Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eros, the god of love, knew better than everyone how powerful it can be.

He used it to cause mischief and for strategic purposes to get whatever he wants among dutifully offering it to his mortal subjects in the prize of worship.

As he was the son of two major gods, no one was brave or stupid enough to confront him about it as he took lover after lover for one night and then discard them back to whenever they came from and let them tell stories, true or false. Many were scornful, cursing him and other pursued him with fervor, claiming they were enchanted by him.

He enjoys his duties and watches how human use the gift he’s giving them, some with benevolence and others with toxicity. Because he might hit them with the arrows and allow them to feel love, but after that it’s a matter that depends to them. It’s enjoyable to observe them, how their feelings affect them and the way they handle them until the very end. Love can be cruel and joyful, but all consuming all the same, if the whole realm dedicated to his cruelty of causing unrequited love and the countless souls being spread in its other realms because of him too.

It kind of made him wish it for himself too. The companionship of someone you can entrust your whole self to, the happiness and sadness that is shared in two. He hasn’t found It yet in the creatures and other gods and humans are out of the question, laying with them only because of pure sexual attraction and nothing else. It’s an impatience and light yearning, as he still has many years and he’s bound to find them eventually.

Until then, he enjoys pouring himself into his art, painting to his heart’s content whatever and whoever caught his interest.

The winged god of love, beautiful and strange as he was with his flowing hair of passionate red and pure undaunted white perfectly symmetrical to match his well-groomed wings and eyes of the cold shallow waters and even colder steel spent his days in the same centuries long circle, fighting up and down his hopes and yearning. Unconsciously searching and waiting.

Until the moment when he lays eyes on the personification of the soul itself in the face of a human, out of all else.

Olympus buzzed around about a godly beautiful and mortal warrior in the mortal world, something that upsets every goddess that worshiped for her beauty. So they send him to make him suffer by cursing him to love someone vile and horrible to balance the blasphemy.

But the moment he saw him, Eros saw why he’s considered such a threat. He is beautiful, to say the least and for a God that meant a lot. Pale but slowly tanning and sweaty skin glistening in the hot sun, emphasizing the tough muscles in his whole body while they worked with the weapons in training. His hair is the fairest of blond, ashen even at the right light, and so soft to the touch even when it clings to the delicious looking nape of his neck.

Eros’ visits in the nymphs becomes more and more frequent after that. And while many of them think it’s for them, his friend rolls his eyes from the branch of his tree that they sit on and watch.

“You’re supposed to know what to do better than anyone.” He remarks but his words pass over him. He simply can’t look away from how radiant the young warrior looks.

His arrows rest in his back with his bow and his hands itch to shoot. But something compels him not to.

For once, his heart beat has reason and the ichor pumps from it. His wings flutter in hidden frustration to just grab the other and make him his now but this would be a mistake. Many other gods have done that and he knows this is not love.

So he takes the arrow and he does the unthinkable; he shoots himself, right where the heart is.  Capturing and pinning down the feeling he impassively bloomed to others until their deaths, only now it’s a commitment to the forever. For now, mortality doesn’t come to his mind as he admires a creature graceful and beautiful and dynamic enough to be a siren or a nymph.

It marks the beginning of it all.

His friend tells him that the boy is a warrior and his childhood friend, even though he doesn’t know about what he is; fierce and stubborn to become a heroic legend that everyone will admire for putting his all into becoming a great fighter.

A human that craves to be a god, that’s not uncommon.

He disguises himself upon initiating their first meeting, hiding his wings and wearing human clothes made of simple cotton. He pretends he’s too going to train, with his true arrows replaced with cheap metal ones he purchased in half mind.

“Oh,” he calls upon entering the premises, “I didn’t know somebody else was here.”

The beauty pauses his sword and stares at him with anger.

He tries not to gasp; his eyes are the most beautiful of reds. Prettier than his own hair and wing even, like a fire has burned their human color and continues to burn in its place.

“What the fuck are you doing here, pretty boy?” he growls out, like a defensive animal that will fight any intruder with his teeth and claws.

The ichor pumps even more but his face is still mostly impassive, save for a smirk. “I was looking for a place to train and a worthy opponent but I must have the wrong place.”

The words serve their purpose to ignite that fire more and excitement runs through him.

“Huh?! Who the fuck do you think you are? You’ll never find a better opponent than me, asshole!”

“We’ll see about that, then.” He gets into fighting position.

He goes easy on the other of course; gods have inhuman speed and strength and he’s so used to functioning with his wings. If he doesn’t concentrate controlling all of those three factors at the same time, he’ll give his true heritage away. Being the son of the god of war itself, fighting is something he can do better than most. He doesn’t want to break his love before it even starts.

The other is good, better than most humans too; like he jumped out of his fantasy and ready to give him a challenge.

Smart too, he realizes he’s holding back and that his arrows are cheaply made too.

He’s panting and dropping his sword, coming to him and grabbing him by the clothes.

“Fight you damn piece of shit!” He yells and punches him square in the jaw.

Eros dodges it with ease. His skin would break his hand without injuring his face and the ichor’s color would also be telling.

His love spits in his face and leaves cursing him out.

Eros sighs; he didn’t even get his name.

His name is Katsuki and Eros loves him already. His ancestor line is coming from the far east and so his name is unique here. Maybe it explains the unusual color of his eyes.

He comes to the same field every day and challenge Eros with vigor. And with time Eros puts a little more power to his punches. The fight becomes more exciting even if he feels bad for injuring the other’s beauty.

But his smile, even bloody and crooked is just as beautiful and he want to sit him down and paint him and display him with pride.

He tells Hephaestus’ daughter and his best friend to make him the most excellent of weaponry to gift to him, enchanted with spells that will keep him alive and victorious in his battles.

However, Katsuki refuses all his gifts, taking them as pity and charity and still carrying the old and rusty with time longsword, cracked shield and clumsily self-made bow and arrows. It’s just as disappointing but fire within him burns more passionately. Every time he gets up to challenge Eros until he wins.

Persistent in his efforts of courtship himself, Eros’ getting more and more confident at the new reactions he’s getting. Blush painting pale cheeks, wider smiles and momentary stutters in his speech are only few of the signs.

Later, he gets bolder and more revealing in his clothes and showing off his hair more seductively by moving the strands to showcase more of his face, sides of neck and nape accordingly. Normally it’s solely what it takes to charm somebody, anybody. Now it has significance and he’s trying to be methodical.

His weapons are replaced with offers for food after training, sitting next to each other. Katsuki is telling him that this is his home, despite his ancestors being from far away and how he’s going to fight to the death if need be.

Eros hopes not, but will follow him everywhere. Battles aren’t a place he wants to be but has been many times and be damned if he doesn’t watch over his love.

Every second with Katsuki makes him want more, and more unable to stay away. He wants to keep him by his side, even lock him up.

But this never works. Only those that have turned their love toxic do it and it gets them killed in tortured and spit on in the underworld. It’s cases that make him doubt what he does.

Now he’s sure. He might be attached, but he won’t cut his free bird’s prideful and heroic wings.

That time comes sooner that he expected. Although with humans, wars come all the time and time for immortals becomes insignificant.

And while he cannot convince Katsuki to not go and leave with him, to stay in Olympus looking down on all of them while being immortal and  eating ambrosia and drinking nectar and feasting all day and joining his bed exclusively for now and forever, he tries in the training fields the day before he leaves.

Katsuki is clearly angry that he thinks him such a fucking coward when their everything is in danger.

You’re my everything, he wants to scream, but instead he isn’t wasting time to capture the other’s lips in a fevered kiss, pouring every inch of his newly-ignited passion in it.

Katsuki reciprocates just as passionately and his kisses are as rough as his fighting. He fists Eros’ hair with wanton hands like he’s been thirsty for it and pulls back when he’s about to faint for the lack of air. His face is red and his eyes even redder, fire atop of fire and but he’s never been so soft and vulnerable before, his hair a fluffy and spiky mess.

He’s the picture of temptation and he has to thank the eastern gods for gifting him to this imperfect world.

That very night, they share each other’s bodies under the starry night and probably under every creature’s eyes. The nymphs are sure around them, some giggling mischievously and others seething in jealousy.

He shows them all. He shows them how he was never with them, how he could have been if they were the one, how much of a beast and a godly prince he can be at the same time. He even winked in one of them in both warning and arrogance when he got to close.

Katsuki’s body is also in display for all to be jealous; the hard planes of muscle, his musky scent and raspy voice when he’s aroused and begging and moaning, the way he claws the earth and Eros’ back and arms rhythmically with his rough thrust. His nails were scratching his back to a pleasurable amount of pain and his porcelain skin adorned with Katsuki’s marks. 

Eros is marking him as his too, with bites that draw delicious blood and littering his whole body with kiss marks and hickeys that everyone will be able to see. He pours his hidden and suppressed desire in one night, finally feeling Katsuki’s soft inner thigh, his tantalizing chest and his raw lips. He’s mapping every sensitive spot in his body that makes him arch his back and change his voice for the better, more breathless, more praising and demanding. It’s a little disappointing that he calls him by the made-up name he lied about and not a charming nickname like every other time. He yearns to hear him speak his true name any and every way possible, but it’ll have to wait for now.

There are tears of pleasure flooding his eyes and rolling down his cheeks and his breathing is heavy like he’s going to drown. For a moment, it worries Eros and pauses his thrusts and looks up. Only to be pulled down again by the hair in an animalistic kiss.

“I’m not fragile, you shithead!” he tells him with a smirk, like the one when he managed to land a good hit on him and Eros’ heart swells with pride.

Among their moans, he speaks of love; many of the words have been told before by philosophers, common mortals, creatures of legends and deities alike, but hearing from the god of love himself outweighs them all. 

Eros coaxes Katsuki to his explosive climax with whispers and compliments and his blissed-out face only makes him follow. They are both sweaty and full of marks, but happily coming out of their high and laying on the ground above their discarded clothes.

