All was golden in the sky when the day met the night

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Izuku's frantic words, wide, worried eyes, and outstretched hand contrast with the monster blood splattered across his cheek and the shirt halfway torn open. Ozone is heavy in the air, and there's still a bit of faint crackling green light that settles under Izuku's skin from his magic. His entire body is still thrumming from the use of his power.

He's still getting used to it, in more ways than one. It's difficult to control and often overwhelming if he's not using all of his concentration to keep it in check, but when it works, there's nothing else in the world like it. It's utterly intoxicating. Still, Izuku avoids using it where he can while he's still uncertain with it, preferring instead to rely on his usual tools; a sword, a touch of alchemy, and a lot of luck. But this was an emergency situation, and Izuku couldn't afford to hesitate or wait. After all, what good was this power if he didn't use it to help others?

It seems Izuku had arrived just in time. He'd only caught a few details of the scene before he leapt into action. He'd heard a cry of pain, had pivoted towards the sound and ran, and found a battle already in motion; one where the human man caught in a monster's claws was about to lose. Izuku didn't even think, he just reacted, leaping into the fray to get the monster's attention off of the man.

He'd seen hints of magic, ice on the ground namely, but he didn't catch much before the fight was over. The monster was weakened already; clearly the man had held his own, and it was only the bad luck of getting caught in the rampage of a cornered animal that had the man at a disadvantage. Izuku's seen the aftermath of attacks like this when the victims weren't prepared for a fight, and it's a grisly scene. When he rushed over, he found the man sitting up. His arm looks injured, but his eyes are alert and focused on Izuku's, so it's unlikely he has a concussion or a significant amount of blood loss, which is Izuku is relieved for.

"I have healing herbs!" He continues when he doesn't get an immediate response. He crouches down to be at the mans side. "I can patch you up, I've got plenty of bandages! I get hurt all the time to be honest, so I'm pretty good at that sort of thing." He laughs nervously as he digs through his bag, but even once he has a bundle of herbs in one hand and bandages in the other, he doesn't touch yet. "May I?" He asks for permission, big green eyes searching the other man's gaze.

It doesn't escape Izuku's notice, of course, that the man in front of him is beautiful. Really, really beautiful. Ethereal even. He almost looks unreal, features so gently sculpted and maintained. Probably one of the prettiest people Izuku's ever seen, which is saying something, since very few people can reach Kacchan's level for that in Izuku's mind. Now that Izuku's close and actually looking at him in more than just a blur of motion, he can take in the details.

He has red and white hair, split evenly down the middle, though currently messed up from the battle. His skin is pale, clear and soft. And- oh! He has two different color eyes too. One stormy gray, one ice blue. They're both framed by incredibly long lashes. The blue eye is squinted a little more than the gray, presumbably due to the burn scar stretching over most of the upper half of that side of his face. It looks old, plenty healed over already. He doesn't look like he could be any older than Izuku, but he wears much finer clothes; leathers dyed blue and shirt starched white, the fancy detailing you only get with truly high-quality clothing.

A noble, then, though clearly not an untrained one. A helpless noble would have mercenaries or personal guards to watch their back, and most would not even have swords of their own. Especially not ones that are, while high-quality, with gemstones embedded into the hilt and beautiful ironwork, are also worn, well-loved and used, still clenched in the other man's hand. Beneath the concern, curiosity bubbles hot in Izuku's chest. Everything about this noble is a collection of contradictions, a unique blend of expectations and the subversion of them, and Izuku instantly wants to know more about him.

Seeing as he's still struck silent, Izuku tries to figure out why, and then comes to a conclusion with a soft little, "Oh!" He laughs, awkward and rough. "Sorry, I didn't even introduce myself. I didn't mean to be strange, sorry. Um! My name's Izuku Midoriya." With his own introduction out of the way, Izuku tries again. "Is it alright if I treat your arm, Mr...?"

The blood that falls upon his face is hot, dark, and reeking. Shoto doesn’t grimace over the stench that pours forth from the gash his sword draws. He knew the road he sought would be a dangerous one when he set off; he’s braced for this. And the farther away from home he’s gotten, the more dangerous the path gets. Monsters appear in packs he’d never seen nearer to the capital, and they’re larger, more aggressive. He’s prepared for the foul smell of their blood--and used to it, now, as he’s had to slay or subdue several monsters across his journey already--but he isn’t ready for the force that lies behind the beast’s swinging arm. Even as it’s unable to lurch after him due to its legs being frozen, he’s just close enough to be caught in the large claws. They dig deep as he’s drawn closer, and eventually, pitched back to the ground, where he lands with a solid thud, expulsion of breath, and the rattle of his sword rolling out of his hand.

