Bashira had trouble sleeping. She'd been wiped out enough to fall asleep easily but woken up halfway through the night and couldn't keep her mind quiet afterwards. As well as she did pushing back the thoughts of her dad, that only really left her to think about school (she'd missed a day, hadn't finished all of her original homework, and would just have to steal Wakako's notes again to copy…).

Then there was Shoto, too, invading her dreams. Bashira half-awake fantasized for whatever reason about mundane things, like she and Shoto eating dinner together. She imagined the two of them just hanging out on the couch, nibbling on popcorn and watching something on TV. It would be like the Girl's Night but without the girls – just with Shoto.

But, in the end, Bashira did think of her dad and why he might have called her. It'd been over a month since she'd moved. What could he really have to say to her now? "Hope all is going well, let me know when I'm a grandpa"?

Noritaka Sada wasn't a bad guy but he was pretty spineless. That might have been why Bashira's mom had given Bashira her family's name rather than his.

There were some more absurd possibilities that Bashira considered: what if her dad was in trouble? Sick and dying? Did he get arrested and need bail money? Did he know she was now related to Endeavor and needed his wealth or renown for something?

Those ideas bothered Bashira the most because they lead her to imagine having that conversation with Shoto, asking him for money to take care of her useless parents. Those ideas bothered her the most because as angry and humiliated as she would be doing it, she would do it. Even if it came to speaking one-on-one with Endeavor for a favor she would do that, too, if her parents needed it.

Yet it'd been over a month since she'd moved and been married. And her dad had only just called her.

Bashira's alarm the next morning was more unwelcome than ever. She snoozed it twice before forcing herself up. It'd only be worse overall if she sulked in bed and missed another day. What would Shoto say?

The pair of them – Shoto and Bashira – hiked to class together with very little exchange. The schedule rotation worked out so that Bashira's first class was one that she shared with Wakako. It didn't leave her much time to overthink things or get too nervous.

Bashira did her best to keep emotionally distant when she walked into class. It didn't exactly work, as she felt her classmates' stares and heard their sudden, hushed silence. Her jaw tightened and so did her grip on her bag. Why were these kid so obsessed with her? She blindly made her way to her seat and plopped down. She was so instantly irritated that she decided returning Wakako's notes could wait.

Wakako, however, didn't wait.

"Kobayashi," the bruntette murmured, inching towards Bashira's desk. The girl was twirling her hair in her fingers (is that why it was so unnaturally curled?). Her eyes were downcast, which immediately put Bashira on alert.

"I have your notebook," Bashira offered first, after a pause. She leaned down to her bag to retrieve it, keeping a side-eye on Wakako. The other girl didn't loosen up.

Bashira found the notebook and turned to hold it out to Wakako. When her classmate made no movement to take it Bashira added, "Sorry I kept it for so long."

Bashira's eyes began searching. She noticed that Wakako was fidgety. Wakako was generally more of a straight-forward type. What was going on?

"What's wrong?"

Wakako's eyes flickered up, catching Bashira's, and while she didn't turn away her brow did furrow. "You don't know? You haven't read the headlines?"

Bashira's head tilted to the side. "Uh, no. I'm not on social media anymore. So I don't see much news." Wakako's gaze shot back down to the floor, leaving Bashira bothered. "What's going on, Ito?"

Wakako laced her fingers together, wringing them in an obviously bothered way. "Well... we all know now. About you and Todoroki."

There wasn't any heart-shocking bolt or brain-frazzling jolts at the revelation. Bashira was more numbed by it.

"You told me you two were related when I asked," Wakako went on, her voice quiet. "I guess it's not my place to be upset about you lying but you didn't have to, you know?"

Bashira didn't respond right away. Her arm that was holding the notebook drifted down, hovering over her desk.

"I didn't exactly lie," Bashira said, choosing her words carefully. "I just didn't tell the exact truth. It wasn't your place to know, you know?"

Bashira's eyes shot up again, sharp, and caught Wakako's again. The message was clear. 'It wasn't any of your business to know. You, or the class, or the school, or the public. It was only mine. And Shoto's'.

Wakako wilted. Her fingers were making knots with themselves.

"I don't blame you but..." The girl's words faltered as she struggled with what to say. "I know I'm not really your friend or anything but if you need someone to confide in, I hope you might think of me."

The confession was more startling to Bashira than the news of her and Shoto going viral.

"It's just that, even before knowing what you were going through, you seemed like the kind of person who needed someone to support them. That's part of why I approached you. Some of the others think you're a little scary but I tried not to judge you. So now, knowing the truth, it makes me understand you a little more... This all must be really hard, right?"

Bashira, still stunned, only stared.

"I mean," Wakako exclaimed, "the news never has the full story. So, really, maybe you shouldn't bother to read that gossip." Wakako suddenly straightened, her expression going uncharacteristically rigid. "Please don't worry about what the papers and Internet sites are saying. Just take care of yourself. I know you're not a bad person. Do your best!"

Bashira could only continue to stare.