“Katsuki look at me.” He whispers and the other opens his gem-like eyes to him, “I love you so fucking much. Tell me you love me too and I’m yours forever.”

Katsuki just stares at him with heavy lids and time slows down in a negative and nerve-wracking way.

“You’re overthinking, dumbass.” He flickers his forehead, “I love you too.” He says softer. “We’re leaving tomorrow, so I don’t know about the forever shit.”

He silences him with a smile and a featherlight kiss, “I’ll find a way. Wherever you go. I’ll find you. Always. I promise.”

“You promise, huh?” he wonders, looking back at the sky.

“To everything I have.”

Katsuki looks ethereal in the battlefield, like he was meant to be there. The blood of his enemies shouldn’t look as good on him as it does. It makes him seem invisible and vigilant, never backing down from the next enemy. It looks sinful and right and Eros can’t stop staring at him cutting down enemy and after enemy. He’s sure his father watches with interest, more so than in every other war.

He has his own arrows ready, the kind that his friend made with pure steel, laced with poison and sharpness that it will only take one to kill whoever dares hurt his beloved.

However, his worry is proven to be unnecessary because Katsuki’s army overwhelms the other and Katsuki’s victorious smile is the inspiration and pure soul that his paintings were lacking before.

Crimson eyes roam the battlefield looking for something and with overwhelming fondness he realizes that it’s him he’s looking for.

They’ve made sure to meet the night of their return in the same field everything happened, sneak out of the feast to reassure each other that they are alive.

Until then he starts immortalizing the scene he just witnessed, feeling more alive than in a long while.

Eros is running to the field, human made clothes and fake minor wounds on his skin, he’s in hurry to be reunited with his soul.

Katsuki is there, pacing impatiently, lips moving to mumble to himself and with a call of his name, their eyes meet and there is relief and pure happiness on a soft, moonlit crimson.

And time begins to stop in from of his eyes but not in the positive way he expected.

“Katsuki!” he screams panicked at him, running towards him desperate to stop the events from unfolding.

Despite everything, he can’t stop the blade piercing his beloved, only catching him before he hits the ground harshly.

“You can’t run away from fates, Eros. Leave the mortal to die and come back to us!” the nymph holding the bloody blade begs him with a sinister and obsessed smile.

Eros begs for Katsuki to keep his eyes open and talks through to him. His eyes turn to the vengeful nymph holding the bloody blade and puts an arrow right between the eyes and tears the head of the shoulders for good measure.

He hates the satiated smile that’s still there and with a vengeful scream of his own, he steps on the head again and again, until he remembers he has more pressing and important things to attend.

Katsuki’s mouth is filled with blood that is forced to spit so he won’t drown on it, his face is slowly paling to an unhealthy, dead white and they both press their hands to the wound despite being pointless.

He cries out for help and he’s aware that his friend is already in hurry to save his childhood friend. It’s too much blood and it’s scary; humans die from losing so much blood and Katsuki is slowly and torturously drying out in his arms and it’s his fault.

The nymph was wrong, the fates don’t persecute gods; they are the ones giving them life and their immortality means they don’t have a string created for them in the first place.

No, to gods it’s solely their actions that doom them and how the others are affected by them. Revenge is the only thing that brings them down.

And now it’s Eros’ turn, where his former emotionless lovers ganged up on his one true love.

“You’re going to be alright, Katsuki, hang on.” He cries in a whisper, with his free hand wipes the hair stuck to his forehead.

His blood red lips open to say something, but he coughs out blood instead. Even in the verge of death, with his own blood killing him, he looks beautiful. His eyes are becoming more and more light in colour; the fire is extinguishing slowly. Right in front of him.

Before, watching others in this position kept him impassive. Now he feels all the pain he never felt before in his long life.

“Shh.” Eros soothes, “Don’t speak. You’ll be fine. Help is on the way.”

But stubborn, lovely Katsuki never listens to him and tries to speak again. The words are choked out but he at least moves his lips well enough to be read.

‘You…god?’ they spell.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. My true name is Eros.”

‘Love?’

“Yes.” He nods and puts his forehead atop of Katsuki’s, “It’s my fault.”

A gurgled noise comes out next, much like a fatally wounded animal, that he assumes is a poor excuse of a laugh.

‘Fkc-ng pre- boys’ he says with as much mirth as he can muster. It makes Eros sob harder. Katsuki weakly knocks their foreheads together.

‘Yours’ is what he says and he leaves his last breath wrapped in Eros’ arms.

A primal scream echoes in the land from deep of his throat, greater than every battle cry, and he sees white fury. Not red, not beautiful red like Katsuki’s now dead eyes or his blood, pure white, so much everything that it becomes nothing.

Katsuki and Eros’ friend arrives a little too late and kneels near them, tearfully singing a farewell song while Eros is rocking his still warm body gently back and forth, kissing everywhere he can think of -lips, forehead, eyelids and neck- whispering pointless apologies and more words of love.

“What do you mean he’s not going to the underworld?!” he screams at his father, “Didn’t you say you’ll enlist him in your immortal army when he dies?!”

Ares is crossing his arms from his throne, sighing like Eros is a mortal infant, “His ancestors were firm believers of the religion of their home place. The goddesses from the beginning made clear that they won’t accept his initiation ritual and won’t grant him a place in this worlds’ afterlife, even if the mortals believe otherwise. He belongs to the eastern gods from this point on.”

Furious and in denial of the outcome, he searches for another way but to no avail; the fates never had a string in Katsuki’s name to weave and cut and give to him to make do and Charon pointedly declared that Katsuki wasn’t in any of his lists or already sailed trips. Hades himself confirms it after he looked on all the realms of the underworld.

Cold replaces the ichor and he runs a hand through his long and disheveled hair; he hadn’t taken care of himself very much since Katsuki’s death three days ago. His body has been buried in a grave for fallen warriors, assuming he fell ill in battle, ambushed, or cave in a hidden injury.

He watched the ritual of the burial with empty eyes. As the body gets washed and dressed in the finest clothes, Katsuki once again looks out-worldly; like he was sleeping in his arms after their only night together, plaint and safe and soft. But breathing and turning, unlike now that he’s like a statue. The amphorae dedicated to him are freshly molded and made, painted with images of a young and ambitious child that grew to be a valued warrior that undoubtedly brought his home peace.

Eros is hidden from their sight, walking right next to him, watching and touching lightly. He himself can’t help the tears and sobs that escape him. He stays like that until the grave is sealed and he can’t see Katsuki anymore.

No, no. He loves Katsuki and he fucking knows the feeling is more than mutual. He won’t let them or anything for that matter take him away, not when he has so much to offer him.

He made a promise. A promise that Eros won’t break everything be damned.

It feels like his mind is clearer than ever, when he dugs up the grave by himself and his bare hands. Katsuki is still here in the same position, unmoving and now cold.

“You’re too beautiful to be hidden by the earth.” He nuzzles his limp but still fluffy hair and he carries the body bridal style. He still smells of the oils with the added scent of the earth.

He carries him to his quarters in secret, and lays him on his bed. Still unmoving and his joints stating to get stiffer and stiffer, to Eros, he’s still a marvel.

“I wish I brought you here sooner, I could have shown you everything.” he croaks out. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure we’re always together. I promised, didn’t I?”

There is a small dagger hidden in his room, crafted with intricacy from his friend, unused until now.

“We’re tied together for all eternity, Katsuki. I’ll wait and wherever you may be, I’ll find you.” he kisses his forehead once more and uses the blade to cut Katsuki’s pale wrists. The blood is pouring on the empty cup slowly but he waits, running his hand on Katsuki’s hair gently, pretending he’s only asleep to keep the last inklings of sanity.

The cup takes a long time to be full but when it does, the blood is still a rich red, like his eyes were.

He hums to himself as he mixes the blood with his colors, taken from rare shellfish, and carefully finishes his painting. Katsuki’s eyes were the last thing he needed to finish, but none of the reds in his disposal was adequate to give them the life Eros sees him.

Eros makes sure to mix the ichor running through him with the mortal blood, to keep him alive at least inside his creation, as a means of love he still had in him.

During the process, he drops his brush at the sudden and painful sensation circling his wrist. It stops swiftly but, in its wake, it left a flower he recognizes as mountain laurel blooming around his wrist.  He figures it’s a side effect of mixing the ichor with Katsuki’s blood, but he can’t tell its use for now.

So he ignores it, resuming his way of keeping Katsuki immortal until he has the real thing in his arms again.

They all find out soon enough. His duties are performed sloppily and with an uncovered malice and his mother tells him that it’s not what the god of love is supposed to give to his subjects.

It’s unbearable, he can’t even rest in his quarters anymore, preferring to be by Katsuki’s grave at day and night. No more lovers for him, no matter how many still think that now that the mortal is gone, so has his burden and appetite for him.

Each time they are sorely mistaken; he’s even more disgusted and harsh with them, filled with bitterness every time spiteful and ignorant words come out of their disrespectful mouths.

It earns him an ironic torch burning half of his face from one furious Lampad that came just to strike vengeance upon him, who screams at him with fiery tears in her eyes.

“Now you shall be as hideous on the outside as you are in the inside Eros! So that you never deceive any other pure soul ever again!”

His mother and the other goddesses plead for him to come back and be like before but all he has for them now is barely contained hatred at hearing and seeing them anymore.

Evidently, nothing is left for him in Olympus that gives him joy anymore and he decides to fall by himself.

It’s admittedly hard to leave his best friends, but they promise to meet again when the time is right. 

Concealed, he self-exiles himself from his home and the people that worshipped him, to a land in which he’ll be stripped of his title and power.

It’s only appropriate that he leaves his true name behind.

For years he wonders nameless in the eastern lands, faster than humans with the help of his wings than can take him anywhere, making an effort to blend in with the mortals. Despite the scar, his looks still attract people and make aspects of life easier.

The made-up story he uses is that he found himself awake one day at the beach, without any memories of who he is or what he does, implying that he was a sailor whose boat found great misfortune. Now, he’s trying to make a living here, not wanting to return to his land.

