The sun had barely moved before the blond started to regret his decision.
Sharp sticks and rocks stab at his bare foot as he walks. Those were his favorite pair of boots, and now he only has one of them.
He scratches at the dried dirt over his chest and arms, letting it flake off.
The dragon boy's gaze burns into the side of his skull, prodding, irritating.
The blond throws a suspicious glance at him, but it was the wrong choice, considering how the dragon must have taken it as acknowledgment.
"So," the dragon starts, unsure. "My name is Eijirou."
The forest grows thinner the further they travel, systematically so. Every fourth tree is a stump instead. They line up in a grid-like pattern.
Then, red peeks into his peripheral vision. "What is your name?"
"Don't have one."
The air is so silent the blond can almost hear the dragon's brain spin in circles.
"Um. Can you please repeat that?"
"Don't have a name," he grinds out, loathing the coming questions he knew he'd be pelted with when he left home.
"Oh! Do you have a name I may call you for ease?" They meet eyes, and the dragon smiles nervously. "I do not mean to be rude. I do not know very much of your language and culture."
"Not my language."
"Oh! I am sorry. You speak common much better than I do!" He bows awkwardly, back and neck bending with his head up.
The blond glares away. "You can call me Bakugou."
"Bakugou," he tests, the name rolling easily off his tongue. "That is very close to a word in my language. It means..." he trails off, then picks back up with a smile, "great challenge or victory. It is a good word for a name." He tilts his head into the blond's view. "What does Bakugo mean to you?"
The blond kicks a rock with his covered foot and snaps, "None of your business!"
"I am sorry."
"Shut up."
"Okay."
The dragon boy watches him out of the corner of his eye.
The blond glares ahead.
They walk until the sounds of life fade in from the distance. They are lucky the forest, no matter how thin, stretches just enough to give them cover as they grow closer to the village. The blond brings them up behind a house with a sloped straw roof. A clothesline hangs from the wall to a small tree. The clothes hanging from them still look somewhat damp, so whoever hung them wouldn't be back anytime soon.
He waves a hand at the dragon boy for him to stay. Then, he stalks up to the clothesline, scanning the area every few breaths. When the area is clear, he plucks off two long-sleeved shirts, two cowls, and a pair of pants.
Finally, he returns to the boy and tosses the appropriate garments at him. The boy fumbles with them before steadying himself to look them over. The blond rolls his eyes as the dragon sniffs them like an animal.
"Just put them on," the blond gripes as he slips on his stolen shirt and cowl. He raises the hood over his head, covering his distinctive hair.
"Why? I am fine like this." To prove his point, he stretches out his arms and legs.
The blond pointedly keeps his eyes on the dragon's face. "You're naked."
He tilts his head. "Why is that bad?"
The boy groans. "Because Endeavorans are all uppity about covering their skin." Then he crosses the distance to the dragon and pokes one of the horns on his head. "And because we're trying not to stand out. So put the stupid clothes on and stop complaining!"
The dragon shuffles the various cloths in his arms, not so sneakily stealing glances at the blond for reference as he fits his limbs into the appropriate holes, grumbling something the boy couldn't understand.
Once they've finished, the blond leads them toward the town.
"Listen," he starts with a glare. "Shut up and don't talk to anyone. Don't do anything weird." He yanks the dragon's hood over his head, covering the few bright red scales on his forehead and casting a shadow on the scales on his cheeks. "And don't let anyone see your stupid face. Got it?"
"Yes!" He answers with enthusiasm, his sharp teeth poking out from his smile.
The blond groans and drags a hand down his face, and rubs his eyes. "Let's go."
They set a brisk but cautious pace as they avoid the guarded main entrance. Instead, squeezing between two worn houses to reach the path. From what he remembers from his few visits to Endeavoran towns, he figures he must be in a less fortunate area.
His hand drifts to the pouch of gold pieces on his belt.
The roads are scarcely dotted with Endeavorans. They move quickly and with purpose. Some cast suspicious glances around them, on edge in their own home. But then he follows their gazes to the shiny armor of Endeavoran soldiers.
