"Allow me to swear myself to your side for as long as you may live. Until death, I am wholly and completely yours."
A guard of the royal Midoriya family, Katuski Bakugo is relentless and fierce. When the bratty Prince Izuku Midoriya approaches him...
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I wake up to a pair of wide emerald eyes close to my face. “Hnng.. Wha-- Deku?! What are you doing in my room!?” I bolt upright in bed, clutching the downy sheets to my bare chest.
“Good morning to you too. You overslept.”
“What? No I didn’t,” I say, entirely sure of myself. In all my time of being a guard, my internal clock has always roused me just before the sun rises.
“You did,” he insists. “I thought you’d never wake up. In fact, I was beginning to hope you’d died in your sleep.”
“Bullshit,” I scoff. Rubbing my sleep-sticky eyes, I glance to the bedside table and am humbled when I see the small clock with its accusing hands reading 7:45. “Shit,” I curse.
Swinging my legs out of bed, and thanking god I slept with plaid pajama pants on, I stand up. The mirror on the wall shows my slept-on hair sticking out in funny blond spikes.
The events of yesterday.. what happened in the kitchen with Deku.. come back to me in a rush and I feel warmth creep up the back of my neck. I am acutely aware of Deku watching me now, and embarrassedly, I pull on a white button-up shirt, leaving it open.
“Get out,” I say half-heartedly.
His eyes linger obviously on the plane of my chest, and I know he makes sure I see him looking. Then he turns and leaves without a word.
I let out a heavy sigh and finish dressing in my uniform before splashing my face with cold water and brushing my teeth. A comb fails to tame my hair, so I fluff it with my fingers and leave it at that.
Downstairs, I find Deku in the dining room with an array of papers spread out in front of him, along with an untouched, shiny apple.
He doesn’t look up when I enter, just says, “Can you cut this apple for me?”
I don’t protest, but I feel like I’m prepping food for a toddler as I cut the fleshy fruit away from the core and present the slices to him, snagging one for myself. It seems that we’ve both had enough of cooking together to bother with a proper breakfast.
Seating myself to his right, I scan the papers splayed on the table. “What’s this.”
“Plans. We have a meeting today,” he informs me, popping a sliver of apple in his mouth.
“Oh?”
“That left-wing group we reached out to a while ago? They’ve agreed to send two of their people to speak with us.”
I recall the group, who go by the name Uravity, that Deku and I contacted anonymously earlier in the week. An underground organisation strongly against the king, they’ve been dedicated to protests and propaganda in favour of a new, fair king for years.
“That’s great. Where are we meeting?”
“At one of their quote unquote bases, which is apparently an abandoned warehouse not far from here.”