It works every time, no one asks many questions about him or why he’s so unaccustomed to human traditions and life, languages to communicate better and whatever is there to learn. As the years pass, he has to move from place to place to avoid suspicion, the details of the story are modified but the core is always just as effective as the first time.

In all this unfamiliarity, art is a constant that he can latch on to. It’s different from where he’s from but he enjoys learning it and proves to be quite adaptable and well versed in other styles of painting already. It’s the way he makes a living now earns whatever is needed to carry on despite not needing to eat or drink.

A few years later, Eros the god of love becomes an erased part of him and now he’s just Shouto the wondering -and lost as they all like to gossip and still make tales out of him- painter.

In the locked quarters of him abodes, he visits his most priced possessions, the most priceless of which is the vivid painting of a smiling Katsuki, blood red eyes colored with his own blood.

The inky line surrounding his wrist is throbbing as a painful reminder of what he lost.

**

Shouto feels something calling deep in his soul, telling him to move and find it and he begins a new journey with only his instincts as compass. Even with the help of the instinctive pull and his wings, the world is still vast and still unfamiliar enough for him to take a frustrating while.

It’s on a small agricultural town where everyone has land to take care of he’s lead to.

He’d wonder why but the answer is soon given and it makes everything inside of him constrict.

When he sees him, the air leaves his lungs and he stand immobile like the statues of him they used to make back home.

Katsuki, he just knows it’s him, looks the exact same, albeit a few years younger; same fluffy mess of hair but slightly longer and unrulier now, same pale skin and oh his eyes are still the very same fire that burned him to the ground the last time.

“Oi” he calls when he sees Shouto standing there, “Who the fuck are you? Get out of my field!” he yells in his native tongue angrily and stomps to him.

Shouto’s heart beats for what feels like the first time and his hands are clenched in white-knuckled fists to refrain from touching him.

Fortunately, Katsuki does it first and grabs him by the shirt, until they are face to face.

“Are you fucking listening?”

“Yes.” He swats his hands away in a false nonchalant manner. “I’m sorry for being in your way.” He tries again, “I’m just a wayward artist trying to make a living and couldn’t help but be enchanted by the beauty of this place.” He locks eyes with the other, “and it’s beautiful residents.”

Familiar red decorates Katsuki’s cheeks and his hardships and pain all those years ago feel a distant nightmare that someone cursed him in his sleep.

“My name’s Shouto.” He bows his head slightly, as he learnt is a tradition.

“Katsuki.” the other mumbles and it makes him smile softly.

“That’s a very beautiful name.”

He stays with Katsuki’s family shed in the condition that he helps their son with the field, which is more than Shouto needs. He hasn’t concerned himself too much with working he earth and being taught by his beloved isn’t something he’ll deny.

“Are you paying attention halfie?!” he asks at one point, snapping him out of it.

“Hmm?” he teases, not caring about being caught staring.

“Ugh!” Katsuki groans, “You’re insufferable. Why we host your useless ass-”

“Do you truly think that?” he challenges with a barely held back smirk. The red in Katsuki’s face becomes all the more enchanting to resist. He grips Katsuki’s jaw gently to finally look at him, “Do you want me to leave?”

Red eyes start to hide in heavy eyelids, peeking at him for moments before they stray away. He shyly shakes his head and finally after weeks of staying here, they kiss.

The fading light of the day and the dropping temperature makes them cling to each other more and their kiss turns from chaste to passionate to desperate. From Shouto’s part is justified from years of loneliness but when they pull back Katsuki’s looking just as surprised.

“What’s with you bastard?” he asks mostly to himself, “Why are you making me like this?”

“Like what?” he asks back.

“Like…” he trails off, looking for the right words, “like I was missing you or something.”

Shouto’s smile shakes and his eyes well despite holding them back, “Maybe we’ve met before.”

Katsuki is plaint, resting his forehead on Shouto’s shoulder and sighs happily, “Maybe.”

Shouto feels like home again for a couple of years, with getting his own house in the same village, working at Katsuki’s family’s farms and getting his hands dirty and having Katsuki stay in his house at night.

At first it begins with Katsuki cooking for Shouto because he claims he can’t do it himself. Shouto allows it to happens and happily eats the food even if he doesn’t need it. The nights at the kitchen serve as only a preface of them getting into bed together, now that Katsuki finally allowed himself to be swept by Shouto’s advances.

There are rituals that Shouto wants to bring back from their last lifetime, like kissing his forehead and knuckles a bit too much - it makes Katsuki squirm so cutely, he can’t help it- and promising him the very same promise they made.

His heart craves so much to let him know about the things from the past and uncover all the lies he’d said -about what he is and what he’s going through, not about Eros, he’s been dead and gone with the first Katsuki- but he’s afraid that his -their- bliss will be ruined.

And eventually it is, when Katsuki dies again.

Shouto was sent to the nearby village in a job and when he comes back, the village is being looted. There is fire and screams of help and cacophonous laughter. But no Katsuki in sight.

He runs to their house, that’s where he finds him, with one arm severely wounded and a sword in the other, protecting his also wounded parents.

“Stay the fuck back!” he yells to the bandits.

“Or what, boy?” one asks, “Are you-” Shouto cuts him off with an arrow to his neck. His companions are following him to the ground.

This time, he’ll be fast.

“Are you okay?” he hurries to his side. The arm is bleeding a lot and Katsuki’s breathing is harsh, like his insides are damaged.

The village doctor is dead and the assistant is useless, so there is nothing he can do even when the bleeding is stopped. An infection has tainted the pale skin and Katsuki is feverish, sweaty and cold at the same time, dying in his arms again and Shouto once again is useless.

“Shouto, Shouto” he calls over and over.

“I’m here, love. I’m sorry. I’m here. Please don’t leave me. Not again.” He pleads with him, but it’s pointless. Katsuki dies in his sleep as peacefully as the pain of an infection and insufficient medicine can do.

Another circle is painted with an eternal fire to his wrist, right above the first one.

This time he isn’t buried. He’s ungracefully thrown with the other bodies that dies to be buried later, after the dead are finally estimated.

Shouto takes the body again with him and makes another painting. This time, he doesn’t have a papyrus to use and so he regrettably uses Katsuki’s skin. It’s painful for him, to see him like the that, battered but this is a way to keep part of him here, with Shouto to keep him company. With his flesh and blood, mixed with ichor like before and using strands of his beautiful hair as a brush he makes a domestic scene of Katsuki cooking in their house, back turned to him.  He makes one more; the painting of the present devastation, the shades of red made by blood, the lighter ones made with mixing his tears in too.

To remember that he failed once more, his wrist burns again and a lemon scented geranium, appears, mingling beautifully with the first one.

He keeps parts of this lifetime in the house he repairs by himself, hidden in paranoid ways even immortal with struggle to open.

In the burnt remains of the fields, he buries Katsuki right in between his parent for whom he fought and gave his life for.

**

Again and again he finds him and again and again Katsuki dies.

Same name, same hair color that changes length but is still unruly and so soft to the eyes and fingers. His core is the same too, but a personality is also affected by the surroundings.

Shouto falls more and more in love with every part of him and every time he’s taken away from this world, a part of him is also being ripped apart and replaced with so much guilt. It’s always his fault that Katsuki dies. The paintings he draws are becoming his only sliver of sanity, every time making sure to mix their bloods together. And every time a flower is added and slowly but steadily filling his arm, like a twisted tidy bouquet.

Even with his fully functional wings that can take him to great distances and make it so much easier to find Katsuki, he can’t control what happens after that.

**

A water willow is made for the settled scholar with shortly cut hair, a wide but vulgar vocabulary and no hesitation to climb any wall to get to the other side of the walls that shelter him is assassinated via poison by a rival clan- Shouto makes a painting about the vast library with a window with a climbable wall full of vines to hold on and kills the whole clan of the culprits without blinking. It’s tempting to use their bloods but it will only taint everything.

**

A clemantis is made for the poor orphan that will kill to get breadcrumbs and survive the night in the cold, ruthless weather. They meet when he’s too young and his face is unseen by the tangled rat’s nest of mane that Shouto has to roughly push and hold back to fully see sunken eyes and skeleton like features. He gives him his whole food on his person and buys some more for the nearest vendor. He’s weakened by starvation and susceptible to any diseases that eventually kill them in the middle of the street, while no one else by him notice or cares. He’s not even buried, just rotting away and eaten by rats and other strays. It’s that very same depressive scene that he immortalizes and along with the less grim one of the resting place he flies in the skies to bury the hopelessly light weight of the child in a peaceful place that smells like welcoming nature and has tall protective trees around.

**

A heliotrope for the son of a courtesan that is doing her bidding and becomes a little more well off than the past orphan life, working as her bodyguard, gaining barely enough to eat for the two of them and fishing in the afternoons. The father is probably some one-time costumer but it doesn’t matter to their gentle dynamic. The woman is sweet and wonderful and has Katsuki’s intelligent and determined eyes. The three of them make a small, odd family but it’s warm and fulfilling. Shouto is constantly teased for looking at Katsuki like he hung the stars and the moon in the sky, but she approves

“Take care of him when I’m gone, alright?” she pleads softly with him one night as Katsuki is out.

Shouto swallows but the guilt is still stuck in his throat, asphyxiating him, “I can’t do that. I’ll fail.” Again.

“You won’t.” she takes his hand, “You’ve been enduring too much for too long, not everything can be bent to our wills, no matter how powerful we might be.”

Eyes widened and jaw dropped, he stares at her like she’d grown two heads. She laughs and traces the circles marked on his arm. Shouto himself avoids looking at them, covering them to not draw anyone’s eyes, even his own.  With his other arm he tries to take her attention off of them by running a hand through his shoulder length strands, brushing them to rest in each shoulder back and forth nervously until her eyes are away from the circles and the dates imprinted on them.

They are reminders of them many times he’d failed and how no matter how hard he tries, it will never be enough.

