A boisterous laugh was heard. "Wait for me!"

The maids cleaning the castle walls and floors looked up from their work to stare at the world's most beloved couple. They were frolicking in the gardens, and though they would most likely gain an earful from the chief gardener afterwards, the loving smiles they passed on to each other were infectious. Those smiles usually reserved between lovers could not be wiped away by a mere lecture.

One maid dreamily sighed. "Look at Prince Katsuki. He looks so dashing when he's in love."

The maids focused on the aforementioned prince, who was chasing after his betrothed with what looked to be a genuine smile. They swooned for it was uncommon to see their prince so relaxed and love-struck. It was more common to see a predatory grin or clenched teeth from the hot-headed man, so this version was like a refreshing breath of air.

"Yeah," another maid agreed. She then added, "When he proclaimed his love for Prince Izuku from the enemy country, it caused such a stir."

A different maid clutched her bosom and recalled the monumental event. "Star-crossed lovers," she said with hearts in her eyes. "Their love was doomed from the start since our kingdoms were warring for years, but they persisted."

She paused and took a moment to watch Prince Izuku place a handmade flower crown atop his fiancé's head. It was a sweet moment, and anybody with a pair of eyes could tell how much trust they had for each other. The product resulted in a tangled mess of flowers and Prince Katsuki's unruly locks, but that didn't matter as the two ventured further from the gardens.

"Love won in the end," she said with emotion, a teardrop threatening to slip from the corners of her eyes. "Tensions between our kingdoms are still high, but the fighting is over. Our armies are returning. For once in a decade, our generation can live in peace."

A more jaded, older maid spat out, "Yeah right."

Instead of mingling with her coworkers, the woman continued doing her job and scrubbing the floors. "Stop wasting time with that nonsense," she said. "I bet it's all just a show to end the war."

The maid from earlier turned up her nose. "You're just bitter that Prince Katsuki is now taken. Unlike you," she clasped her hands together, "I give them my blessings and wish for them eternal happiness in their marriage."

The other woman scoffed at her naïve outlook.

Unbeknownst to the positive-minded maid and other people with the same opinion, the relationship between Prince Katsuki and Prince Deku was rocky from the get-go.

One prime example was the rough and unmerciful way Katsuki threw Izuku over his shoulder once there were no prying eyes to witness this debacle. The young prince made a choked sound as he was unexpectedly tossed to the ground like a sack of rice. He then clumsily heaved himself up and coughed out the dirt entering his mouth. When he lifted his head, he saw Katsuki slam the flower crown to the ground, stomping its measly petals repeatedly as if the action would erase everything that conspired a few minutes ago.

Katsuki pointed an accusing finger at him, a snarl evident on his face. "Don't you dare touch me like that ever again," he warned.

"Well, what did you expect?" Izuku replied back snappishly and gestured his hand between them. "I had to make our relationship believable."

Izuku slowly stood up, patting away the dust and small rocks that littered his shirts and pants. "I'm surprised," he said coldly. "I didn't know you could act so well, Kacchan."

Katsuki made a move to smack his fiancé's infuriating freckled face, but Izuku saw this coming and blocked his attack. This lovey-dovey fiasco was all an act. He despised the predicament they were stuck in, but beggars can't be choosers. Izuku grimaced, hating how the supposedly endearing nickname rolled off his tongue, but sacrifices had to be made.

Katsuki was romantically inept to say the least. His actual best was to plaster on a dashing smile and stick to his supposed lover like glue, but once they stepped out of the limelight, Katsuki would automatically distance himself and would gratefully poke Izuku with a meter stick to ensure there was space between them.

Katsuki, who continued to comb through his untamable hair to catch any stray petals, retorted, "Shut up, Deku."

Izuku frowned. He disliked that nickname.

"I don't like it when you call me that," he said.

"Too bad," Katsuki retorted in a snide voice. "Everyone else calls you that anyway."

Izuku sighed. This was not the first and this will not be the last time they argued over their nicknames. "Well, it's your fault they call me that."

Deku meant useless, meaningless. While Katsuki managed to keep a cutesy nickname, Izuku was stuck with a tasteless one. It didn't take a genius to understand the insulting term.

When Katsuki accidentally called him Deku in public instead of private, a reporter caught that slip and pointed out its derogatory meaning, thereby questioning the validity of their relationship. If the truth was revealed, their plans would have gone up in flames. All of their hard work to establish their romance would be ruined.

