The fourteenth night

The deadly silence hiding behind the heavy doors has been enough to scare them all. Lights switched off, the only presence of a lonely candle behind an open window showed them the desert how deserted was the usually lively house. No one, no living soul, could be heard from miles away inside the giant mansion. Breathes shallow, eyes squinting, mouth opening and closing, words long gone, they search for an answer, but none comes soon enough. And the silence that greets them might be the heaviest crime they ever had to face. They enter, pushing easily the gray metallic gates, walking as silently as possible, footsteps as light as fallen feathers, along the sandy path. The white doors of the intimidating house are wide open, but no one is here to greet them with a formal welcome, no one breathes inside the gargantuan mansion. With a common accord, they search for awhile, opening doors after doors in hope of seeing her, even them, but only the wind and the lit candle greet them. Shouto, entering the kitchen, wonders how the candle could have stayed lit while in front of an open window.

The flame at the tip of the perfumed candle dances along the frail breeze, its red and orange light too small to illuminate anything, too insignificant to show him the path. Could it burn skin ? Shouto wonders again, asking his own imagination if the flame was lit on purpose, or if its presence was as useless as theirs in this decorated maze. The only thing the candle invades is the room, with its discrete yet strong and pleasant smell. Hydragean, as written with an elegant font on the transparent pot. Curls and turns, with the -y bigger than the other letters, Shouto coughs as the omnipresent scent becomes stronger once the window is closed. He walks back against the wall facing the candle, ignoring the shadows now dancing on the white and clean wallpaper, little nightmares playing a scene he doesn't want to acknowledge. But he can't help it, and his tired state forces his mind to play tricks on his sanity. Back against the wall, shadows dancing against his pale skin, he pictures the imposing bouquets of hydragean carefully disposed on the round tables around the room, their cold yet beautiful and elegant colors piercing through the monochrome white of the wedding's room. Pale blue, pastel purple, light pink, as clear as the sun's light, celebrating the love of an unwanted couple. Sweet peas displayed on the tables too, against the walls, smaller flowers, discrete, and maybe roses, pink and red, for love and passion, to express what goes once the wedding is finished, once the doors are closed, once no one's here to listen what is done behind the thin walls of a carefully chosen hotel. He draws her from vivid memory, sculpted body covered with white lingerie, overflowed with a detailed dress as white as a newfound pearl, bright under the lights. Her dress is imposing, descending in cascade along her legs, a big crinoline neatly hidden under the waves of light satin textile. Jewels made out of white alabaster decorate her milky skin. She smiles, or maybe cries, out of sorrow or happiness, jet black hair down, eyes shining more than ever, as deep as black diamonds. A beautiful bride, sophisticated, maybe too much. He pictures it all, alone, lost in the kitchen against the white wall, vision blurred, shadows blinding him, window threatening him with a new life with her he'll never get to try. His head hurts, he sees no more, tiredness and desperation taking over his hope to see her again.

"There's no one here, Todoroki. They're out of the city by now," Izuku intrudes, his voice breaking through the silence. It seems to dissipate the ambient smell. Shouto coughs, walking in his direction. "Are you alright ? We can always search behind, their domain is quite-"

"It would be pointless."

And his voice is like a strike right through the heart, Izuku stiffens. The air seems heavier, looking like fog inside the white and decorated kitchen, its researched aesthetic too out of place. Shouto looks down, frowning, almost panting. He never looks to Midoriya. He never looks up.

"Let's wait for the police to come, we'll see after that."

It comes out cold, as cold and lonely as before, and Izuku sees him again, the Shouto that didn't care. He gulps loudly, letting go of the metallic white doorknob, closing the door silently behind him. The smell of flower isn't here anymore, and Shouto feels glad that it went away. Glad that, now, it's all gone. Glad he wouldn't have to see, hear or smell any of that again. Far from it, far from them, he feels lonely again, but loneliness isn't so bad once used to it. Izuku shakes behind him, following. They walk silently, passing through empty rooms and freezing silence, the only sound of their footsteps echoing around them. They walk for some long minutes, uncomfortable, ignoring the heavy atmosphere. And finally, they stop. Izuku breathes discretely, taking in the decor of the hall. The symmetrical place scares him, immobilizes him, the crystal chandeliers pressure on his mind and body, and the whiteness of the place scarring him more and more each passing second.

"Did you find money ?" Shouto asks, facing the front door.

"No, everything is gone."

"That's what I thought," the coldness in his voice gives out his thoughts, and for a second, Izuku truly feels disgusted. He frowns.

"It wasn't her choice !"

"It was !"

Shouto turns around abruptly. His eyes scream louder than his voice, wide open, burning through Izuku's skin. The young man backs away, taken aback. The atmosphere becomes hotter and hotter, sparks as dull as ash cascading the bicolor's left cheek. For a second, Izuku sees blue flames emanating from his left fist.

"And it still is ! She rpomised, but she left !"

"But I'm sure she fought back-"

"There's no trace of fight !" It sounds exasperated, taking Izuku for an idiot. It hurts. "It's all clean, suitcases gone, money gone, all objects of value are gone ! And- And she's gone, too, without a fight. Open your eyes Izuku, she left us."

It might be tiredness, the desperation or the disappointment hiding behind his voice, or the fear undoubtedly felt deep inside, but Izuku doesn't find his words nor his voice anymore. He simply stands there, thoughts wild, but mute.

"I know when to stop, Izuku. I know when it's gone. She didn't find back like she promised me," he lets his tears soak his cheeks. Head down, he looks at the evaporating salty water contouring his frame. It looks like smoke, transparent and untouchable, suffocating him slowly, oh so slowly. "She lied."

And just like that, flames escape his hand, slowly growing against the ground. It burns the white carpet, burns the red curtains, takes over the walls, the stairs, the doors, invading the old piano against the walls behind him, burning the short and endlessly read fairy tales on the shelves. It seems too big, engulfing with their light the entirety of the house. Slowly, surely, it burns everything. Shouto watches as it grows bigger than the candle's flame, yet the smell is different, suffocating, black smoke taking over his vision. And why does it feel so cold ? He feels a hand taking his elbow, running away, out, he hears gasps and screams, sirens and alarms, and soon, what remained of the Yaoyorozus disappears under his own creation.