“I asked for my son to be looked and cared by the gods. Being loved by one is more than what I even hoped for.” Her smile is just as radiant as her son’s (It makes him wonder if Katsuki’s parents look the same if their son is the same soul or if they don’t matter- it’s something he never noticed until now.)

“Thank you for taking care of him and devoting yourself to him.”

Their small talk is slowly ending as Katsuki comes with a basket full of fish and wet hair slicked back and tied to a small ponytail, his smile arrogant at the feat he achieved after spending the whole afternoon in the shore.

“At this point, I’m being too selfish I can’t stay away. It hurts me being without him in my life.”

“Hope is a bittersweet medicine. Same with love; they heal but poison each other all the same. But you know that best, don’t you?”

His smile is self-hating, a flimsy mask of his despair.

“But you know what I think? That you love my boy too much to be defiled at all. I can see it.”

**

Sometimes, Shouto doesn’t need to travel far or not at all, because they’re met in the middle or Katsuki even finds him first.

As a merchant too, they travel together and bond over their experiences in the new lands and sleep under the stars, in a nostalgic memory of their very first night. He uses his may years of aimlessly travelling around until he sees Katsuki again to guide him to the best spots, finally utilizing his list of places to see when given the opportunity on the closest option available.

The top of a hill in the south, near the sea during the sunrise and sunset make Katsuki’s face glow in glee and himself wanting to stop time and space and just sit here, the two of them, without cares or worries.

It makes him realize how years of traveling and staying in the mortal world is taking an emotional toll on him. Weary to his very bone, his knees buckle and falls to the grass, the faint smell of the rain that’s just beginning to dry out.

“Hey, half and half, are you okay? Don’t fucking die on me now!” Katsuki laughs at him, sitting dangerously on the cliffs precipice.

The ironic tragedy of the words is expressed by a sudden but hysterical laugh on his part, so loud that echoes in the air and ripples in the sea.

Katsuki’s face is plain confused and flickers between frustrated and angry at what Shouto is laughing at.

It’s that sunset and the following sunrise that he paints this time after Katsuki dies. Shouto’s tears help to lighten the blues and blood reds and partially his soul.

After so many deaths and years, he thought he’d grown too numb and desensitized to the shock of his beloved going away.

It triggers different thought, not ones only of despair, but of hope and determination to live the next lives Katsuki has to the fullest, until he finds a damn way to have by his side forever.

**

“Your story is too fucking dramatic, if I may be frank, dear costumer.” Katsuki says, lying next to him while tracing the flowers on his forearm that covering more than half of it.

He’s a courtesan in this one and luckily Shouto has built a more than great fortune to afford as many nights as he wants. It’s been a couple of lifetimes since they had sex in an actual bed, let alone a luxurious one, instead of the ground or an alley or something along those lines. It adds to the comfortable feeling of the afterglow and satisfaction.

“Normally they’d find it romantic,” he snorts, hand absent-mindedly running up and down Katsuki’s  oh so flexible that he has to squash his jealousy over the how spine.

“Romantic my ass.” The other huffs and makes himself more comfortable by snuggling in Shouto’s side, “It must be hell for the immortal one, having to see his loved one die over and over.” More than you’ll ever know, Shouto mentally agrees, “And he’s stupid; he can settle somewhere and find someone else or find another immortal to bang and have immortal kids with, why is he chasing that one soul.”

“Maybe he loves the other too much to let go. Maybe he’s addicted to loving this one person that he can’t survive without them.” Shouto retorts carefully.

“Now, who’s the romantic one?” his soft hair tickles Shouto’s neck.

“I never said that I’m not a natural born romantic.” He laughs and caresses Katsuki’s cheek, staring intently. His features are all the same, crystal clear from the dirt and dust and blood and whatever else.

His stare makes Katsuki flush and looks everywhere else than on him, “What? Do you want another round or something? The night is still young.” He’s back to his trained flirtations.

Shouto peck his lips a little too hard, “Maybe after I paint you.”

Katsuki huffs in annoyance once more but sits up and barely covers himself with a silk robe designed with patterns of roses that will fittingly join the flowers in his arm. He obliges in sitting by the window where the lighting is better, both artificial and that of the moon in the only condition that he can smoke his pipe while standing there.

During every life time, Shouto tries as best and he inhumanly can to draw Katsuki while he’s alive and not only after his death. These are the moments where he’s the most content and the most hopeful because Katsuki’s here, alive for this fraction of time and he can draw his muse’s details while looking directly at them and not by memory.

Those are his peaceful paintings, as he calls him in his head and sorts them so, in which he doesn’t use any blood or tears or ashes to make them last forever. Just his beloved painting another beautiful memory in his troubled mind.

To balance it, it’s all the more heartbreaking when he has to draw the first time after his death.

He’d thought this one was of those that’d last; he’d buy off Katsuki’s freedom off of the monster that has him chained and imprisoned (or kill him if he had no choice) and then they’d built their life from there.

Shouto hadn’t calculated for a former scorned lover that would kill him out of obsession. But it happened and the white fury overwhelmed him again and found the man that did it. kept him imprisoned and tortured him slowly and painfully, numb to his cries and pleads.

“Why?” he’d ask him once.

“He was either mine or no one’s.” the man replied, “We are the same. You’d do it too.”

Shouto slits his throat and leaves the body there to rot. Nothing to salvage for new materials. He’d rather cut his own arms than make a painting of such a lowlife.

Right before he moves the knife in that man’s throat, he’s temped to reveal everything about who and what he is and how he knows better than him, even when he’s at his most hopeless.

But in the end, he doesn’t; someone that depicts what he hates about humanity and mortality alike doesn’t deserve this.

**

In one rare lifetime, time doesn’t spare him to meet Katsuki. He dies young, maybe an infant right after arriving and in a blink of an eye, the tugging he feels every time he’s reincarnated is now immediately translated in a familiar burning in his forearm as another flowers is formed. The painting dedicated to that one was a empty baby basket with a destroyed, forgotten path ahead of it.

In another couple of lifetimes, Katsuki has another lover (sometimes he loves them, other not at all) who he eventually abandons to elope with Shouto and continue to happily stay together.

It was soul-crushing to see him with another, smiling and living his life, even though they eventually ended up together, not being able to resist that pull years and years have built up. Bu even so, if Katsuki has joyful life, even without him as a lover, Shouto would love him all the same. He didn’t know how not to anymore and that scared him.

That damned man’s words echo after years but he spits right back at them with being better. He was a god after all, he was meant to be better from the start and even millennia in the mortal world won’t change that.

**

The years he’s left alone in the world until Katsuki arrives again are inconsistent. He can be reborn after only a few months after this previous death or it can take torturous years.

During those blank periods of time, he’s alone. He’s never made any close bonds with other humans as after a little while they can get suspicious and ask questions. He moves around from country to country a lot, working as a painter and securing his fortune. Famine and thirst can’t harm him, nor can plagues, so he has no need for the same basic necessities as humans. He keeps travelling around the world, daring to go further than the land of the eastern gods and explore what he was so used to watch from above.

It feels a lot like flying away, his mind insists as he doesn’t go near his former home and dismissing every thought of going back.

His homeland is constantly in his mind. He misses his friends and the life he had there, his mother and the antics of his siblings, the other Erotes, that have been assigned to replace him. The feasts full of laughter and music and tales and even being worshiped by his people. His ego is strong, taken by both of his parents and it’d be pointless to deny that he didn’t feel glad with himself and his duty.

He misses his old life and the fact that Shouto is a god (or was, depending on the perspective) doesn’t make him immune to psychological and emotional turmoil, no matter how much he struggles to resist it. Back in Olympus, many of the other gods and creatures where taken hostage by their despair or joy, so much so that they were driven insane. It proves how they are so keen on observing, controlling and just investing their times in humans. How the pantheon so liked to spread halfling children left and right and indulged in the same sins and virtues.

‘Their immortality rises their humanity to reach the inhuman’, the daughter of Hephaestus had told him and now it becomes more apparent than ever.

**

His friends find him either way, while on another trip in the Central lands.

They don’t have wings but with both of their intelligence combined, they raise lands and skies.

“Some other nymphs said they saw you flying around here.” He said, “They know of you here and it’s harder to hide.” His shoulders slump and his visible only to them wings flutter in anxiety.

“Don’t worry.” She says, “They won’t care, they let it go a few decades after you left. My father said the you are far from the first god to go rogue.”

“And from the way things head, you won’t be the last.”

Being in a group with his friends fill Shouto’s days with gladness and companionship that’s been missing especially when he’s waiting for Katsuki to arrive. They are a way to learn about his homeland and he enthusiastically returns the favor by teaching them of the ways here. They catch on quickly and the stiffness when walking in the streets of the cities lessens greatly, even making Shouto try things that by himself would simply glance over as something minor.

They call him Eros a lot in the beginning until they are used to his new name. He can’t say he minds it; it feels like the tingle of a spark being reborn and for now he doesn’t know what he’ll make of it.

Shouto isn’t innocent of the same mistake as he keeps calling Momo and Izuku by their old names too. It’s an awkward transition for all three of them but they get through it with a lot of laughter and Shouto painting them as they adapt.

He cries happy tears and receives a group hug when the first portrait of them finishes, unashamedly relieved that he now has loved ones to paint that don’t abandon him.

**

It’s back to awkward when Momo and Izuku meet reborn Katsuki for the first time.

Izuku is a stuttery mess of nerves but the moment Katsuki yells at him, he smiles, “He truly never changes.”  Momo is not that bad as he never met him in the first place, but she’s still in a phase where everything about humans excite her and a reincarnated human? She’s going to observe a lot and be even more overly cheerful. They bond over fishing equipment which Momo enhances because it’s her gift and nature. They even fix the house and the boat together, to withstand the harsh weather conditions.

Katsuki, at first, is pissed to have his private life invaded by three strangers and as always puts his guard up. Shouto knows how exactly to lower that guard down and let Katsuki know that he can fall in love with him and Shouto will catch him in every step of the way. He warms up to them, being lonely in this lifetime as well and they all form a small family.