Izuku had to improvise and fed the reporter absolute bullshit about its alternative meaning. Katsuki cannot recall the finer details of the exchange, but thankfully, the general audience was a gullible bunch and ate that crap up.

The two men were hapless and hopeless in the romance department; they understood that. After all, where would they find the time to court someone when there was a war raging in their backyard? As much as they would like to watch each other's demise, they had mutually consented to this arrangement because this marriage can end the war. This marriage can bring their kingdoms peace.

Personally, Izuku believed that his standards were reasonably low. Even though they were pathetically low, they were still considered standards.

He dragged Katsuki to the back once they made their obligatory daily appearance to the nobles. He fumed as he searched for a more private setting and settled for the break room typically reserved for the servants.

"What was that?" he hissed to his husband-to-be.

Today they had a mandatory meeting with their subordinates. Overall, the purpose of that meetup was to prove to those snot-nosed asshats that they were indeed helplessly in love, and that this marriage was not some hot summer fling. This formal meeting was supposed to be a way for them to rub their gross and disgusting love in front of their snobbish faces.

However, their petty revenge was spoiled all thanks to Katsuki. Since Izuku was the main drive of their romantic endeavors yesterday, it was Katsuki's turn to woo their audience.

Katsuki lifted one brow, obviously clueless to the severity of his actions.

"What the fuck are you going on about?"

Izuku bit his tongue to hold back the string of words he wanted to inflict onto this insufferable man. Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths.

"You caught a bird bare-handed," he said with gritted teeth. "And then," his voice peaking to a mortified tone, "You almost choked the poor thing while handing it to me like it was nothing!"

"It was a gift," Katsuki said.

He rolled his eyes. Obviously his fiancé wasn't culturally competent enough to recognize the telltale signs of courtship in his kingdom. "You're welcome."

Izuku threw up his arms in exasperation. "You can't just do that kind of stuff out of the blue," he whined. "Half of the people in the meeting were from my kingdom, remember?"

Katsuki didn't bat an eye. "So?"

Izuku began pacing around, a common nervous tic he inherited from his mother. His hands itched for his stress balls, but his collection was left in his room.

"So?" he said, aghast. "They don't know your traditions!"

His pace quickened. He moved around in circles. His mind was on overdrive.

"My mother and father sent those officials to watch over me," he mumbled to himself as he laid out the consequences. "When they return home, they'll definitely report this incident. Most likely my parents will decide that we are not suited to wed."

God, Katsuki can practically taste the anxiety leaking from the man's hormones.

"Then the wedding will be canceled. There'll be nothing to stop our parents from heading back into war. All our efforts will be for naught. People will continue to die. And then-"

Katsuki slammed his fist against the wall, caging Izuku to the wall with a murderous glare.

"Shut. Up."

Here, he seemed daunting, intimidating.

Although their height difference was not as profound as other couples, Katsuki still gained some centimeters over Izuku. The blond-haired man looked down at him as if he was his superior, and in terms of battle prowess, he was. The urge to cower down was great, but Izuku refused to surrender to his urges. Instead, he allowed the hot flash of anger to replace his anxieties and pushed away Katsuki's chest. Sure, he was not as physically adept as the other man, but he can hold his own weight.

With their current circumstances, it seemed as if he was the only one pulling the weight of their relationship.

"I don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "You don't make sense."

"Hah?"

"Here I am, trying to convince two kingdoms that we're madly in love with each other, but here you are," he gestured at Katsuki's everything, "Acting like you don't give a crap about this even though you're the one who proposed this idea in the first place."

An explosion erupted from Katsuki's hand. The man looked as if he was ready to fight, already in a stance to battle it out. "Fuck you," he said with restrained fury. "You think I'm not trying?"

"Well, it would have been nicer if you had put in more effort," Izuku interjected back with his hands on his hips.

"Look at you, acting all high and mighty as if you're better than me," Katsuki spat out. "News flash, your acting sucks balls as well."

"I'm not saying I'm better-"

"I know what I heard!" Another explosion went off.

The repugnant smell of smoke and fuel permeated the room, causing Izuku to instinctively cover his mouth and nose. It reminded him of his days as a medical aid during the brunt of the war. Thankfully, the smell of burning flesh was not included into this nauseating mix, but it was still too strong for him to handle.

"Fine," he said hurriedly while holding his breath.

He was antsy to leave the room, desperate to get as far away from the source as possible. At this point, he doesn't care if Katsuki could hear his muffled voice. Besides, this conversation was going nowhere anyway.