Cracking fills the air as the columns of ice ratcheting the monster’s legs in place begin to give to the consistent pressure of it vying for freedom. Shoto grits his teeth and raises his head. His eyes leave his opponent for just a moment, securing in knowing he still has a few seconds to spare before it can reach him from where he’s been thrown, to look for where his sword landed. It’s in that instant that another joins the fray in a streak of green light, a determined cry coming from within. Shoto has to squint against the brightness. Immediately, he notices two things: that the man who’s rushed to his aid his striking with light rippling out of his skin, and that there is something familiar about the spectacle that makes his neck prickle.

The fight, if it can be called much of one, is over quickly. There is just enough time for Shoto to gather the breath that was compressed out of his lungs, grab his sword, and sit up before he watches the monster topple over, accompanied by a dense thunk. Then there is a moment--there are several moments--where Shoto thinks, somewhere in the interim, he died to the claws that previously bore down on him. He must have; declaring that the electric magic that bursts forth to aid him is the work of a holy being come to claim his spirit isn’t entirely reasonable, but all he can think when the dust clears and he gets a look at the strange man is that he looks angelic.

His questions ring through Shoto’s ears. Shoto reaches a frost-latticed hand toward his injured arm, lightly pressing against the gashes that tear through his sleeve. Blood smears on his fingers and the bridge of his nose wrinkles slightly. He can’t formulate a response, though, even as simple as saying yes is. He’s distracted by his own wandering eyes. His heart is already beating hard with the energy of a fight, but it doesn’t relax as the danger fades; if anything, it worsens. He could get lost studying the swoop of green curls or searching those big, vibrant eyes. The most offensive feature about the stranger is the tear that rips down the center of his shirt, baring the muscles in his chest. Shoto doesn’t stop his eyes from traveling downward, even if they are quick to snap back up again. (And quick to travel down again--quick to repeat the process, several times.)

What are you doing? He chides himself silently. His arm is aching, he’s leaking blood onto the dirt, and he’s ogling the poor stranger that took it upon himself to help him. The behavior is untimely and it feels sick to perform. Even as he kicks himself, Shoto can’t help but stare: at the freckles that scatter across the man’s face, his build, the places where green light still filters through his skin, his scarred and strong-looking hands. Shoto stares at his hands almost more than he does the exposed chest, finding fascination in the flex and curl of wide, deft fingers as they disappear and reappear in rummaging through the bag. He really is the most beautiful man Shoto’s ever seen before. His mouth gets drier with the revelation and a twinge of pain runs through his hand. His fingers flex, curling in and out of a fist, to work out the ache.

Healing herbs. Bandages. A narrow crease appears at the height of Shoto’s nose. Some sense filters into his thoughts through the distracting haze of attractiveness and he realizes he needs to say something. He forces himself to quit staring at every inch of exposed skin like an animal and tilts his head up to hold enchanting green eyes. His mouth was opening in the shape of refusal, but he can’t deny those eyes. He can’t deny the simple request to touch him, a kindness he’s not sure he’s ever been afforded.

“Yes, you may,” he says despite himself. He hesitates before giving his name. He does not want to watch Midoriya cower or genuflect for the sake of it. He doesn’t want this overwhelming kindness to come to an end. His voice is slow when he answers, “My name is Shoto Todoroki.” He doesn’t wait or look for a reaction before continuing. “Don’t apologize. You haven’t been strange.” He looks down at his bloodied arm before extending it toward the man--Midoriya. His teeth grit slightly in preparation for the stinging press of herbs. And while he looks Midoriya over for the hundredth time, an early thought surfaces again. “Your magic,” Shoto says abruptly, inclining his head to the side. “I feel like I’ve seen it before. Where did you learn?” Where doesn’t seem like the right question. He pauses, considers, then amends, “Who taught you?”