With an expiration day, as Momo and Izuku witness for the first time.

Katsuki had gone fishing in a was knocked down of his boat and none of them, Shouto, wasn’t fast enough to save him. He did manage to retrieve the body to give him a proper burial.

And while Momo and Izuku cried, Shouto’s tears didn’t join them. He didn’t know if it was because he couldn’t find himself to be so weak in front of his friend, his instinct to support them with not burdening them with his pain or if he was slowly getting used to Katsuki’s deaths.

“Is it the same every time?” Momo asks tearfully, carving the grave with wishes in their native tongue.

“Settings, times and other details change but technically speaking yes.” His voice edges to crack but doesn’t.

“And you’re okay with this? Every time?” Izuku asks incredulously, “Watching him die so many ti-”

“No!” he snaps, silencing them both so that only the sound of the nature echo, “I’m not! Do you think it’s easy?! Funny!? Repeating this over and over again only to be hurt every time!?” his voice raises word by word, “To see him die, his eyes to lose all their vibrancy and colour and forgetting all our memories together and not being able to do shit about it!? do you think I can fucking stand it!? because I fucking I can’t! It’s killing me and I cannot fucking join him in death!”

They are silent and let him scream his frustrations out. Everything he’s been keeping down to not break him so that he’s not broken when Katsuki arrives again.

“I’m afraid I’m getting used to it. Him gone and the pain.”

“Eros I’m sorry.” Momo says.

“Yeah, me too.” He gets up, when did he fall down in the first place, “Excuse me, I need to paint.”

Everyone takes a few takes to let everything out, but they mend together. Shouto appreciates that they are not pitying him too much, only briefly questioning the stock that’s been added with the others.

“We’ll find a way to stop this.” Izuku says, eyes bruning with determination.

“But how?” Momo asks. Shouto refuses to listen to the hope in his words so that he doesn’t raise them again to only be crushed.

Izuku strokes his chin in contemplation, “I don’t know yet. Maybe we can steal some nectar or ambrosia from Olympus.”

“No.” Shouto shuts the idea down, “It was hard for you to leave and from what you told me Olympus is not a good place to be. We’re screwed if they find us.”

“But-”

“No Momo. I lost, still lose, Katsuki because of them and I won’t bear it if I lose you too.” He sighs, “Please.”

They both want to protest but Shouto goes ahead, feeling unnaturally tired.

They purchase Katsuki’s property after Shouto’s painting of the gorgeous view it has of the sea is finished and head to another journey.

**

“Do you want me to use my arrows on her?” Shouto asks Momo teasingly and receives a scorching glare that not so threatening with her flushing face.

“No!” she stutters, “I can do by myself just fine.”

He smiles but then it dims, “Just… just be careful alright?” he unconsciously traces his arm, the flowers reaching his elbow and tightly close to each other to give room to the new ones, she gives him a solemn nod.

He figured it’d be about time for Momo and Izuku to find someone they care about in this vast world, but still the prospect of them suffering like he does is heartbreaking.

But Momo, for all her naïve and sheltered childhood in Hephaestus’ cave just smoldering and molding weapons and crafts, she dares to break out of her shell and talk to the pretty girl in the market, leaving the ‘what ifs’. It reminds him of when he first met Katsuki, unbeknownst and uncaring to the hurt that’ll entail.

But that doesn’t stop either of them, no matter the tears the rejections and the inevitability of a relationship that leads to nowhere, they don’t give up and move on. Shouto stands with them through it, supporting them like they support him while they grieve for a lost relationship and cheers them on when they try again. Shouto’s job and artistic tendency push him to always ask for a portrait of the person they are with to put more memories into a place and limited time.

Thusly, paintings of solely his own memories are accompanied with those of others, filling the void of a loneliness he was in denial of. For the nth time, he feels grateful for his companions.

**

There will always be a surprise when it comes to Katsuki’s arrival, but this is unspeakable.

He never, ever, even in his wildest dreams saw Katsuki as a painter like himself.

This particular era in the central world, or Europe as he has grown to call it, is going through complete change. Enlightenment, they call it. Everything is moving rapidly; medicine, philosophy, sciences and of course, art of all kinds. New methods are invented and experimented on, gaining identities by themselves and the arts are celebrated like they did back home, where it was for both worshipping and entertainment and feeling and people didn’t have to be afraid of being killed for making what they love. Now the challenge both the divine and the humane, everything is a muse for the artist, including Eros himself. Suddenly, he’s being the subject of poetry sculpture and most importantly, paintings.

They don’t look like his true self, but very close to how he was disguised as when he was heading to the mortal world, which isn’t much different if you count the vastly different colors of his hair and eyes. He’d kept his facial features the same and it shows there, along with his wings as they are told in the old texts and artifacts.

Waves, that’s how they call them and Shouto believes it to be more than accurate; it’s much like the feeling of getting hit by inspiration and the process of creating a piece of art. Like a wave of pure epiphany and righteousness that accelerates your pulse and thoughts.

Of course, as a profound artist himself, he learns from them, continuously playing with the different styles, the line works, the coloring, the subject and concept of each wave, every single technique. His friends indulge him with exasperated sighs but fond smiles when they’re dragged from place to place, exhibition to exhibition. It’s the first time that Shouto actually comes out to talk with people that are not Katsuki or obligatory and polite speak or talking them up to cover his identity. There are artists of each background, greatly different from each other and Shouto is enchanted.

And like the fates wanted to make up for all the misery they cost him, Katsuki is reborn in the peak of this area and not only Shouto finds him here instead of somewhere in Asia, but he’s also a painter he meets.

His hair is in disarray and his eyes are moving all around, taking everything in. Spots of paint with always be visible somewhere in his skin, even below the clothes as he learns later into their relationship and his hands are calloused with bitten off nails that always have paint underneath them too.

Shouto is living a dream he didn’t know he needed. His friends by his side and watching the subject of his affections being so absorbed and passionate in the one thing that was there for him since forever. And that is not to say that Katsuki wasn’t interested in the arts, but it was from a non-artists point of view that’s turned to a first person’s in this life.

It’s proven to be too much for his heart to withstand when Katsuki asks him to paint him.

“What?” he answers pulling away from his arms and sitting straight on the bed.

“Are you going deaf, dumbass?” Katsuki snaps back before burring his face on his pillow, to half hide his embarrassment, “I said let me paint you. You’re too pretty despite your shitty personality.”

He gapes at him, staring at his blushing ears and peeking crimson eye shyly on him like there is a possibility that Shouto will refuse.

It feels strange; it’s the first time he’s being drawn by being in front of the artist and not just heard of. He’s twitching and looking over until Katsuki yells at him to stay still, like he’s an amateur or something. He can’t help that giddiness though, it vibrates within him every second he feels Katsuki’s intense gaze upon him, relishing on it.

The painting is in a realistic style and it looks like his former glory as Eros. His waist long hair is flowing on his bare torso, each white and read strand carefully arranged by Katsuki to shine individually in their respective angle of sunlight. Shouto’s lips are caught in the beginning of a small smile and his eyes just glow as he looks outside, surely while thinking of Katsuki painting him. There is care and attention and focus on making this project, no matter how many hours is took.

“Well?” Katsuki taps his foot impatiently.

“It’s-” the words choke on his tongue from all the emotion. Instead of saying, he gathers Katsuki suddenly in his arms and lifts him to barely balance himself in his toes and squeezes gently but firmly, face buried on his shoulder.

“I love you so much.” Are the simplest words he can say and he has surely lost his touch of the poetry and endless flirtation of his old ways.

 Katsuki gives a faint chuckle, vastly amused, “That good, huh? Made you fall in love with me even more?”

“You have no idea, beloved.”

“You have to tell him!” Izuku insists, “This is your chance!”

“Are you crazy?” Shouto gasps.

“He’s right!” Momo back the former up, “In this era everyone is looking for gods everywhere. History and myths of us are popular, nowdays. Everyone is still saying how they saw the muses bestowing inspiration even though I know they haven’t returned from their vacation.”

“You’ve been talking to them huh? Or one of them in particular?” Shouto tries to deflect the topic.

Despite Momo’s deep and trailing blush, she keeps on pushing, “What Izuku and I mean is that now more than ever he will believe you.”

“And if he doesn’t or even worse, reject you, he’ll be another one of those artists that drives himself crazy and no one will believe him either way. Then he’ll die and in the next life, you’ll know to not reveal yourself to him.”

“Izuku!” Both Momo and Shouto exclaim scandalized. Izuku just shrugs.

“What? We’ve all thought it, not only with Kacchan. Don’t tell me you haven’t made mistakes in one life and learnt what to do or not in the next?” he crosses his arms, ready to debunk every single one of Shouto’s arguments.

But even the silence he opts for is telling that truth.

“Have you ever tried?” Izuku asks again.

“No.”

“Then try now.” He all but orders, “If it goes badly, we know from our experiences how to act.”

“But I’m sure it’ll be fine in your case.” Momo intervenes with a hopeful smile.

Despite him being in the mortal world for longer, Momo and Izuku were surely more daring, telling some of their significant others of the time what they are and proving it. In some cases, it went well and stayed together until they break up or the mortal died and in others, it went horribly, being shouted that they were monsters and kicked out and even on the verge of persecution. Either way, he could clearly see it was painful for his friends, living the death of a beloved or living their worst and most despicable selves. Shouto was here for them as they were here for him, the memories teaching them lessons for the future.

The proposition was tempting and Shouto is undoubtedly feeling confident of his knowledge of Katsuki’s character and that it’ll turn out well for them- or at least not a complete disaster.

That confidence is soon crumbling in front of his very eyes when he sees Katsuki, oblivious to the landslide that’s about to come to him and Shouto is nervous again.

His words are failing him and the emotions are more pent up than he thought. He’s lived with his past self in so much secrecy that’s digging it up, especially after realizing that the last and only time he did it was right before everything bad started.