"I'm leaving," he said with a constrained voice. His oxygen was depleting rapidly. "I'll think of something else to convince the people."

With that, he rushed out of the room and accidentally slammed the door in his haste. He winced. A stab of guilt hit him when he thought of leaving Katsuki brooding by his lonesome, but the pressures of this marriage began to tire him. Even so, he should have done better in his rhetoric. His mother did not raise him in a barn to act this way. She would have been appalled to see him in such a state.

He sighed.

"Sorry," he apologized to no one in particular.

A burning sensation crept to the corners of his eyes, but this was not a place where he could freely cry over his troubles. He allowed himself to sniffle once and then swallowed down his inner turmoil. Blinking away the tears, he began to briskly walk down the halls, occasionally greeting the servants and the other residents of the castle.

This was his choice, Izuku bitterly reminded himself. Though Katsuki was the one who offered the olive branch, Izuku was the one who reached out and took it. Even if he was given a second chance to redo his decision, he would have done the same all over again.

"Stay positive," he murmured to himself even though the fate of thousands rested upon his hunched shoulders.

The next morning Izuku braced himself. Ever since he began living with Katsuki, the two agreed to share a meal together daily in order to not raise suspicion. Sadly, today's meal of the day was breakfast, and with yesterday's argument still fresh in his mind, Izuku was dreading the moment he had to enter the dining table and face Katsuki. After all, a tense atmosphere can ruin a good meal.

He took his seat and glanced at Katsuki, already hoarding the pancakes and stuffing them into his cheeks.

"G-good morning," he greeted stiffly.

Katsuki grunted in acknowledgement but did no further to initiate conversation. Rather, he was giving him the cold shoulder.

Izuku stared down at his sparse helping. "Thanks for saving me some," he muttered sarcastically.

Fortunately, he was not the type to fill his belly to the brim, but he wished Katsuki would have been more considerate after all these months they spent together. Well, then again, this type of interaction was an improvement compared to the first few months they spent together. They were practically at each other's throats. To let off some steam and resentment, they practiced hand-to-hand combat almost every day. It was pretty cathartic.

One observation Izuku made was the difference in table manners. Izuku couldn't help but wonder if it was customary of Katsuki's people to eat most of their food with their hands. Katsuki forwent the typical eating utensils and ripped the buttermilk pancakes with his bare hands. He then sloppily smeared them with maple syrup and crammed them into whatever space was left into his mouth. Even though Izuku should be used to this sight, he still grimaced as the man chewed his food with his mouth open. The inappropriate noises the man made unhinged him, scrubbed him the wrong way. However, Izuku was eternally grateful the man was not slathering hot sauce all over the hotcakes like last week. That was plain blasphemy.

Katsuki seemed to have finished eating since he was in the midst of suckling off the syrup from his fingers. Izuku eyed him cautiously, his instincts telling him that something was amiss. Usually Katsuki would have commented about his prissy style of eating by now, and yet he said nothing throughout the whole meal. No scathing remark was heard. Only silence.

Then he took unwrapped the packets of sanitary wipes by his side. Contradictory to his outward character, he meticulously cleaned his hands until they were almost spotless.

"Bad news," he said.

"Huh?" Izuku was midway cutting his pancakes into symmetrical pieces. "What do you mean?"

As if he pulled it out of thin air, a newspaper was in Katsuki's hands. Next, he slid it across the table until it landed adjacent to the unsuspecting man. Izuku peered over and glanced at the headlines. His heart stopped. His blood drained.

He didn't have to read the bold, black letters spread across the front page or the opinionated paragraphs underneath them. The photo accompanying the article insinuated enough. It was a snapshot of Izuku rushing out of the room with his hand over his mouth, and anybody with half a brain can assume that Katsuki was the reason for his apparent distress on the picture.

He tried to breathe.

This image gave the public the wrong idea.

Breathe.

The seed of doubt has already sprouted.

Breathe.

It was too late to recall the newspapers.

Breathe.

Their lie was already exposed.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Izuku panicked.

His fork and knife clattered on the plate. He stepped out his chair and began to pace around the table.

Questions fired off from his mouth. "Where was the reporter? How did I miss them? What should we do?"

He racked his head for ideas to rectify this, but to no avail, he couldn't find the answer.

"How do we fix this? Can we fix this? Why wasn't I more careful? Why-"

He bumped into a sturdy figure.