The arrival of their teacher settled the class down and Wakako, with a small smile and shallow bow, went back to her seat. Bashira turned back to her desk.

Wakako's notebook was still in her hand.

Bashira endured stares and whispers for the rest of the morning. When lunch break came she was one of the first out of the room. She had the instant urge to find an isolated space to just be alone and steam, but the thought was brief.

She realized fairly quickly that more than she wanted to be alone, she wanted to be with Shoto.

Why not give all those low-lives a show?

So Bashira resolutely ignored the attention that she never asked for and made her way to the canteen. The huge amount of students took a while to weave through, but Bashira found Shoto's class' regular area and plopped herself down in the (luckily) free seat next to the two-toned boy. His red-and-blue side turned to her, almost in surprise, but he went back to his food without any fuss.

"Are you not eating"? Shoto used as a greeting. Bashira's was left with her foot in her mouth.

Crap. She'd forgotten all about food. But whatever, she wasn't hungry anyway.

"I don't have much of an appetite," the girl responded. In the same breath, before she could double-think it, she asked, "Did you hear the news?"

Shoto half turned to her, quirking his brow. "What news?"

"It's not new news," Bashira said with an eye-roll, "but it's news about us. Us, us."

"You're just repeating the same words. I'm confused."

"Um, Todoroki..."

Bashira's eyes flashed up and over to Midoriya, who was across the table. She hadn't even taken to notice to whomever else was present.

Midoriya's eyes were earnest. "I think Kobayashi is talking about the tabloids. You and her - the marriage - it's... it's been leaked."

Shoto blinked. "Oh." Then he faced Bashira fully. "Is that bad?"

It was Bashira's cue to blink. Then, she had to think. Did it matter? Being seen as a piece of entertainment was annoying, sure. But how much was actually going to change?

"I don't know," Bashira answered slowly. Then, in more of a hurry, she switched to addressing Midoriya. "I didn't read anything. Is it just being reported that we're together or is it the whole thing?"

Bashira could only hope that Midoriya would understand what she meant in sublime, and it seemed like he did when he sent her a gentle smile.

"Everyone knows that you're in a legal union, but the specifics are only being speculated. Obviously there are a lot of rumors but you're not being explicitly called out for anything, uh, controversial."

Bashira nodded as a thoughtless response. Meanwhile, her brain was busy.

She and Shoto were married. That was a fact. The fact was out. People were talking about them. But people had been talking about them anyway, individually, for other reasons. They were being talked about together now, for the same reason.

What was so awful about that? Was Bashira over-simplifying it just to make it easier to handle? Or did she really so easily decide that she didn't care? She was upset on some level but not as much as she would have been at the beginning.

Shoto's mother had been forced into a Quirk Marriage, too. Were they both victims of Stockholm Syndrome? Bashira wasn't being abused, but she wasn't able to make all of her own choices, either. She could only try to rationalize her life as it was handed to her.

"I guess it doesn't matter, then," Bashira announced. Her mind was still in a fog, but what she said was the prominent message.

"Has anyone been bothering you?"

Bashira faced Shoto, both of her eyes finding both of his. Shoto wasn't one to wear his emotions in his expression, but him asking the question brought Bashira to feel his concern.

"Not really," Bashira replied. "No one's harassing me or anything. Just a few people asking questions."

Shoto accepted her answer and, again, turned back to his food. He grabbed a water chestnut and slice of red pepper in his chop sticks before moving onto the adjacent bowl of soba. When a mouthful was ready he lifted his utensils, cupped a hand under the food, and held it out to Bashira.

"You should eat something," Shoto said with a straight face. "Even if you don't plan on training today you're in a stressful mood, right? Your body needs fuel either way. You should make sure that you take in beneficial calories."

Bashira was embarrassed, and then indignant, and then embarrassed again. Shoto was offering to share his food with her? His chop sticks, his spit, his germs? Some part of Bashira raised up to claim that it was gross, but another louder voice shouted towards the intimacy of it.

Froppy, of all people, piped up. "Second-hand kiss, kero. I'm glad to see you two are getting closer."

In a direct result towards the comment, Bashira pursed her lips. She was ready to refuse Shoto's offer.

But she didn't.

Bashira opened her mouth and allowed Shoto to feed her. Although there was a tinge of shame she felt it was mostly, absolutely, satisfying.

As she chewed, Bashira was sure she was blushing. But still, once she swallowed, Bashira met Asui's gaze... and didn't say anything. The girls just stared towards each other.

Asui was the first to look away, offering what seemed, to Bashira, an amused curl if the lips. There were no more words exchanged.

Bashira left the cafeteria in a considerably better mood.

By the end of the day, Bashira had mulled over the situation, among other things. Mostly the other things.

With her adrenaline running, Bashira imagined a conversation with Shoto. She wanted that conversation to happen. She anticipated and prepared for that conversation.

Bashira really should have channeled her anxious energy into physical activity after classes let out, but she allowed herself to pace around the apartment instead. So when Shoto came home after his training, she was both ready and entirely unprepared.

