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The buzzing of the clippers filled the hollow silence of the Multipurpose Chamber, tufts of scarlet and white hair falling to the floor every so often.          

It had taken a great deal of persuading on Izuku's end before Shoto allowed him to cut his overgrown locks of hair. Knots of apprehension and worry forming in the pit of his stomach as the younger enthusiastically led him across the vast expanse of the Bunker. Albeit, Shoto had little to no complaints on their journey—enjoying the sights it had to offer.

Overlooking the occasional blood-painted wall or a dead body . . . after years of war, he adjusted to seeing such sights. Training himself not to register the atrocious images, for if he allowed them to flutter in his mind he'd show signs of remorse, empathy for the dead, weakness. As a blood-born Ductor, weakness was not a luxury he had.

No, instead he focused on the faux-lights, how they flickered and gleamed to life. The violent humming of, what Izuku called a backup generator when he had asked. And the warm breeze the air vents circulated, slowly warming the entire building as the minutes ticked by.

He hadn't known why he agreed to this . . . Though some part of the young leader had to guess that he wished to be diverted from the path his anxieties had led him down. The thought of Katsuki out there . . . searching for tracks . . . so close to the borders. He was the best tracker they had—he had not an ounce of doubt in his lover. It was his doubt in the neighboring tribes if they found him.

What they would do to the blond should he accidentally cross onto their land.

Last time . . . they had got lucky. 

Alas, he pushed those thoughts further down the hole they crawled out of. Sitting down in an empty chair with a low grunt as Izuku forcefully pushed him down, rummaging through drawers and pulling out a metal tool.

Shoto gazed at it curiously, opening his mouth to question its purpose. "What's that for?"

"They're clippers," Izuku explained, eyes trained on the object in his hands intently. "For cutting hair, but they can also cut your skin so hold still." he ordered sternly.

The elder pushed down another wave of weariness, mouth tilting into a small frown as Izuku turned them on with a warbling hum. Of course, he's had a haircut before—albeit, it had been when he was a child and most natives knew that a blade could only do so much in terms of cutting hair. If you weren't careful it'd come out uneven and crooked. 

Eventually, as he grew older he began caring less and less about the matters of his hair—allowing it to grow and grow as the years ticked by.

"Have you done this before?" Shoto questioned, two-toned eyes narrowed and glazed with curiosity.

Izuku took his lower lip in between his teeth, gnawing at the flesh. "Mhm," he affirmed, though an unconvinced Shoto kept his gaze hardened.

A wavering sigh whispered past the border of his lips as a long tuft of scarlet hair flowed down his line of sight. Falling into his lap before Izuku reached down to flick it off. 

As he worked, Shoto couldn't help but stare at the boy's features—curiously admiring the plump flesh of his cheeks and mouth—wondering inwardly about the duality they held. Childlike and innocent one minute, they cold and hard the next. Izuku was both unpredictable and predictable all at once.

Predictable because Shoto knew his moods never stayed the same for long.

Unpredictable because Shoto never knew which mood he'd get next.

Like . . . the river.

"That's what you remind me of," Shoto spoke breathily, more so to himself than to the confused Izuku who concentrated on cutting. 

"Hm?"

Shoto went to tilt his head, only to have two smooth hands place themselves firmly against either side of his head. A sharp look was thrown his way before Izuku resumed cutting. "The Iniuidicatus River. My father used to take me there when I was younger, he said if you could cross it without dying that's when you became a man,"

"What happens if you couldn't cross it?" Izuku asked eyebrow arched high.

"Then you'd die," Shoto said plainly as if discussing a mundane subject. "Before Mors Undam happened, there used to be a . . . ah, what's it called—" his fingers fluttering aimlessly in the air. "—it was a large building that powered other buildings in the area."

A thoughtful expression caught Izuku's features momentarily before he answered. "A power plant?" 

He remembered having a lesson about them a few years back before the backup generators were built. Some people apart of the Colony wanted to utilize the local power plant as another source of energy, others disagreed. 

"Yeah!" Shoto exclaimed, "Anyway, there were these . . . chemicals being stored there. After Mors Undam nobody was there to watch the chemicals and they spilled into the river, now the flow of the water changes. It goes upstream for a while then downstream, back and forth,"

Unpredictable but predictable.

The corners of Izuku's lips lowered. "So, I remind you of chemical-infested water?"

"Exactly,"

"Wow. You sure know how to woo a guy,"

A bubble of laughter rumbled in Shoto's throat and escaped, for one, sweet, savored second he forgot all his troubles. However, his eyes flickered to either side of himself . . . expecting to see an amused Katsuki joining in on his laughter . . . but he wasn't there. Instead, he was putting himself in the heart of danger.

And for what?

To prove something to himself? To prove something to the others?

"Idiot," he murmured beneath his breath, unaware of the piercing green eyes on him. 

"Tell me about him," Izuku said after a few moments of silence, replacing the clippers for a pair of scissor. ". . . Katsuki," he pretended not to remember the boys' name, receiving a small smile in return from Shoto.

The elder was quiet for a while, sifting through the years he had spent with the blond in search of the perfect starting point. When they first met; when he managed to derive the sweet melody of Katsuki's laughter for the first time; the night he asked the boy to rule side-by-side with him. A gentle hum throbbed through his neck at the pleasant memories.

His two-toned eyes flickered upwards to meet Izuku's. 