Those pretty eyes flick over Izuku's face, then away, then back again several times, wandering and wide before they settle into something closer to neutral. The noble makes eye contact with Izuku, and it feels a little overwhelming. Maybe a lot overwhelming. Izuku can't identify any of it, not when those eyes are so unknown to him, but there's so much held within this man's gaze, a heavy depth Izuku wants to dive into. When he speaks, his voice is quiet; clear and certain in it's cadence, with a formal lilt to it and a deep, monotone voice. He speaks like he's taking the time to turn over every word in his mind before he vocalizes it, the very opposite of Izuku's tendency to stream-of-consciousness rambling. It is... a very nice voice, one Izuku thinks he could listen to for quite a while, but with permission his body moves into action.

Izuku's concerned expression melts back into a smile, easy and warm, and he moves forward, coming closer to sit in a better position at the man's side. Then he keeps speaking, giving his name, and Izuku is caught so off guard he stops mid motion, smile still frozen in place. He recognizes the name Shoto Todoroki, of course he does, and with an internal stuttering noise his mind snaps in the pieces of where he recognizes the name from. Encountering the crown prince out in the wilderness was definitely not on Izuku's to-do list for today. Or um. Any day, really. Ever. Just encountering the prince in general really.

He starts to sputter, to say something, when Todoroki carries on in that clear voice. His gentle insistence that Izuku hadn't completely freaked him out was reassuring, if only filtered through the haze of shock that's fallen over Izuku's mind for the time being. Izuku blinks at him, and as Todoroki's eyes track over him once more, he says something else that makes Izuku's brain sputter and restart. Beautiful and sharp. Izuku's heard many things about the Todoroki family, some of them less kind than others, especially what he hears of King Enji. Information about the youngest son, the one set to inherit the throne despite his age, is hard to come by beyond gossip about his position. Not that Izuku has sought it out before. Still, maybe he shouldn't be surprised to find that those stormy eyes are filled to the brim with a dangerous sort of intelligence. The change from where to who sets Izuku's heart pounding. Faster than it already was, anyway.

"Oh!" Izuku squeaks, sharp, high, and his voice cracking on the syllable. The laugh Izuku lets out this time is high pitched and nervous, and it's a good thing he has a firm grip on the things he's holding, or else they'd fly everywhere when his hands move, rapid in their franticness. "I- um- well- this is certainly a surprise! It's- um--" He stutters again, then tries to recover with a big breath. "It's- it's nice to meet you, your highness! It's, um, pretty rare to see royalty all the way out here. Um. Or. Really it's kind of a never-happens sort of thing. What brings you all the way out here? Sorry you don't have to answer that."

He catches his rambling starting to lose volume and edge into mumbling, and he shakes his head hard to clear it and focus up, leaning forward. "Sorry, didn't mean to ramble. Um, this will sting, your highness, I'm sorry." He says, finishing the motions he started of pouring out his water skin onto a cloth to clean the blood around the injury. His hands, though calloused, are careful and gentle where they hold Shoto's arm in place, motions practiced and firm.

His cheeks are red as he tries to think of how to answer Todoroki's pressing questions. He keeps his eyes on his task, licking suddenly dry lips, and says, "As for, um, my... magic, um, it's-- it's a bit of a long story, haha, but I was taught by another in my village. Well. Sort of taught. That's where I learned what I know, anyway. It's kind of new for me, so I'm still getting used to it. I don't, um... I unlocked it pretty recently." He says. "S-So... not sure where you would've seen it before, ha..." He bites his lip harder. Pulling his hand away for a moment, he changes the subject suddenly.

"Here," He says, reaching back into his bag with now bloodied fingers to dig around until he pulls out a small vial filled with red liquid, pushing it into Shoto's fingers. "Drink this, it'll help make the poultice more effect and provide some numbing so it doesn't hurt as much while it's healing. Or itch, I figured out a good herb to add to help with the itching because I really hate the itching," Here, Izuku doesn't catch himself, voice veering off in volume as he turns back to his task once the vial is safely in Todoroki's (long, pretty) fingers. "And whenever Kacchan got patched up at my mom's which was a lot 'cause he was always getting into trouble which drove his mom crazy which stressed my mom out but he always complained a bunch about the poultices because they itched and so I started thinking maybe there was a way to help and--"

Izuku blinks, halfway through gently smearing a crushed collection of sharp-smelling herbs into Todoroki's injury. "Ah." He says, back to full volume, or really, more like squeaking. "S-Sorry!" He lifts his other hand in an apologetic wave. "Bad habit. Um. Good news is your cuts aren't that deep, so that's good. They'll heal up pretty quick. Don't even need stitches or anything! Which is also good." He says, smiling awkwardly and shyly and big green eyes darting over frequently, lingering in spots before darting away again. He's acting like even more of an idiot than usual. Something about this pretty prince already has him on his back foot, stumbling and tripping as he tries to walk. Maybe the reasons were in that description alone.