Katsuki is calling to him, waving his hands in front of him and shaking him, eyes clouded with worry. Shouto’s trembling speech isn’t helping and he knows he has to get his shot together if he wants to do things right.

“Katsuki I have something to tell you.” He stares right through his eyes with all seriousness and he watched blood red harden to iron, jaw snapped shut. “Promise to listen to me until the very end, please?” he begs, unbecoming of a god, but he’s long abandoned the authority the title entails.

Katsuki nods stiffly and Shouto can read the possibilities that pass through his head. He hopes the truth will be less horrific than those scenarios.

With a deep breath, he starts; with revealing his former identity, saying about his life in the Olympus and the myths about him to start things off, about his friends that Katsuki’s met.

“And I was waiting until I lay my eyes on you on that fateful day, training on that damn field. You looked like a dream I couldn’t remember but still longed for and I just couldn’t stand there.”

With averted eyes away from Katsuki’s reactions, he continues steadily recounting their moments together with a nostalgic smile on his face. Everything breaks loose when the time to tell his first death comes. He’s stuttering, looking at his trembling hands and picking skin that just grows back in seconds.

“And they took you away to your ancestors’ land and I couldn’t just stay away from you. Everything had become pointless, every painting was of you, of us. And I was addicted to you, your presence, your everything. So I left I all and wondered in this world.”

He looks at the flowers in his arm; innocuously marking the skin beautifully but each one hiding another beautiful history with heartbreaking ending.

He recounts each and every one of them, admittedly some more painful than the others and a few that are blurry to him, to the point where he confused and forgot one or two and remembered until telling about two ahead of it. He closes his eyes because he can’t see with all the tears. Every word is being thrown off of his tongue without him thinking it and lets everything out.

For the nth time, he’s glad that in this lifetime Katsuki is a painter too as he can speak more detailed about the paintings he’s made, how he’d used his blood or/and ashes in many of those after he died as he wanted him to be a part of them, keeping that life there, beating and existing openly, in what Shouto was seeing.

His eyes are red and hurt to be kept open, his throat feels scorched and his heart is about to cleave his chest from the inside and escape by the moment he finishes the overly complicated and long story.

“And- and now, there you are again. And you’ll leave, again. The others thought I should try at least once getting everything out.” He gives a pathetic laugh in the end.

The room is completely silent, only Shouto’s breathing is loud and harsh, whereas Katsuki’s in calm and barely heard. The world outside of the small artistry is irrelevance and void to him.

“Show me.” Katsuki says, low and calm but not in a whisper.

“Show you what?”

Katsuki looks on Shouto’s shoulders, “For a start, your wings. Eros is a winged god, right?”

He’s too calm for this, Shouto thinks. He’s almost always calm and serious in heavy situations but he can’t tell if he’s indulging him because he might believe him or because he thinks Shouto’s completely insane.

But he obliges either way, concentrating to unfold and make his wings visible. It’s been a couple of week since he used them, going to one of Katsuki’s previous homes to check up things as per usual, but they get stiffed easily and he also has to mind the closed space.

Katsuki studies them with wide and analytical eyes, “They’re … wide.” He settles when Shouto’s red wing knocks a cup from the nightstand.

Both red and white wing flutter at the attention and the cramped space and stretch towards the ceiling of the house where there isn’t anything to throw down.

“Yes, the texts aren’t always telling the truth.” He scratches the back of his neck, “Smaller wings wouldn’t be able to hold me in the air.”

Katsuki scowls and there is this panic that he’s fucked up freezing his ichor. He’s ready to retract his wings when he stops him.

“Can I touch them?” Katsuki asks, his fingers clenched in tight fist, like he’s suppressing himself.

“O-of course, love.” He smiles softly and lowers the wings down. Katsuki is fast on his hands to trace the feathers and it all brings a shudder from the tips of his primal wings to the very low of his spine. Katsuki remains focused on his task, to the point when Shouto feels too good and embarrassingly sensitive when the fingers trace the near the base.

“You piece of shit.” He snaps him out of the warm and fuzzy feeling when Katsuki hits the back of his head, “You should have told me sooner, then I’ve included the fucking wings in your portrait too.”

The relief washes over him and it’s like Prometheus’ shackles are released from him.

“Then, you’ll have to make a new one.”

A mocking scoff, “of course but it’ll be a pain in my ass because the fucking god of love sucks at being a model. I wonder how you made everyone swoon over you with that fucking attitude.”

“You swooned over me. Multiple times.”

“Well, I’ve always been a freak of nature myself. What kind of fucking mortal has red fucking eyes?”

“A gorgeous one.” Shouto smirks too at the blush on Katsuki’s cheeks.

“Well fuck off.”

“You asked how I charmed everyone. I’m just defending my pride.”

Katsuki laughs softly and shakes his head, like he’s resigned with both Shouto and himself.

Shouto is just ecstatic that everything isn’t ruined.

The day after, when Katsuki has had a good night’s rest, he asks to see Shouto’s wings again because ‘it feels like I had a fucking fever dream’. Shouto shows them again, knocking another cup in the process.

Katsuki hum and does what he did the first time, caressing his wings to make sure they’re reals and nods to himself.

The roles are reversed, as it’s more often than not been the case this arrival. He’s still amazed that after so many times, there will always be a surprise he doesn’t know about that will make him fall in love again. It concretes his belief that one human lifespan doesn’t amount to see Katsuki’s true potential.

There are bitter thoughts that drip poison on his thought, about immortality and not being able to stops those circles of pain and agony he is forced to endure but it all evaporates when Katsuki calls him Eros for the first time ever, in millennia, and for now he’s marveling how right and too good to be true this is. Katsuki simply enjoys the embarrassment and yells at him to stay still for the new, complete as he calls it, painting. It turns out better than the previous one and it’s worth keeping his wings still for so long.

A few days later, Katsuki is pestering Shouto to take him to where he’d lived his past lives. Shouto is denying it the same second.

“Come on halfie!” because the nicknames will never ever leave no matter how many centuries pass.

“I might drop you!”

“You’ve held Deku and Ponytail up with ease. And I’m fucking sure that I don’t weight as much as the both of them.”

“What if I drop you!”

“Big fucking deal. You’ve said it, I’ll just be reborn!”

“Don’t joke about these things!” he snaps angrily. Katsuki stays silent and goes to apologize but Shouto is not having it. He can’t help but be sensitive about it and Katsuki can often be nailing the point too rashly for sensitivities.

Their argument doesn’t last long as he once again consults Izuku and Momo about this. They’ve been happy since he told the truth about him and also about the fact that they also don’t need to themselves to one less important person. Now they are trying to convince him that this is still a good idea.

“You said it and he’s fine with it!” Izuku throws his hands in the air, “I don’t understand why you’re so negative!”

“You have to let go of your fear of him dying. He’s going to anyway, so stressing about it all the time is only going to make his living days more miserable. Is that what you want.”

“No.”

“Then fly him wherever he wants. You’ve carried us both with ease even when Izuku cries for not being in the crowd.”

“Hey! I’m a tree nymph! Land is the only place I feels safe! I’d have wings otherwise.”

He things about it all night long until he realizes that they’re right, of course. Sometime in his own grief, he’d lost the point of making loving memories ad sharing them with his beloved. Now that that’s happening, he’s contradicting himself in the worst ways possible.

He wasn’t like that before and even if it was a joke, Katsuki was right that he didn’t seem like his former self.

As a first step of ‘getting out of his sulking’ as Momo roundabout told him, he agrees to have a little visit to reminisce Katsuki’s former lives. His beloved isn’t afraid of flying in his arms, on the contrary, he’s enjoying every accelerating second of it.

He takes him to the nearest place he remembers, the hill with a view at the beach and wonderful sunset and sunrise. It brings bittersweet memories, especially looking at Katsuki, whose core hasn’t changed.

“Next time, I’m bringing canvases. This is fucking amazing.”

“Hmm.”

“Have I been here before.”

“Yes, we were merchants that stayed here for a couple of days and nights.”

“Did I like this place?”

Shouto nods, “Very much. You wanted to be awake for both the sunsets and the sunrises.”

“Heh,” Katsuki smiles softly and looks at Shouto, “I haven’t changed much over all this shit, have I?”

Shouto chooses not to answer.

“And because of that, promise me that you’ll tell me the truth every time and show me those kickass places you are hiding for yourself, you greedy fucking poor excuse of a god.”

“But-”

“Look, from the beginning you seemed to know a lot of shit about me, some shit I didn’t know myself. I already felt a sense of familiarity with you and now I know why. It’s because we’ve met many times before.”

“Have I seen you before?” courtesan Katsuki had asked when he first saw him, putting out his pipe, “I remember every costumer’s gross face but you, halfie, I’d remember a pretty boy face like yours.” His tone had been a trained seductive one that he was probably using on everyone, but Shouto had seen the bewilderment and confusion masked underneath. After leaving the money on the table and having their first round of sex, Shouto had told him his tale, pretending it was just a myth. And it wasn’t the only time Katsuki had told him something similar.

“And for us to be together every fucking time, it has to say something.” The other’s face turns red from and he bites his lip cutely until he groans to himself. “Listen up, what I know is that I’ve probably loved your stupid ass since the very beginning. And that will not change in the future mes or whatever you want to call them.”

He approaches Shouto and knocks their foreheads together, meaning to hurt but it backfires but not having an affect on him. Katsuki curses and rubs his forehead harshly and the red spot spread, “Ugh, just tell me the fucking truth as soon as you can you bastard and don’t waste time! I’ll believe you with your pretty eyes and pretty hair, pretty wings and … Don’t grin at me bastard, we all know you’re too fucking beautiful and now I know it’s because you aren’t fucking human!”

Shouto continues to grin stupidly, “I love you too, Katsuki.”

“You better, because we have too many other places to visit.”

This lifetime’s end is the most bittersweet to Shouto’s, or Eros’ as he has relearnt to call himself again.

