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The quiet ding of the bell in the doorway was a pleasant thing, musical and inviting as it rang through the still air of the bookshop.
Paper, Izuku had found, was excellent at dampening noise, so sounds tended to be muted among the thousands of tomes and volumes he’d collected over the years.
Still, he could make out the subtle creaking of boots on the aged hardwood floors, a careful click as a pair of sunglasses snapped closed. Izuku grinned, and when he breathed in, he smelled the sky.
“Hello? Is there a bookkeeper in here?” The voice would’ve sounded nonchalant, sarcastic even, had Izuku not known it so well. “There’s a title I’m after, a real obscure one. Think you could help me out?”
Izuku gently set aside the tower of novels he’d been cataloguing — a collection of Victorian vampire fiction, sorted by date of publication and region of origin — and stepped out from between the rows of shelves.
“I think you know where the section on aviation is by now, Rody, not to mention that you still haven’t returned the guide to Belgian aeronautics I lent you.”
Izuku’s tone was teasing as he lifted his gaze to meet his visitor’s. The other’s eyes were a cool blue-gray at the moment, their catlike pupils blown wide. They crinkled at the edges as the man laughed, an easy smile crossing his lips.
“I haven’t finished it yet. It’s a dense read, hero. I want to take my time with it.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he said it, earning a scoff from Izuku.
Still, he took a moment to let the nickname hang in the air. Hero. He’d amassed many epithets over the course of his long life. Izukael, Keeper of Heavenly Lightning, Ninth Wielder of the Divine Blade, Defender of the Starlight Child and Legionnaire of the Celestial League of Heroes.
Each title was a leaden medal; he could feel its weight around his neck, at his ankles, tethered to his hidden wings, obeying the backwards gravity of Heaven.
Poetry aside, in the end, what they were were expectations. The titles were symbolic ultimatums of sorts, and though he was grateful for praise from his heavenly superiors, that sort of pressure was a lot to put on the shoulders of one angel.
Maybe that was why hearing “hero” off the tongue of the demon Rody Soul was so different for Izuku. When Rody said it, it wasn’t a threat, or a warning, or a one-sided promise. To Rody, at least, it was simply the truth.
When Rody called him a hero, Izuku almost believed he was one.
Perhaps it was sinful, outright blasphemous even, but over the last few thousand years, he’d come to realize that he cared far more about being Rody’s hero than Heaven’s.
However, Izuku had spent far more time thinking on that fact that he’d care to admit, and there were more present problems at hand, so he dragged himself from his thoughts and back to the more pressing issue of his unreturned book.
“Rody, that volume was one of only twenty-five copies printed in that particular dialect of Dutch, plus I had it personally signed by all seven of the original co-authors. Forgive me if I’m not willing to part with another priceless aviation text until I see it safely returned.”
What Izuku didn’t say was that he’d give Rody anything he asked for so long as he asked nicely, but the demon didn’t need to know that.
Rody laughed easily, half-leaning against one of the bookshop’s intricate wooden entryways. “Don’t get your feathers all in a bunch, Oh Great Tome Guardian Supreme.”
Notably, this was not one of Izuku’s heavenly titles.
“I actually had a different genre in mind. Thought I’d shake it up a little, revisit some old favorites.”
Rody’s eyes flashed pink for a second, betraying him. Beneath that teasing tone, Rody was excited. Curiously, Izuku prodded further.
“Oh? Y’know, you could probably purchase your very own copy of Pride and Prejudice at the Barnes & Noble a few blocks over. You don’t need to keep borrowing mine.”
He was rewarded by the demon’s peachy blush. Rody always was a sucker for romance, even if he hated to admit it.
“Ha, ha,” the demon deadpanned, pushing away from his perch against the wall. A flash of pink eyes again, and then he continued.
“Really though, what was that series you always liked? The one you made me read half a century back?” He put two fingers to his chin and pouted in an exaggerated way. “The chronicles of…?”
“The Chronicles of Yueii,” Izuku finished automatically, because of course that’s what Rody meant. The Chronicles of Yueii were what the humans might call a high fantasy saga, filled with tales of dragons and warriors, of knights and kings. They captivated Izuku not just in their expert storytelling, but in their very conception in the first place.
How remarkable the human imagination was to be capable of building an entire world from nothing but thought and wonder. The Yueii series reminded Izuku why he’d become so enamored with humanity and its limitless creative potential, why he’d become so infatuated with their homegrown manifestation of magic.
Newly energized, Izuku strode back down between the long shelves to the familiar alcove where his favorite titles were kept.
“Well, you know I have a one-book-in, one-book-out policy, but I suppose I could make an exception just this once, if only because I’d love to discuss the Yueii series with you again. Maybe we could get coffee down the street sometime after you finish your re-read? The cafe a few blocks over makes an incredible flat white, and it has a great little reading nook where we could chat. You do still like coffee, don’t you? Anyways, I’d love to get your take on the Endeavor storyline through the lens of the last twenty years or so. I think there are some fascinating parallels to modern human politics, if I do say so myself. Oh, and how could I forget—“
“Izuku.”
Rody’s voice snapped the angel from his muttering. The other man was directly in front of him now, having miracled himself across the bookshop.
In the muted light cast by the wall-mounted lamps, he looked like an antique portrait, all warm skin and soft eyes with a hazy glow around his edges. His irises had taken on the pale yellow that Izuku had come to know as fondness.
“That all sounds great, I—“ Rody laughed, then caught his breath. “Yeah, let’s do all of that. Coffee and nerd-talk, you and me. It’s a date — err, it’s a plan. A planned date. A date we’ve… planned.”