The only thing more distracting than the exposed chest is Midoriya's smile--wide and warm, even if a little wobbly at the edges. The expression is blinding. Shoto is helpless to do anything other than blink and dumbly hold his arm out in the face of it. He goes slightly rigid when Midoriya shifts closer, having half-expected the distance between them to remain despite the necessity of closeness to work. Having his space invaded, however welcome the intrusion is, makes his breath stick in the canals between his throat and his nose. Shoto thinks he could lean greedily into it, savoring the attention like a dying man come across an oasis, but he cannot. The thought of doing so makes his stomach churn; and besides, there is a shift in the warm air between them, a sputtering that follows the announcement of his name, which Shoto is familiar with. The wall that has separated him from every member of his peerage has been unceremoniously planted. Shoto's eyes get slightly narrower the longer he regards Midoriya between questions and stammered answers.

Except Midoriya doesn't pull away. It isn't that he seems unfazed, but he barrels on despite that. He squeaks, and Shoto has the treacherous thought that it's an awfully endearing sound, and goes on talking. Shoto watches the wild gestures of his hands (and feels privately grateful that they so often wave over the span of his chest, so he can look there too) while Midoriya fumbles through his words. Mismatched eyes get slightly narrower at the question directed his way. No immediate answer meets it. Yet... Shoto feels strangely compelled to give one. What is it about this strange man, with his smile like a balm and risen, rosy cheeks? After a stretch of consideration, he picks a space wherein Midoriya takes a breath to answer, "I'm looking for someone. That's all."

Shoto's lip curls just slightly when the cloth presses against his wounds, but the sting is nothing compared to the electric feel of those hands gently cradling his arm. A sudden ache hits deep in his body and he wishes his sleeves were shorter so they could maintain proper skin-to-skin contact. The idea of that also makes him feel fiercely sick. Shoto decides on being grateful for the sleeves and regretting where they're torn, where Midoriya's fingers graze across his marred and torn skin. In those brief brushes, Shoto can feel him: fingers roughly hewn, meaning he's a worker, which is to be expected from a commoner, but he touches so gently. There is deftness and experience in his grip, in the repeat press he applies to the wounds and the way he gingerly checks them in-between swabs. Shoto feels dizzy, so dizzy. It is a miracle he's managed to stay upright.

Shoto closes his hand around the vial given to him, eyeing it for a moment before tilting his head the other way again. He has vain hopes of catching Midoriya's eyes again so he can suspend himself in that stunning shade of green for a few moments, but unfortunately, the other man's attention is firmly set between injury and the poultices he handles. Shoto's mouth twitches down slightly. He gingerly uncorks the vial with his teeth so as not to disturb Midoriya's work and drinks it down while he listens. It has a strange taste, unlike any healing potion or medicine Shoto's had before; bitter, earthen, fragrant. He's figuring the recipe is a homemade one just as Midoriya confirms such for him. One that he invented himself, for the sake of what sounds like a close friend. Shoto blinks curiously over this Kacchan, but he doesn't press. He has a feeling that isn't the name he's interested in right now.

Shoto nods, the closest expression of thanks he chooses to offer for the moment, and begins to speak again. "Your teacher," he says, "they were an adventurer, weren't they? They left your village, at least." Shoto retracts his arm and prods gingerly at the poultices slathered over his wounds. He knows he's felt that rush that came from Midoriya's magic before; the tailwind, the raw force of power that rushed through the air with his appearance. Shoto's brow furrows with thought. Then, it strikes him suddenly: memories of a festival from when he was small, of adventurers come to compete and show their prowess... of his father's ire with one in particular.

"All Might," he says abruptly, eyes flicking back up towards Midoriya. Their closeness had been momentarily forgotten as he thought, but once it registers again, a faint redness dusts the tops of Shoto's ears. He presses on, outwardly unbothered. "That's who your magic reminds me of." Shoto blinks once, then twice. His head moves ever so slightly to the side. As much as he can without shifting the lines of his face, he manages to look bewildered. "Are you two related?" His brow furrows again. "Are you... All Might's son?" Somehow, Shoto feels as if that deserves more respect than his title of crown prince. At the least, he cares more for All Might's standing than his own. ...not that the late adventurer has much of that anymore. It's been years since anyone's seen him. Shoto's hand squeezes briefly into a fist before relaxing. The gesture makes his tendons ache.