It was Katsuki. He held an unwavering expression.

Izuku doesn't understand how he could be so calm during these turbulent times.

Then Katsuki said, "Stop, Deku."

Miraculously, he did stop.

Without question, Katsuki grasped his shoulders and steered him to the nearest chair. Izuku felt numb as he was guided to take a seat, but even though he sorely wanted to stare into the void, he cannot afford to dissociate now.

He forced himself to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

Izuku whispered, "Kacchan, do you think…"

The blonde-haired man crossed his arms with a solemn expression. "No, I don't think the reporter knew the truth. I skimmed through the article's contents, but luckily it wasn't too scandalous."

He scrunched up the paper in his hands with a fierce look, a look that made Izuku look back at him with confusion. This Katsuki was strangely mild-mannered, he noticed. His temperament was too tame. Izuku half-expected him to overturn chairs and scorch the walls, but he did none of the above. However, the question about his behavior was left on the tip of his tongue. They had more pressing matters to attend to.

"If they knew the truth," Katsuki continued, "The idiot who wrote this would have written something more controversial than this hogwash."

Izuku gave the article a cursory read and nodded in agreement. He felt slightly flustered for overreacting over such a mediocre paper. The paper only hinted about an imminent breakup and held no clues about the actual reasons behind Izuku's departure from the room. Good, that means their secret is still safe.

Izuku rubbed his chin, his mind drifting off into the consequences. "For sure we'll be hoarded by the paparazzi very soon," he stated ominously.

He glanced at Katsuki, who already took a seat beforehand and steepled his fingers contemplatively. A flicker of annoyance passed through his face. "Shit, this is the worst possible setback."

Izuku tilted his head. "What do you mean?" he asked worriedly.

Katsuki turned his head and dirtily glared at him as if he was stupid. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Obviously missing the bigger picture here, Izuku replied, "… I'm sorry?"

"We're attending a ribbon cutting ceremony this afternoon."

That sounded familiar, but no dice. Izuku could sense Katsuki's patience waning with every second.

"The grand official opening of the Mustafu General Hospital," he said. "You appointed us to attend it without my permission," he added with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh."

"You had a speech prepped for the event."

The cogs were running. The puzzle piece was slotted. The key fitted into the lock.

"Oh," Izuku said. Then, with horror, "Oh."

Reporters would flock to the event like seagulls, ready to snag any worthy piece of gossip. The podium where he would recite his speech to thank the people who invested their time and money into the hospital would be hoarded by those information leeches. It would be catastrophic.

Katsuki smacked his palms against the table. Izuku jolted from where he sat.

"You know what?" he said with a determined gleam in his eye.

He turned his head until they made eye contact. "You," he pointed a finger at him, "Stop worrying. I'll figure it out."

"What?" Izuku made an affronted noise and stood up. "No, it's partially my fault we got into this mess."

Katsuki looked at him. He truly looked at him. "Do you trust me?" he asked him.

"Well, yeah, I guess I do since you're the accomplice, but-"

The blond gritted his teeth. He spoke with conviction and resolution like a stone wall. "Trust me."

Never in a million years had Izuku expected to hear those two words from his stubborn lips, but he did. Izuku stared back, bug-eyed, and dumbly nodded. Indeed, this Katsuki was different, and once this situation blows over, he would get to the bottom of this sudden personality shift.

"Okay," he said mindlessly, still nodding, "I trust you."

"Good," Katsuki said with finality and pushed in his chair.

"Go back to your room and change into your suit for the ceremony," he instructed him. "When you're done, come to my room."

These were easy instructions, and Izuku followed them to a T. Earlier, they had an ongoing debate over their assigned bed chambers and mutually agreed to have their own personal rooms whenever they needed a break from the other. Otherwise, they would have lost their insanity.

Izuku glanced back at the mirror and straightened his suit. He adorned a dark, navy blue three-piece with a floral print. The floral print was beautiful, displayed in different hues and shades of blue. The pattern itself was stunning in a way that simultaneously presented itself as not too flamboyant but classy as well. He was divided between a bow tie or a necktie, but the tiebreaker was the fact that he wore a bowtie in the last major party he attended. With matching tight slacks and a polished pair of loafers, his overall look was complete.

He combed through his messy hair and chuckled. Well, it was almost complete. He tugged on the lapels and smiled back at his dashing reflection.

"Ready," he told himself as if he was heading toward the frontlines, and really, he didn't miss the mark.