The blond pulls his hood down further and grabs the dragon boy's wrist. He expected some guards but nothing close to this scale.
As the residential area bleeds into the market area, more and more soldiers are present. They stand posted at corners and in between stands and buildings. They stand still, backs straight, and faces blank.
The further into the market they get, the louder it is. Music plays from further down the street, upbeat and cheerful. Red banners with orange flame icons hang from posts and the sides of buildings. The road blends from dirt to smooth stones, something unwelcome to his bare foot.
The crowd thickens around them, rushing to their destinations. Something the boy had always hated about the Endeavoran towns was how fast everyone moved. There is never a moment to rest.
He scans the signs as they walk. Some of them have Endeavoran writing on them, but most of them are only pictures of various goods.
A sign with a shoe hangs over the doorway of a small shop ahead. So, he shifts through the crowd until he's successfully freed himself and the dragon from the shifting mass of jerking elbows and careless, stomping feet.
A bell rings as he pushes the door open, drawing the brief attention of the few customers there. The shop is relatively small compared to the size of the structure.
Shelves line the walls, sparsely filled with flat leather and cloth footwear. There are some boots, but none lined with fur such as his. Most of the work was shabby at best.
With an inward grunt of reluctant acceptance, he forgets the dragon and makes his way to the cobbler at the desk in the back, working away at his next creation.
Unceremoniously, he plucks a gold piece from his pouch and flicks it onto the table. "I want a pair of boots."
The cobbler glances up at the boy from where he's sitting, hunched over, eyes critical. His stringy gray hair bounces with his movements. Then he leans back in his seat, eyes back to his project. "There are plenty of boots around. Feel free to have a look."
"Show me your better wares," he demands cooly.
The man looks at the gold piece unamused. "It'll cost you more than that. And I'll have you know, I only take Endeavoran coins here. They're much more valuable than that."
The boy grinds his teeth together. He hates playing these games. The cobbler has pinned him as a young, naive foreigner.
The bell above the door rings.
"I know what my gold is worth," he hisses, taking off his remaining shoe and placing it on the counter. "Bring me a pair like this, or I'll take my business elsewhere."
The cobbler's eyes widen a fraction as he takes in the footwear, reaching for it and asking, "May I?"
The boy nods curtly.
It is brown and lined with fur inside. A single finger traces the patterns of stylized stars stitched along the sides in yellow and orange thread. It was built to last, and it has lasted him for the past three years. He hums his awe as he turns it this way and that. The one boot is worth more than all the shoes in the store combined, and both know it.
When he's done with his show, his eyes turn to the boy once more. "This is quite the craft. May I ask where you bought it from?"
The boy finds himself staring into the eyes of a serpent, malicious and conniving.
The bell rings again.
He clenches his jaw and hardens his expression. "The boot and the gold piece for your finest pair. Final offer."
The cobbler shows his crooked, toothy grin. The gesture settles in him like facing off with a predator baring its fangs.
"Right away, sir."
The man rises from his chair and briskly saunters off to the back of the shop, already gloating about his victory.
The bell continues to ring, finally stealing his attention.
The dragon boy is at the door, reaching up with two excited, almost-clawed hands, batting at the bell. Small, bright red scales peek out from under the sleeves that drape down.
The noise draws the gazes of the other customers. They whisper to each other and subtly point at him.
The boy's fists curl up so tightly he fears he might draw blood from his palms with his fingernails. He can't just yell out "dragon," so he reluctantly whisper-snaps, "Eijirou!"
The dragon boy whips his head around at his name. His pupils are blown wide, covering his fiery red irises. Then he glances around at the Endeavorans staring at him and his eyes return to their normal, oval shape.
He has the sense to give the boy a guilty grin and quickly makes his way to his side. "I have never seen one of those things before. I am sorry."
The boy pulls the dragon's hood down further. "I told you not to do anything weird!"
Then the cobbler returns with a pair of boots in hand and hands them over. The moment the boy's hand holds the shoes, the man grabs his wrist and leans close, lowering his voice. "Glad we could come to an agreement, barbarian."