To Izuku's surprise, Shoto offers him an answer to his hurried question. Izuku's eyes flicker up at that, and he offers a warm, sweet smile. Instantly he's filled to the brim with brand new questions, swirling around in his throat and held captive by Izuku pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to smother them. Todoroki had questions of his own after all, and it was only polite to answer before attempting to satiate Izuku's endless curiosity.

The follow-up questions make Izuku nervous, but he doesn't try to discourage them. He gives a soft hum of acknowledgement and nods when Shoto asks if his teacher was an adventurer. "Mhm-- Oh," He says softly, a noise of surprise when Shoto pulls back, hands hovering in mid-air uncertainly with bandages still in hand. With his task removed from his reach, Izuku's eyes lift to look at Todoroki's face. With the prince occupied by examining Izuku's work, Izuku's eyes trace absently over his face again. His eyebrows are different colors too, matching his hair. Gods above his eyes are just so pretty. Shaded by long lashes while they're downcast, Izuku examines them with rapt attention. The exact shades of gray and blue that haunt a sky threatening to rain. Not when the rain has started, no, the moments before that. When the wind has picked up and the air is sharp and Izuku's joints ache. He loves days like that, even if his damaged bones protest.

Before Izuku can get too lost in his staring, Todoroki proves to be even more sharp than Izuku's first assessment, because seconds later he's meeting Izuku's gaze. Izuku's eyes go wide, heart leaping right into his throat. If he wasn't mid-panic, and honestly, even despite that, Izuku would have the thought that Todoroki's-- cute. Not expressive, but the slight changes are effective nonetheless, and there's something utterly endearing about the slight, earnest widening of his eyes and the genuine questions.

However, this too Izuku doesn't linger on for too long, because his mind wipes blank at the idea of All Might being his dad. He makes a high pitched noise he previously would not have guessed himself to be capable of, and goes utterly still for a long, steady heart beat.

Am I... WHAT?!

Izuku sputters, chokes on his spit, and then coughs in his frantic attempts to regain his ability to vocalize. His hands fly up and move rapidly of their own accord as he stammers out rapidfire syllables for a moment, tripping over half-started sentences and making a high pitched giggle made enterily of shock and nerves. "I- what- no- haha- nonono, oh gosh, not his son, absolutely not, ha," Izuku gestures a few more times and rubs the back of his neck nervously. "That's not it at all! He, we- I couldn't-- definitely not *me*, my gosh, I'm just- I'm just a normal guy, haha, my dad's a merchant I think, um," Izuku sucks in air and exhales in a laugh, taking in another deep breath.

"Sorry, you um, you caught me off guard! Um, y-you were right the first time, he's my teacher. That's all. From my village, came back when he retired, y'know." Nerves prickle up his skin and he hopes desperately Todoroki can't read between the lines of the things Izuku won't-- can't-- say. The magic he holds inside him is a dangerous one, one that many people would do dangerous, deadly things to get their hands on if they knew how it worked, or even if they had half an idea of how it worked. That was one lesson All Might was very insistent and clear on, to never share knowledge of Izuku's power unless he was absolutely certain he could trust the one he shared it with. "So... yeah! Not- ha- not my dad."

And Todoroki seemed very sweet, he really did, but they had just met, and Izuku knew very little beyond rumors of the royal family.

Shaking his head, Izuku smiles nervously and reaches gently for Shoto's arm again, taking it to finish wrapping the bandages over the cuts, which have stopped in their bleeding, thankfully. "Um, if I may ask, who are you looking for? It must be someone very important to bring you all the way out here. It's quite the journey too," Izuku looks up and offers a smile. "I- well, I'm sure you've realized that plenty, but this area can be awfully dangerous, especially off the beaten path. You must be quite a capable warrior. Oh, was that magic I saw back there? Ice magic, right? I've heard a bit before. I love studying different types of magic."

Izuku tucks the last of the bandage in place and gives a warm grin. "Also! All better. Just make sure you change your bandages every day and everything though you probably already knew that sorry. Oh! And I don't think I've said this yet." Izuku stands up, brushing blood and herb juice off on his pants before holding out one of those strong hands in offering to Shoto's good one to offer a hand up. "It's really nice to meet you!"