It’s one of the lucky ones where Katsuki grows older with time, his hair is fading to a charming white, his face is gaining wrinkles and crow’s feet around his mouth due to grinning too much as well as his eyes, emphasizing the glasses he’d started to wear to help his vision- Shouto can’t stop painting him like that. Some of his other paintings are sold and gaining a good income to sustain himself and he constantly thanking Shouto for not needing to eat or drink anything and ‘fucking a god can come in handy after all’. Maturity suits him and Shouto makes sure to show it in the way he knows best.

“I couldn’t keep with the god of love’s fucking stamina when I was in my prime, what the hell makes you think I can keep up now with my old bones?” he says every time.

“Technically, I’m centuries older than you.” Is Shouto’s usual retort before he successfully lures him to their bed.

But with the charm that his age brings, it also makes him weaker and weaker. Katsuki himself hates it, when his hand shakes and can’t hold the brush, when his back hurts and needs Izuku’s botanic ailments, when Momo has to adjust his glasses to his deteriorating vision and having to rely on a bunch of ageless creatures for every little thing.

He still insists that Shouto takes him for a flight and while being scared shitless, he does it because he knows it’s the only thing he can do to bring him peace until the end.

When he inevitably dies again, it’s while sleeping. He must have known because his last words were to remember the promise they’ve made before going to bed to rest.

And while it hurt them all greatly, like every time does, it’s a consolation that it was peaceful and older than in every other reincarnation. The flower that burns his skin this time is, unsurprisingly, a large and fully bloomed acanthus.

Shouto feels like this time marks a start of a new era within him, where he finally lets go of the fear that haunted his heart in the beginning, gluing him in place and towards a more daring and reassuring path.

**

“Did you ever think ‘this isn’t fuckign worth it’ when I was dead?” Is one of the questions Katsuki asks when he learns the truth.

“No, never.” He answers and kisses his knuckles and forehead reassuringly, “You’re always worth it.” he smiles.

**

“Did you ever had another lover when I was ‘gone’. I want the fucking truth, halfie.” Another common question.

“No.” Shouto answers, “After I met you that first time, no one was right for me except from you.”

“Did you even think about it? I mean, I was fucking dead or a kid and sometimes you said it takes many years until we meet.” Katsuki puts out his pipe and plays with the rim of his glass, “I won’t judge. I’m kind of sure about…” he flushes a cutesy pink at that, “your feelings.”

“No. It never crossed my mind. I want you and only you.” He holds his hand tightly, “I’d do everything all over again if it meant being with you.”

“Even the pain.”

“Yes. Love is never easy or constantly happy. It takes sacrifices and I’m willing to make them for you.”

**

“Let me get this right. You, Deku and Ponytail are looking for a way to make me immortal?” Katsuki confronts him.

“Yes.” Shouto tells him nervously. It’s the first time he tells him this information as it’s relatively new. Izuku heard some rumors that Olympus’ situation is getting more and more dire and many non-pantheon creatures choose to remain neutral and leave. Many of them know their secrets and have grudges against the gods, much like Shouto does, and might be willing to share information. Unlike Shouto however, they are less likely to be punished for leaving and defying the gods, even though Momo claims they are not looking for him.

“Are you here to ask if I want to be immortal?” Katsuki asks. Shouto simply nods.

The air in their house becomes tense with silence as Katsuki considers his answer.

“Do you want me to?”

“It’s not my decision to make.”

“I know dipshit.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Just answer me.”

“I did answer you.” Shouto runs a hand through his hair, “Yes, it’s painful to see you die over and over and constantly having to remind you everything and fearing how much time I have left. But. Immortality isn’t as perfect as your texts say either. To me, it’s a state of just being always, time passes very different and quicker that in your lives. The only reason why time is so slow for me is because I want to cherish every second with you.” He laughs hollowly, “But to you it’s different. You gain a feel of power that can corrupt you. The sense that you are invincible and can achieve everything because you cannot die. It can change a pure character very easily.”

“So what do you do.”

“Imprison them. They can’t die. So, they are locked in Tartarus to suffer for all eternity. It goes for gods too, those that don’t obey the rules and refuse to be disciplined.”

Katsuki looks at him, tense shoulders and trying not to fidget, “Is that possible for you?”

“Yes. Although my crime isn’t that heavy, I have had enemies in since ever and the pantheon can be…temperamental. It’s a stretch but never underestimate the power of a petty god or goddess.”

“And you think of going back there to find your version of the holy grail?”

“If need be.”

That angers Katsuki as he gets up from his seat, flushes with anger and the influence of alcohol and shakes him by the shoulder hard.

“Are you fucking stupid!” he yells and his eyes are teary but refusing to spill.

“No.” he answers, “Only addictively in love with you, Katsuki. I don’t want to burden you with my pain, you have to make the decision by yourself. The information is still new and it gets out really slowly, so it’s not like I’ll leave in the morning.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to decide now. I just said that-”

“I’m deciding now asshole fuck off!” he lets him go and sits back in his chair across form him. “I’ve been thinking it since you told me this whole clusterfuck that happened. I don’t want to see you in more pain like that time.”

“If it’s out of obligation –”

“It’s not!” now the tears are running down freely to his cheeks jaw and neck, “Don’t you think it’s fair for me to finally have some peace, instead of dying all the time and resetting everything.” he clenches the shirt above his heart, “I feel like something’s missing. Like a part of me is lost, like I’m running out of myself.”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrow at that. It’s something new that sparks worry. He watches Katsuki sob and goes to confront him, rocking him gently and whispering reassuring words.

“Ask the next mes about the immortality shit and if all of them say yes by the time you get that holy wine of yours, then do it.”

“Noted.” And with that he also notices to ask about that piece of himself Katsuki feels he’s missing.

**

With the rapid modernization of the world come the changes and the more and more creatures like them coming to live down here. He’s met several of them, some friendly, some hostile but the tolerate each other because they have to live in a mortal’s equally greedy work.

They form groups that evolve to their own societies and stick together through thick and thin, cheating the system and making their own Olympus here, equally lavish and extravagant under the human’s nose how they know best; tricking and killing humans. Shouto himself becomes one of the most efficient and expensive assassins along with his team, Momo making the weapons and Izuku as a tracker and a fellow assassin.

Shouto prize for this is Katsuki’s constant protection and well-being, even when Shouto isn’t there to do it himself. Which comes really handy especially during the periods when rampaging wars happen.

Ares had said to him that war will always exist, therefore his purpose too. No matter of the motivation, what’s right and wrong; war is war and war never stops, just pauses momentarily.

He couldn’t understand at that time that phrase they liked to say ‘all is fair in love and war’. It frustrated him because it made Eros and Ares truly alike.

It pains him to acknowledge that Ares is right; in too many of lives, Katsuki has been associated with war. Shouto firmly believes it has something to do with the foreign (are they even foreign anymore?) gods having fun taunting both him and his father who had high hopes for Katsuki. Shouto thinks it backfires because they prove Ares’ point of war being everywhere and not even they, ‘the coward pacifists’ as he called them in Olympus can’t control that aspect of humanity.

Humans have too many wars in so little time; some less valid and pointless as others. To conquer, to free, to have revenge, to have fun. All reasons are on the game and sometimes Shouto wonders if he’s grown sick of Katsuki also wasting his life in any war or is just frustrated because it reminds him of the first life, where they could have had it all and he, Eros, fucked up.

From a rightful and misled foot soldier that fights to pay basic necessities, to a morally gray diplomat that find his way to an assassin that has no side and only looks for gain.

When he’s not dying in the war, he comes back as a shell, blank stare and constant nightmares. Shouto has learnt how to deal with them, to talk Katsuki down and place him here in the now and not still in the field. He tries to make him paint, which he comes to like naturally even though he’s not as good as when it was his prime profession. It teaches him how to relax and express at the same time, like Shouto does all the time.

Watching him this broken, boils the ichor in his veins and he finds himself understanding more and more that war over the beautiful woman that was taken away from her husband, who was willing and ready to sacrifice his men, his country and his future for that one woman.

So he too engages in war.

Shouto has been a bodyguard, a healer, a comrade, everything to follow Katsuki to a certain death and prevent it. Sometimes he succeeds, other not as he dies in the battlefield or in an injury or disease. He’s had limbs cut off and lost his ability to talk, hear, see, walk or touch and Shouto has been in there in every step of the way. From when everyone used arrows and swords and shields, to when they made weaponry less personal and more effective. Momo’s craftsmanship helped him adjust to those changes while she broadened her own horizons, while Izuku was by his side defending Katsuki and being his eyes and ears with the help of mother earth.

There never is a matter of sides. The only objective is keeping Katsuki alive and as much in one piece of body and mind as possible.

He killed without discrimination. Even a fellow soldier that got close to Katsuki but tried to kill him in his sleep to gain his rank? There was no hesitation. Only satisfaction that one less pest is killed.

Shouto kept his distance from Katsuki during battle, always being in another platoon or field, as an excuse to hide, observe and execute better. He tended to use his godly strength and speed as well as his invisibility and he didn’t want to risk Katsuki learning in such a way, without Shouto explaining.

It was necessary at times, like when Katsuki was close to a minefield and Shouto had no choice but to use his wings and fly them both away. Katsuki had yelled at him for everything until his throat closed but came to in the end after Shouto had to lift an army vehicle with one hand like it was nothing.

Unlike the first time, the values and beliefs change with time and place, so he can’t expect Katsuki to be as open as he was all the times. Sometimes he needs more convincing that others but to his relief, he comes to sooner or later.

What always pisses him off is learning that he’s being watched over and protected.

“I’m not fucking weak, half and half bastard! I don’t need you magic friends to take care of myself.” Or some variation of those words are the default reaction. Shouto just sighs and tells the speech he’s prepared for this particular situation.

He also asks about Katsuki’s possible immortality. Every time he’s nervous, especially in lifetimes like these, where Katsuki has seen more than enough as a human that he’ll refuse Shouto’s offer. And he won’t blame him. He’ll respect Katsuki’s judgment above all, even if it metaphorically kills him every time.