The blond shakes away the weak grip and tosses the boots to the floor. He shoves his feet into them, grabs the dragon's arm, and growls, "Let's get out of here," before pivoting on his new boots and stomping out of the shop.
Red, curious eyes burn into the back of his head.
They blend easily back into the crowd and make their way from stall to stall, steadily growing closer to the music.
The blond buys a new bag and various supplies to fill it with. After trading for a generous stock of dried meats, he packs them away and turns. His eyes shift up, but there's no dragon boy in sight.
"Eijirou!" he calls while scanning the crowd.
He joins the crowd, standing on his toes to look over the sea of people. "Eijirou!"
Something akin to panic sparks in his chest. His legs buzz with the need to run to find the dragon he needs to save his tribe.
It was stupid of him to let the dragon out of his sight for even a moment.
Then, ahead, in the center of the town, he spots the musicians playing various string and wind instruments. A boy with bright red hair poking out from under his hood watches them in awe from the back of the audience.
The blond swims through the crowd until he reaches the redhead. He grabs his arm and turns to leave. "C'mon, you shitty lizard. We still have things to do."
The dragon boy turns, eyes bright and excited. He bounces on his toes to the beat of the song. "How do they make the wood tools make the sounds?"
He blinks at the redhead. "You mean the music?"
"Yes! How do they make music from the wood?" His focus shifts between the boy and the performers, showing off his pointy teeth and a wide smile. "It is so different from my music! It is very good!"
He recenters his focus and tugs on the dragon's arm. "I don't have time for this. Let's go!"
The dragon's smile falls and he, too, focuses. "Right. I am sorry I am weird. Let's go."
As they turn from the crowd, blaring horns startle the musicians into stopping abruptly. The two boys also jump at the noise, whipping their heads around to find the source
To their left, more horns sound off. Behind them are a river of blinding sharp points and armor. They march in perfect rows. Their footfalls sync together, creating the roaring sound of beating drums.
At the front, a high-pitched, nasally-voiced man announces, "Make way for the king!"
The crowd splits in two, the blond pulls the dragon boy off to the side with the rest of the people, and pulls their hoods down.
The clanking river approaches, making the boy tilt his head down to shadow his face further.
The dragon pulls his arm out of the boy's grip and rubs the area, muttering a sound of discomfort. The boy forcefully relaxes his fists lest they draw blood from his palms.
A sense of wrong, washes over him; a revolting bile sitting in his stomach, slowly rising up his throat. His eyes climb up, and they see evil.
The Endeavoran king perches atop his mud-brown, stocky horse. His icy eyes glare ahead, oblivious to the people around him. Deep red and black fabrics cover him, accented by various gold pieces. A twisted crown filled with rubies and other gemstones crests the top of his head.
He'd met this man before, and the feeling was always the same.
The king soon passes, but the feeling remains; something dark and disgusting he wishes he could cut out of himself with his sword.
A white horse of a leaner breed follows a few paces behind. A boy his age sits on it with his back stiff and shoulders squared. His eyes are similar, but occasionally they scan over the crowd. He doesn't smile, but nods his acknowledgment to the people. The prince wears a thin silver crown that gleams in the sun. It looms over his head like a guillotine blade.
Their eyes meet and the blond quickly looks away.
After they pass, he shoulders the larger woman beside him and puts on his best Endeavoran accent. "What are they here for? We're pretty far from the palace aren't we?"
She holds her young son close to her side and watches the soldiers march by as she answers, "I'm not sure. Could his majesty be here to celebrate the start of the planting season? Perhaps they're going to all the major farming towns?"
"Could be," he forces out in a strained conversational tone. "But he's brought a lot of guard, hasn't he?"
"Well, you know how dangerous it is being this close to the border," she hums. Her secure grip on her son betrays her concern. "I'm certain they're only being cautious."
The last clinking metalheads pass by, the crowd filling up the space as it's created. Slowly, the music begins again, and the townspeople return to their business.
"Come on," he mutters to the dragon. Then he pulls him out of the crowd and away from the noise.
He can feel the dragon's eyes on him as they walk. "You do not like that man. Who is he?"
