acted like an invisible blanket against the wind.
(Y/N) felt the heat and instinctively stepped into his space, her eyes widening. "You're like a human space-heater."
Shoto let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "That's a new one. Usually, people just call me a weapon."
"Well, right now, you're just warm," she murmured.
For a moment, the contract didn't matter. The press didn't matter. It was just two tired people on a balcony, trying to figure out if they could at least be friends before they had to be anything else.
The warmth radiating from his left side was intoxicating, a sharp contrast to the biting sea breeze. (Y/N) looked at him, noticing the heavy dark circles under his eyes that even his stoic expression couldn't hide.
The adrenaline of the rail yard had long since drained away, leaving only the weight of the day behind.
"Let's go to bed," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper against the sound of the waves. "It's late, and you're tired, Shoto."
Shoto blinked, the flickering heat on his shoulder dying down. He looked at her, then back at the dark room behind them.
The word bed still carried a sharp edge of tension after the previous night, but (Y/N)'s eyes held no demand-only a quiet, weary kindness.
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I am."
They stepped inside, the sliding glass door thudding shut and sealing out the roar of the ocean. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains.
The silence was no longer suffocating; it was heavy with the shared exhaustion of two soldiers returning from the front.
(Y/N) climbed into her side of the massive bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She watched Shoto as he moved to his side.
He sat on the edge for a moment, his head bowed, before finally sliding under the covers.
He stayed on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his body stiff as a board. He was acutely aware of the space between them-the few feet of mattress that felt like a canyon.
"Shoto?"
He turned his head slightly toward her.
"The party will be fun," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Your friends... they really care about you. It'll be nice to have some life in this house."
Shoto shifted, turning onto his side to face her in the dark. He couldn't see her features clearly, but he could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing.
"I haven't had a 'housewarming' since... well, ever."
"Then we'll make it a good one," she promised, her eyes fluttering shut.
"Goodnight, Shoto."
There was a long pause. Shoto watched the rise and fall of her shoulders, feeling a strange, tightening sensation in his chest that had nothing to do with his Quirk.
"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he whispered.
As sleep finally began to pull at him, Shoto didn't move away. For the first time, he didn't feel the need to freeze his heart shut.
He closed his eyes, the scent of the sea breeze still clinging to her hair, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
^ • ^
The afternoon sun glinted off the marble countertops as (Y/N) worked. She had flour on her cheek and her hair in a messy bun, looking completely at home.
She had dismissed the maids earlier; she wanted this to feel real. After a childhood of being watched by staff, she craved the privacy of a "normal" marriage.
A live-in housekeeper would be nice eventually, but for today, she wanted to be the one who built the warmth in this house.
Shoto walked in, dropping his hero gear by the door. He watched her for a moment, his chest tightening.
He still felt a pang of guilt for the first night, but seeing her so happy made him assume she was simply professional about their "arrangement."
She's strong, he thought. She knows this is a contract to merge the Hakamada and Todoroki influences, yet she's still trying to make it pleasant.
He admired her "acting"-not realizing for a second that to her, this wasn't an act.
"The groceries I brought... is it enough?" Shoto asked, stepping into the kitchen.
Over the last few days, they had settled into a quiet harmony. There hadn't been any intimacy since that first disastrous night, but the friendship growing between them felt more solid than any "sexy stuff" could.
To (Y/N), it was a slow-burn romance. To Shoto, it was two business partners becoming friends.
"It's perfect," (Y/N) beamed, gesturing to a bowl. "Can you help me with the salad? Just... try not to flash-freeze the cucumbers."
Shoto let out a small, genuine huff of amusement. "I'll try."
They worked side-by-side, shoulders occasionally brushing. (Y/N) felt a spark of electricity every time they touched, thinking they were slowly falling in love.
Shoto felt a sense of relief, thinking, I'm glad she doesn't hate me after the wedding night.
"Bakugo texted," Shoto said, his voice relaxing. "He said if the food isn't spicy, he's blowing up the patio."
(Y/N) laughed, her eyes crinkling. "I'm ready for him. I think your friends are going to love it here, Shoto. I want this to be a place where we can always have them over."
Shoto's hand paused on the knife. She wants to keep up the appearance long-term, he realized. He felt a strange sting of disappointment he couldn't explain.
He should be happy she was committed to the "deal."
"Yeah," he said, his voice turning slightly stiff. "It'll be good for the image."
(Y/N) paused, her smile faltering. For the image? She shook it off, assuming he was just being his usual, awkward self.
Before she could ask, the doorbell rang-followed by a muffled explosion and Kaminari shouting, "Todoroki! Open up! We brought the karaoke machine!"
(Y/N) wiped her hands on her apron, her excitement returning. "They're here!"