Buzzing with nerves, Bashira didn't approach Shoto directly. She dusted around, acting occupied, and waited for Shoto to create an opening.

Shoto briefly greeted Bashira before retiring to his room.

It took almost twenty minutes of frustrated cleaning before Bashira made her way to Shoto's door and mustered up the nerve to tap on it. When she received permission, she opened the door.

Bashira had never actually been in Shoto's room before. It was his space, and she'd respected it. Seeing it then, for essentially the first time, Bashira realized how much it reflected her husband. It was simple. Practical. No unnecessary frills or significant decor. Just a calm place supplied with the bare necessities.

"Can we talk?" Bashira started. She wasn't sure how to address the subject. Therefore, she was blunt.

"Sure," Shoto responded. He was sitting cross-legged on a cushion at his desk. He'd probably been doing homework. Bashira had homework, too, but it hadn't been a priority for her.

"Is this all really fine?" Bashira asked. She had no desire to hesitate. She'd been stewing enough. "That we're exposed? You don't mind? It'll only be another huge scandal if we manage to break up." Bashira left the other end of the argument hanging, but impatiently offered, "...unless we decide to stay together?"

Shoto, predictably, didn't offer anything right way. He shifted in his seat, not turning towards Bashira but just making himself more comfortable. The pause was palpable.

"I don't mean to sound callous," Shoto supplied, "but it doesn't matter that much to me."

Bashira had expected as much, but the truth still stung.

"Do you want a family in the future, Shoto?" Using his first name, without an honorific, made Bashira uncomfortable. She could only do her best to stand tall. "Have you ever thought about that? About personal wants, outside of being a Hero?"

Shoto was still. "Not really. I have a family all ready, and we're still working on bettering ourselves to be better for each other."

That was understandable. Bashira had to admit it. She and Shoto had both come from dysfunctional upbringings. Shoto wanted to mend his past, while Bashira wanted to abandon hers.

"Do you want children?" Bashaira asked, her voice breathy. Her eyes were glued to the wall. What an awkward thing to throw out. "Do you want to raise future Heroes? Like... creating and training a next generation. Based on your own values. Doing the right thing."

Bashira held her eyes open. They were filling with tears. If she blinked, she would be crying. What the hell?

'Pull yourself together, Girl.'

Once she felt she had enough control over herself, Bashira looked over. She knew her eyes were glossy but she felt confident enough that she wouldn't crumble. Shoto wasn't looking at her anyway, which made it easier.

It took another minute but Shoto did say, "I'm not sure. The idea is appealing. I just can't say it's ever been a goal of mine."

His honesty, again, was both expected and hurtful.

"I never really wanted kids either," Bashira admitted. Her gaze went unfocused. "But I've thought about it more recently. I didn't have great parents, but I want to be a great parent."

'If I ever am a parent.'

"Yeah," Shoto's voice drifted into the air. "I can agree."

Bashira smiled thinly.

'But would you want to be a parent with me?'

A silence stretched on. Bashira wasn't brave enough to breech it.

"Okay," Bashira eventually exhaled. "Good night."

There were an infinite amount of sentences that Bashira wanted to add on. It just wasn't the time to present them. She settled for holding them in, knowing she would be up for half of the night going over all of the words in her head.

But that was fine. She'd live.

There was always another day, right?

"You'll be a good mother."

Bashira halted. Her fingers dug into the wall.

What?

"If you do have children," Shoto remarked coolly, "I think that you have all of the makings to be a great support system."

Chagrin. Bashira was immediately chagrined.

"I don't want to be a support system," Bashira hissed, looking back over her shoulder. "I want to be a mother. A real mother. And a partner."

'With you. You're my husband.'

Bashira re-caught Shoto's eyes in a glare. "I didn't have a choice in this, but I want to be a good wife. I just... I just don't know how to do it."

The tears couldn't be held back after that. Bashira felt the first few falling down her cheeks so she turned away, brushing them off as inconspicuously as possible.

'I want to be a good wife. A good person. A good mother...

And I want to be those things with you, Shoto. '

Shit.

Since when? Since when was she so devoted?

Was it actually Shoto as a person that she wanted, or just the idea on the whole?

Was Bashira horrible for questioning it?

Was she more weak than she'd thought? Was she really that needy?

Was it wrong to question it so much?

Were her feelings towards Shoto even legitimate?

Bashira carried all of those questions away with her. She fled to her bedroom. Shoto didn't follow.

Bashira barely slept that night. As she'd predicted.

She just cried.

(A/N) I only want to say that I wrote this in a rush. I'll edit it ASAP. I really need to go through this whole story (again) and take physical notes. I have the long-standing plot in mind, but I forget which points have already been planted, and which conversations have already been touch on. Sorry if it seems to go in circles (although that's part of the point in Shoto and Bashira's unconventional, touch-and-go relationship). "Real" writers outline all of that stuff, but I write on a whim, so things aren't in order, inevitably. *Undecided face emoji*

So unprofessional of me. *Undecided face emoji*

Thanks for reading anyway! And HOPEFULLY reviewing~