"Enji Todoroki, king of the deathmongers," he seethes.
The dragon hums something to himself, then asks, "What is a deathmonger?"
He keeps his voice down as they pass a few locals. "Him, the soldiers, everyone here; They're all deathmongers!"
The dragon doesn't respond, but the boy can hear him thinking, turning the new information around and around in his head.
Shadows begin to stretch along the road as the sun dips lower in the sky. People become fewer, and the last flashes of the cold of the season nip at his skin.
Candlelight glows from the windows of a tavern, so he redirects them toward it.
The door squeaks as he pushes it open, revealing a large area of tables filled with Endeavorans. He heads directly to the bar, keeping a keen ear out to track the distractible dragon.
Unceremoniously, he drops three gold pieces onto the counter. "One room and two good plates." The man behind the bar nods and drops a key into his hand.
"Bakugo. What kind of food do they have?" The dragon asks, entirely too close to his ear.
He pushes the redhead out of his space. "Doesn't matter. Just eat it when it's ready." Then he leads him to a table in the far corner of the room where the candlelight doesn't reach. Once he sits, he thinks better of the question. "Are there things you can't eat?"
The redhead brings a fist to his chin in thought and lightly chews on one of his knuckles. Surprisingly, his teeth don't draw blood. When he has an answer, he lowers his hand to rest on the table. "I think I can eat things humans can eat in this form, and I think I am okay to eat those things in my other form in same amounts as humans. But not amount a dragon eats? Do you understand?"
"You can't eat human food in the same proportions as a dragon. Got it."
Their plates arrive, along with two mugs of ale. The dragon sniffs the beverage, but before he could taste it, the blond takes it away. "Don't drink that stuff. I don't need you getting dumber than you already are."
The dragon gives the mug one last curious look then turns to his plate of bread and roasted meat. He pokes it with a hesitant finger and a displeased expression. "Why is the meat burned?"
"It's not burnt, just cooked." He takes a leg of meat and bites into it, forgoing the fork and knife set aside for him. It's a bit stringy and bland, but still enjoyable. It would do better with some spices.
"But why would someone burn their meat? It tastes very bad!"
"Don't you breathe fire? You'd think something that could breathe literal fire would cook their meat."
The dragon cringes back. "Very few of us breathe fire. My type does not do that."
"Whatever! Eat it or don't. It's your choice." Grumbling, he takes another bite and averts his eyes as he chews.
Slowly, the dragon picks up the slab of meat and rips a small chunk from it. His teeth tear the flesh to shreds in an intimidating display. Eventually, he swallows and licks his lips in consideration. "It is... different."
He continues to eat without complaint, only taking a few moments to poke and prod various things before trying them. By the time he's finished, the table, his hands, and his face are covered in grease and stains.
The blond wipes his own face off with the provided cloth napkin. "You eat like an animal."
The dragon wipes his mouth with his hand, spreading the filth further. "I do not understand. We are both animals. You are just slow."
A not-so-small part of the blond glows in satisfaction as they leave the mess for the Endeavorans to clean up as they leave to find their room.
The stairs groan under their weight as they ascend them. They pass by two or three doors before they stop at the door with the matching numbers on the key.
Inside is a small room with a bed, a desk with a lamp, and a window. They enter and the blond drops his bag beside the bed. It's raised a few feet higher than he's used to, but he supposes it's so the rats can't get to him while he sleeps.
"Dirty Endeavoran towns," he grumbles.
"Bakugo?"
The blond jerks his chin in acknowledgment.
"Where am I going to sleep?"
"Don't care." He pulls off one of the blankets on the bed and throws it behind him. "I'm taking the bed."
He fixes his space to his liking, placing the sword on the floor next to him. Then he turns to blow out the flame in the glass lamp and almost trips.
The dragon boy is on the floor, curled into a tight ball on top of the blanket, almost like a bird's nest.
He blinks up at him. "Is this okay?"
"Whatever." The blond blows out the candle and falls onto the bed with a thud. He pulls a blanket over his shoulder and glares at the wall.
Irritation swirls in his head, but it soon fades until he falls asleep.