But to everyone’s surprise, he agrees every time. Shouto tries to make him think it more carefully, placating him that he can understand if he says no or to stop feeling like it’s an obligation to himself, another speech that’s become popular, but Katsuki shut him up.

He instead looks at the flowers on his arm, a full tattooed sleeve bursting with the colors of each flower in a perverted but enchanting way.

“I feel like I’m about to run out for good.” He says quietly, “With what you said about past mes, it’s like every time I’m reborn, I run out and until I never come back. And that scares me shitless.”

He looks up to Shouto and smiles gently, genuinely, “As much as I complain that you are a pain in my ass, especially with all the fallen god shit, you’re the only thing that makes me feel alive. And if you’re with me forever, it won’t be that bad.”

“I’ll always be with you.”

“We made a promise, yeah? That first time, if I remember. That we’ll be by each other’s side forever?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me keep my own end. You’ve been to much of a doormat for me. Let me man up and fulfil my own promise to the stupid god that loves me so much I am not scared of anything, okay?”

Shouto smiles, “Okay.”

“From what I gathered, you seem to believe that it’s only you that’s addicted to having me.” He flicks Shouto’s forehead harshly, “Well I got fucking news for you, Eros, it goes both ways.”

**

Turns out that Katsuki’s fears were right because his time is actually running out.

One of Hecate’s assistants tells him so. His soul is getting weaker and weaker by the circles of life and death it’s going through that it’s going through and will soon wear out forever.

“Normally he’d have much fewer lives but with Eros putting parts of him in his painting is actually keeping him there to come back again. But even that is wearing out. Every piece of his mortal soul is kept in those paintings and it’s splitting him in pieces.”

 He doesn’t realize it at first but as the conversation goes on, the cold is slipping through his ichor, too frozen to feel panic.

“We need to find a way.” He says with determination.

“You’ve gotten the signal of his arrival, right?”

Shouto nods “Seventeen years ago. It won’t take me much longer to find him and nowadays it’s less likely something fatal happens to him.”

“Good, this life will be the last, so we better hurry up.”

It’s Momo that comes up with the idea, “We can go back and steal some ambrosia or nectar.”

The tension is palpable. None of them wants to go back, some moving on, some because of injustice. Their friendship with Shouto may prove to not be strong enough from them to make such a leap.

“Olympus is in taters now.” She continues to make the air lighter.

“They hide it. Even if it’s infinite, they’re greedy and secretive like that.” Shouto tells him.

“Maybe I can ask my father.” She says, “He’s infamously not getting along with the other gods, but he knows all the secrets. He might help us.”

“I sure hope so.” Shouto runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, “We need to make the final plan.”

**

The exhibition is gathering more people than he anticipated and he can feel the many stares of the guests on his person. Thankfully the venue was big enough to make him room to move around easily.

It’s been a while since he used his charm to this degree but it’s not exhausting like he thought.

As by the plan, there are many old faces he sees, some more welcoming than others but he’s sure that there are many of the most key players are absent from Olympus and that’s perfect for the others to act upon.

From what Hephaestus said, their former base is no longer occupied by the main gods as they’ve seen the lack of potential there and moved down to earth. The only ones occupying the place is a couple of nymphs and other creatures that he believes will be a piece of cake to fight off. He wanted to be with them and he would but they told him he had to keep looking; despite the every day dangers being minimized over the years, they’re still there and Shouto is going to raise the underworld on its feet if he loses Katsuki in a fucking car accident or a random smuggler.

Hence the point of this venue. To attract the attention of the Olympus that will surely be watching and from the guests he sees, highly likely participating, but to also search for Katsuki in this city where he knows he is.

Despite all that, he’s still restless for not going with them and staying in position. But Momo gave a stern talking to and he can’t deny that she’ll emerge victorious.

The second point though, that just falls into his plate as he sees the more than familiar spiky mess of ashen blond hair passing around, watching the exhibits.

Shouto is trying to be discreet but judging by the fact that he more than showed off his infatuation with Katsuki from the very beginning, he’s sure they know it well from the stories.

Katsuki’s staring at one of the paintings, the view of the supermoon blue moon sky from the inside of a luxurious and traditional room in which he lived at that time as a courtesan and his own vague figure draped with a silky kimono over his shoulders, smoke from the pipe faintly visible from the multiple lights. His stare is pensive and assessing.

“Are you enjoying the event?” he asks and smile when the other jumps a little.

“What the fuck, you shithead! You scared the shit out of me!” he growls lowly, embarrassed at the invasive stares he got by nearby guests.

“I’m sorry.” He isn’t sorry at all. “It wasn’t my intention.” He smirks.

“Oh, I’m fucking sure I wasn’t, you half and half bastard!” he mocks and Shouto smiles more genuinely; the nicknames never stop amusing him, as they mostly come up even before introductions.

“Are you enjoying the event?”

“I was before some dumbass came to scare me shitless.” Katsuki grumbles.

“What if that dumbass is the artist of all the paintings?”

That gets the other’s attention and crimson eyes look at him up and down, staring a little too long at his forearm, exposed by his rolled-up dress shirt.

He snorts, “Well it doesn’t excuse being and dick.”

That’s new and it earns a hearty laugh from Shouto, who notices the staring at his sleeves, “Is something wrong?”

“Those are too fucking colorful.” Katsuki smirks victoriously, “You might as well, it’ll match the rest of you.”

“Is that bothering you? He raises an eyebrow, looking down on the other.

“Just wondering if they are symbolic of something or you’re going full hipster.” Now it’s Katsuki’s turn to not be apologetic.

“I can assure you they are more than symbolic.” His mean streak is looking forward to Katsuki’s reaction when he explains what exactly they mean. Especially when right now Katsuki hums nonchalantly, like he doesn’t believe him.

“I’m Shouto. Todoroki Shouto.” He introduces himself, “But I’m sure my name is plastered everywhere in this place.”

“Bakugou Katsuki.” They shake hands and it’s a fiercer than normal polite handshakes, aiming to show off a little, “I just saw a door and they let me in.”

With an understanding nod, he pretends it’s natural and not the bouncer who guards the entrance letting him in because she’s been given a first name and his exact description.

“Interested because you’re an artist as well?” he asks, toning down his hope.

“Only with overfilling chemicals that react to each other.”  He shrugs.

“Then why are you here?” he asks with interest.

That has Katsuki hesitating and looking around, “I saw some of the paintings from afar and I just went in, I guess. It’s like that shit they say ‘art can just speak to your soul’ or something like that.” he avoids eye contact, cheeks tinted red.

Shouto feels like smiling and wondering whether it’s the effect of parts of him being in some of those paintings or the pull of the scenes painted that he lived in the past lives.

“I am of the notion that it’s not only art that can speak to your soul, but people alike.” He steps closer to Katsuki, enough to be somewhat private but not intrusive, despite his body wanting to get even closer and his fingers to just touch, “There is a small coffee shop just a block away, could I interest you coming with me?”

Katsuki’s flush gets deeper and his eyes flicker between hesitation and suspicion.

“Don’t you have other people to entertain? Drinking champagne with the filthy rich like a rich boy yourself?” he asks back.

“I’ve been here since 5am preparing and I really want to get out of here, with you preferably.”

“Are you always this fucking Casanova-like?”

“Only when I want someone’s attention really bad.” He responds smoothly, enjoying the constant color on Katsuki’s face, “Shall we?”

“Fine, but you’re fucking paying if you want my attention that bad.”

“Deal.” He places his hand on the small of Katsuki’s back and lead him out of the building enjoying the closeness between them. He keeps it for the rest of the way until the coffee shop not even bothering to cover it with an excuse when Katsuki asks him about it with a lot of swears and embarrassment.

**

“So I just drink this golden shit in one go?” Katsuki asks, looking at the liquid in his cup. It looks unnatural comparing to any other liquid, like pure gold was melted into Katsuki’s ‘worst husband’ mug.

“Yes.” Shouto rolls his eyes for the third time. Despite that, nervousness and anticipation are making his fingers tap annoyingly a lot in the wooden table.

“And it will give me a face lift. And will too join the illuminati. Again as it fucking seems to be the case.”

“We’re not the-”

“You are the fucking illuminati. The only difference is that not all of you are lizard people.”

“That’s stupid human fiction.”

“You’re older than that stupid human fiction.”

“You’re doing this on purpose to fuck with my nerves even more.”

Katsuki laughs deeply, wiping his tear from under his glasses.

“My bad.” He looks at the liquid more seriously, “Will it give me all my memories back? the feelings and everything?”

“Momo said it’s a possibility.” Shouto replies. He reaches out to hold Katsuki’s free hand, tracing the skin with his thumb “But it won’t matter either way. Not only will I take you again to the places you forgot, we’ll make more memories together without you dying forever.”

“Is this how you get me every time, huh, you fucking winged gigolo?” He mumbles fondly.

He takes a deep breath and grins widely, pearly white teeth exposed. His other hand tightens its hold on Shouto’s. The liquid inside the glass shakes.

“If you don’t want to-”

“Just because I don’t remember the promise we made, it doesn’t change anything. Like fucking hell I’m gonna dump you after so fucking long.” He snaps back, “And Deku and Momo made it sure to show that I’ve said yes in all my previous lives. It was fucking creepy.” he continues, probably referring to that time they sat him down without Shouto knowing. Izuku’s absurd number of notebooks, many dedicated in writing about Katsuki’s adventures through time made a case for themselves.

Shouto kisses his temple, “I’m gonna be there with you like I’ve always been. Remember that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop babying me. I’m older than you.”

“You just said that-”

Katsuki turns and fully kisses him on the mouth, hard and wanting and real.

“Right now and for the next minute I look older than you, so shut the fuck up.”

He pulls away, crimson eyes shining softly but with determination. It turns wide and sharp when he takes the glass full of nectar.

“Bottom’s up.”