Another thing the demon didn’t need to know: Izuku found Rody’s easy bravado charming, but more so, he found those rare, faltering moments where that smoothness slipped to be absolutely adorable.
Izuku, the angel that he was, granted Rody the mercy of changing the subject.
“Did you want to start with the prequels? I know they were written after the main trilogy, but I kind of like reading them according to the canon chronology.”
Izuku scanned the neat row of leather-bound books in question. What were referred to by fans as the “prequels” were actually a collection of short, standalone novels about the origins of some of the characters.
The angel deftly slid one of the gold-monogrammed volumes from its place and offered it to Rody.
“This one sets up all of the Endeavor lineage drama, so that might be a good place to start. Oh,” — he pulled down another title — “but this one covers the history between the southern Barbarian tribes and the traveling sorcerers of the western plains, so maybe this would be a better jumping off point.”
When he got no response, his gaze shifted back to Rody. The demon’s attention was elsewhere, his cat-like stare seeming to catalogue each well-worn book spine. Finally, he spoke.
“There’s one missing, isn’t there?” Rody moved towards the shelves and ran a single finger down the row of novels. “The trilogy is here, obviously, and you’ve got eight of the prequels, but wasn’t there a ninth one?”
Almost defensively, Izuku’s eyes darted back towards his collection.
“No.”
He paused.
“Well, yes, but—“
Another pause.
“Technically, no. No. It’s just the eight of them.”
Rody raised a single eyebrow and smirked. “Technically, no?” he parroted, all amusement.
Izuku sighed in an exasperated sort of way. Surely he’d ranted to Rody about the elusive ninth Yueii prequel before, hadn’t he? The demon must have known that this particular gap in Izuku’s collection — though technically not a gap at all! — was a sore spot for the angel.
Still, he began. “The author did write another one, but the manuscript never made it to publication. He talked about it in a few interviews.”
Izuku practically had the interview transcripts memorized. The ninth novel supposedly had told the story of how Yueii’s infamous Barbarian King met his faithful dragon shifter companion.
The two warriors had been virtually inseparable throughout the entirety of the main storyline, and fans had always speculated about the nature of their relationship, but this ninth installment was rumored to canonize it as something truly romantic.
It was a love story, a queer love story, or so the rumors claimed, and at the time, news of this fact had sparked bitter outrage from the less savory portion of the fanbase.
Tragically, such vicious backlash had led to the abandonment of the entire project by the publishing agency. Knowledge of Yueii’s ninth prequel faded into obscurity, and after the author’s death a decade later, Izuku had lost hope that any of it would resurface.
“It’s something of a myth at this point. I doubt it even exists anymore, if it ever did.”
Rody’s eyes were such a vibrant pink that they were almost difficult to look at.
“Huh, that’s odd,” the demon said casually, reaching into a small messenger bag that Izuku hadn’t noticed. “I wonder what this is, then.”
What Rody held was best described as a stack of papers. They were yellowed with age and crinkled from wear, their edges lovingly dog-earred and torn in some places. The stack was bound by three loops of twine woven through its left side, clearly sewn by hand. Across the first page, in simple typewriter font, was a title:
IX: Ballad of the Dragon King
If Izuku had needed to breath, he’d have passed out on the spot. His hands were on the stack of papers — Heaven above, on the manuscript — in an instant. The pages crinkled under his touch, betraying their age.
Careful not to jostle the delicate binding, Izuku peeked inside. If it was a fake, whoever had created it was an expert at mimicking the style of the Yueii novels. The spacing, page breaks, and paragraphing style were all completely consistent with the rest of his collection. If it was a forgery, it was truly an impeccable one.
He flipped through a bit further, and then he saw it: a real, honest-to-God signature scrawled in the author’s preferred green ink. He could make out the indent on the page where the tip of the a fountain pen had etched a grove into the parchment.
This, of course, could only mean one thing: shockingly, damn near unfathomably, the manuscript was genuine.
Rody looked positively ecstatic.
“How—? When did you—? How could you have—? How does this even—?” Izuku tripped through his words as attempted to parse his near-overwhelming emotions. Was this joy? Shock? Disbelief? Elation?
He looked to Rody. The demon had thrown his head back laughing as Izuku fumbled for speech, and the sight floored the angel for a second time.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the other’s sharp grin, from the way his cheeks dimpled at the corners when he smiled. He got lost in the sound for a moment. Rody’s laugh was a warm thing, and the rough tenor of it seemed to fill the air around them, making dust motes dance and space ring.
Izuku wished he could bottle it, that he could drink it like spring water when the droughts came calling.
Was this…?
“Crazy, isn’t it?” Rody spoke, the echoes of laughter still coloring his voice. “You would not believe how tough it was to get my hands on that thing. I’d have had an easier time finding the Ark of the Covenant.”
With some embarrassment, it dawned on Izuku that he was gaping quite literally slack-jawed at the other man. He clicked his mouth shut, though the demon didn’t seem to notice. He continued.
“I read it, y’know. Might be his best work. Really, it’s magnum opus material for sure. You’re gonna love it.” The blush across his cheeks was whisper-soft, but it was there.
Izuku’s scrambling brain allowed him only one word.
“How?”
Rody stuffed his hands in his pockets. His expression was sly. “That’s a long story, hero. It’d take me ages to tell it. Would probably be best told over coffee, now that I think about it. Maybe a nice flat white. You know any good places?”
Rody’s eyes were yellow again, as was everything: pale yellow lamplight, pale yellow pages, pale yellow eyes looking at Izuku as if he’d hung the stars.
Izuku had lived millennia, and his memory was impeccable, but he couldn’t recall ever being quite so happy as in this moment.
Was this…? Was this…?
It was.