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The chapel is silent except for the echo of footsteps. Izuku walk down the aisle, dressed in white and gold, the weight of a crown weighing his head down. His hands are cold. His face is blank.
At the end of the aisle, the princess waits. Her gown shines under the sunlight, her eyes soft and steady. She deserves someone who can look at her with adoration. But Izuku can’t. Not when the person he loves is standing among the knights, not when his heart has never once belonged to the crown.
His gaze shifts—he shouldn’t—but he looks anyway.
Katsuki stands by the wall, helmet on, posture rigid. His armor gleams like every other knight’s, but Izuku knows him instantly. The way his shoulders set, the way he grips his sword too tightly, its all too familiar. Izuku’s chest tightens.
No one can ever know.
In this world, men like them are not allowed to love each other. Its not just forbidden, its unspeakable. A prince who loves his knight would be ruined. A knight who dares return that love would be executed.
And yet, Izuku can’t stop looking.
He walks past Katsuki and keeps his eyes forward, every step practiced, every breath agony. The kingdom watches their prince walk toward a future built on peace and alliance.
But all Izuku feels is loss.
⸻
They’ve know each other since childhood.
Katsuki was assigned to train with the royal guard, fierce and wild even then. Izuku was quiet, awkward, more scholar than soldier. They were supposed to be worlds apart, yet they found each other anyway, in late-night sparring sessions, in whispered conversations over books, in glances that lingered too long.
It started as friendship. Then something more.
One night, when the castle slept, Katsuki kissed him. It was quick and trembling, a mistake that neither could undo.
After that, every touch, every look, every brush of hands carried danger. If anyone saw them, if anyone even suspected, it would mean ruin. Izuku’s position. Katsuki’s life.
So they learned to hide. To stand apart in daylight and reach for each other only when the world turned dark.
But that could not continue forever.
Now Izuku stands at the altar, his hands trembling as he takes the princess’s.
The priest speaks words of union and honor, of the duty that binds kingdoms together. Izuku repeats them, his voice even, his throat dry. When he looks out at the crowd, he finds Katsuki again.
Behind the visor, his eyes are hidden. But Izuku knows. He knows because his own tears burn.
⸻
When the ceremony ends, the crowd erupts in cheers.
Petals fall from above, bright against the pale stone. Izuku forces a smile because that’s what’s expected. The kingdom has gained a queen, and he’s done his duty.
Katsuki stands by the door, still and silent. Izuku’s gaze finds him again, drawn like a secret he can’t bury deep enough. Katsuki bows low when Izuku passes, but his hand trembles on his sword.
Their eyes meet for a moment. Just one.
Its never enough.
Izuku wants to stop. To speak. To tell him that none of this means anything to him. But there are hundred of eyes watching. So he keeps walking.
And Katsuki stays where he’s always been, close enough to protect him, too far to ever touch.
⸻
That night, the ballroom is loud with celebration. Music fills the space, and laughter spills from the banquet tables. Izuku sits beside his new wife, nodding when spoken to, smiling when expected. The wine tastes like ash.
Katsuki isn’t there.
Of course he isn’t. He’s a knight, not a royal guest.
When Izuku excuses himself, no one stops him. He slips away, walking the empty corridors until the sound of celebration fades behind him. The stone hallways grow quieter, colder. He stops outside Katsuki’s quarters.
The door is closed. A faint light flickers underneath.
He knocks softly.
No answer.
“Kacchan,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Its me.”
The door opens. Katsuki stands there, changed out of armor, hair disheveled, eyes red.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly. “Return to the party, my king.”
“I had to see you.”
“For what? To tell me you’re happy? To tell me the kingdom’s happy now that you’ve done your duty?” Katsuki’s voice shakes with anger he’s trying to hide.
Izuku shakes his head. “You know that’s not why.”
Katsuki looks away, jaw tight. “You shouldn’t have come. If anyone sees—”
“I don’t care.”
Katsuki’s eyes flash. “You don’t have the luxury not to care. You’re the crown. You’re everything I can’t touch.”
Izuku steps closer, desperate. “You think I wanted this?”
“I think you chose it.”
“I didn’t!” The word bursts out, too loud, too raw. “I choose you. Every day, I chose you. But this—!” He gestures helplessly toward the walls behind him. “This was chosen for me.”
Katsuki laughs bitterly. “I have a sword that can protect you, my king, but not a crown to keep you.”
Izuku’s voice breaks. “Please, you know I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Katsuki says, but he sounds tired now. “You just didn’t pick me.”
Izuku closes the distance between them. “And if I had? They’d hang you in the square.”
Katsuki doesn’t argue. He doesn’t need to. They both know its true.
For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Then Katsuki whispers, “You shouldn’t have ever loved me.”
“I’ve tried not to,” Izuku admits. “I’ve failed.”
Katsuki turns his face away. “We’ll both burn for it.”
Izuku reaches up and touches his cheek. Katsuki flinches but doesn’t move away. “Then let me burn,” Izuku says. “Just don’t make me live without you.”
Katsuki exhales shakily. His eyes close. “Just tonight,” he says at last.
Izuku nods.
⸻
They make love that night, close, quiet, afraid, until the candles burn low. There are no grand declarations, no promises they can’t keep. Just the sound of breathing, the warmth of hands that should never touch.
When dawn breaks, the light catches Katsuki’s face, softening the hard lines. Izuku memorizes him, the scar on his cheek, the shadow beneath his eyes, he take Izuku’s breath away.
But he knows what comes next.
Izuku stands, fixing the folds of his robe. He places the crown back on his head and almost sags under its weight.
Katsuki bows, low and formal. “Your Majesty.”
“Don’t,” Izuku says. His voice cracks.
Katsuki looks up at him. There’s everything in that look, love, anger, grief, and then nothing. “I’ll stand by your side,” he says quietly. “As close as this world allows me.”
Izuku nods. There’s nothing left to say.
He turns to leave, but stops at the door. “If the world were different…”
Katsuki’s voice cuts in. “Its not.”
And that’s the end of it.
Izuku walks back into the bright morning, to the life he was born to live. The queen waits. The kingdom waits.
Behind him, Katsuki closes the door.
They will both keep their vows, Izuku to his crown, Katsuki to his king.
And Katsuki will love Izuku to his dying days, forever loyal but not Royal.