"He's a hot-head . . . Though, I'd imagine you were able to figure that out for yourself—" he nodded towards the small scratch on Izuku's forehead, which he'd obtained when he and the blond first met in the forest. "—but he has a big heart. When he sets his mind on something he goes for it, and he doesn't let anybody or anything get in his way . . . Even if it'll get him into trouble,"

Izuku chuckled, nodding along with the boys' words.

"You know, when we first met, he tried to slit my throat." Shoto reminisced, fingers instinctively running along the faded scar along his neck. 

Though, it's not the typical beginning to a love story . . . it was theirs. As Shoto spoke of that day, he began to picture it in his mind. 

Remembering how the grass felt between his bare toes, he had been sent to go hunting that day by his father. In spite of his father's pleas, he never felt the need to wear shoes on his hunting expeditions—wanting to be one with the Earth as he took a life on its soil.

He had caught sight of a deer a few yards ahead of him, his hand gripping tightly onto the sturdy branches. Just as he leaped in to kill it another figure shot out too, both of them colliding into the other—conjuring an all-out brawl.

A smile rose to his lips.

"Wait—" Izuku cocked his head to the side. "—I thought everybody knew each other in your tribe. Wouldn't you have run into him over the years?"

Shoto shook his head slowly, carefully eyeing the boy as more snippets of red and white fell past his peripheral vision. ". . . Katsuki's from . . . a different tribe. My father didn't exactly approve of our relationship,"

The elder watched as Izuku stiffened upon hearing his cryptic response, knowing no further explanation would be needed on the subject for now. Another knot of unease burrowed into the pit of his stomach, afraid he had revealed too much to this outsider.

While Shoto could admit that for the safety of his people Izuku was valuable, there was no denying that he didn't fully trust Izuku. After residing in the Bunker for a few hours, taking in the horrific aftermath of the massacre that occurred here, he found it odd how someone of Izuku's nature could survive. The boy put on a front of arrogance and self-assuracne—but one part of being a leader is knowing when someone is hiding something.

The freckled Colonist had quite a few warning signs painted across him.

Albeit, he wouldn't admit his suspicions aloud . . . not yet at least, not until he was sure that something was wrong. No, for now, he'd be cautious—vigilant and watching with calculating eyes.

Seconds after the younger had gone rigid his posture slackened, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "Ah, so, this was a Renaldo and Julia story, huh?" he chuckled. 

Shoto gazed at him, confusion twisting his oddly perfected features until a small pout pushed onto his lips. There was not a second that went by that the Colonist said or did something that sent his mind into a perplexed frenzy. Though, he could see why . . . they led different lives . . . Everything in the Bunker was so advanced—he'd imagined that was what Earth was like before Mors Undam.

"'Renaldo and Julia?'" Shoto echoed, going to tilt his head once more only to have Izuku swat him.

"Stop moving," he hissed, before smiling once more. "Yeah. Renaldo and Julia. Supposedly, hundreds and hundreds of years ago when Colonists first started coming into the Bunker they divided themselves up according to race and class. Renaldo's family got to live on the higher floors and Julia's had to live around the basement level."

Izuku swept a hand through Shoto's hair, dusting excess locks off and onto the floor before resuming his task of trimming the ends. "They fell in love but since they were on different floors their parents forbade it,"

"What happened to them?"

Izuku grimaced, knowing this story wouldn't have a happy ending. "Well, it was the earlier years when the virus first appeared so people were either still sick or recovering. Eventually, Julia and Renaldo died. They even dedicated a room to them in section B, that's where everybody went to get married,"

"Maybe you could show me sometime," Shoto whispered, a teasing tone entering his voice.

Izuku grinned. "Maybe I could,"

As the two continued to talk seconds turned to minutes, eventually hours had passed. 

Izuku had finished cutting the elder's hair hours ago, a sliver of humor running through him as Shoto refused to look at himself just yet. Too afraid to see the final product. His plan had worked, for the most part, most of his worries had subsided, brushing towards the back of his mind—woven beneath layers of protection.

And for a while, Shoto felt the same . . . That all came crashing down soon enough.

"So, let me get this straight—" Izuku said between fits of laughter. "—you called yourself The Hand Crusher?"

"I was ten!" Shoto argued face tinged a light pink. "And besides, it seemed like every time I got into a fight with someone their hand always got all messed up. What was I supposed to think?"

He had just been entertaining the boy with stories from his youth, talking briefly about his mother and father, yet still sorting through the piles of memories and pulling out the happiest ones. Retelling the time he, Shinsou, Ashido, and Kaminari jumped from a waterfall and into the pool of water below.

Describing the stories in great detail—much to Izuku's appreciation—for the Colonist.

Just as Izuku were about to press further on the matter Kaminari burst through the door.

Shoto's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach at the sight. The yellow-haired male's face was twisted in agony, his cheeks smeared with blood, sweat, and dirt. Any armor that had once been on his body had been long discarded, stains of grass painted across the tattered clothes that clung to him.

"I tried . . . Ductor, I'm sorry . . . I tried," he wheezed as he stumbled in, Izuku running to catch him just before he fell.

"What the hell happened?" the freckled boy demanded, the back of his hand pressed firmly to Kaminari's forehead.

Kaminari winced, clutching onto the large patch of blood blossoming on his side. "They have them," he whispered, consciousness slipping between his grasp.

"Who?" Shoto asked, his voice wavering.

". . . In Monte Populo . . ."

The mountain people.

Katsuki's old tribe.    

Hello Cricket Cultists!!

Sorry these chapters have been so short, yeah surprisingly 2K words is short for me now XD

I've been trying to work on this book a lot more. Updates might be wonky because I have finals coming up, but what do we think so far?

Comments/Questions?

Until we meet again!!!