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From up in the clouds, the abandoned ship glowed like an island city.
The sea was black against its many shining floors, all of its windows and decks still brightly burning stubbornly against the dark. At the top level, an oblong pool was left uncovered, sloshing at the mercy of the rough evening waters, littered with specks of windblown garbage.
It was a picture of chaos fixed in time. That was the evacuation procedure, apparently—drop everything and go. No crew was to stay behind and lock up or shut down the generators. Everything was left as-is, and Katsuki was grateful for it.
If he was going to figure out what the fuck happened here, the scene had to stay untouched. He needed a trail to follow, first and foremost.
Especially on a ship this uselessly big.
As much as he hated to admit it, Katsuki had vastly underestimated the size of a cruise liner. He’d never seen one up close before. It all but swallowed the horizon as the helicopter approached, blowing food wrappers and umbrellas across the promenade as they neared its towering hull.
Maybe he should have brought along a few sidekicks.
Katsuki tightened a gloved hand around the gunner door, throwing it open wide. It would take them hours to get here if he called them now. It’s not like he trusted those brats, anyway. This was still doable. He’d just have to kick his ass into gear.
He scanned what he could of the littered deck from above. Serving trays full of food were toppled everywhere, and lounge chairs had been thrown on their sides, some blown against the railings. Next to the muster station, a colorful selection of luggage had been left in a pile.
The five-hundred unhappy people that had been filed into rescue boats hadn’t been able to take their shit with them, apparently. This cruise line was in for one hell of a lawsuit.
This was a major security fuck-up, after all. They’d allowed a drug-dealer villain with an active warrant on board—security for everything under the sun had begun to cut corners in peacetime—but of course, Hawks being Hawks didn’t see fit to alert the cruise line when they tracked him to the port.
This is a golden opportunity, he’d said. We’ll stick somebody on him so he’ll never hurt a fly, and he’ll lead us to his people in Kagoshima.
It was only allowed to happen because that somebody was Izuku. The number four hero, savior of the world, Izuku. One drug dealer could never best him. The risk for civilian casualties was practically zero.
Or it was, until the guy decided to go on a fire-starting rampage.
Hawks was confused by this behavior, but Katsuki had a good guess. This was Izuku’s first undercover job. He wasn’t exactly the secretive type of guy—if that villain so much as breathed wrong at one of those passengers, that would be the end of that. Mask off, suit on, goodbye drug bust.
Katsuki had been shocked when Izuku told him he took the job, honestly. It was a surprising break in his routine of school, patrol, sleep-maybe-three-hours, and repeat.
They’d been working together non-stop since the rankings were announced last year. So much so, the news stations had weekly segments dedicated to their movements—the wonder duo was connected at the hip again this week. The number four and number five heroes are always on good terms, no matter where they go.
That much was true on the surface. But Izuku was exhausted from keeping up with both jobs, even if he’d never admit it was running him into the ground. He always kept his struggles to himself. He only ever talked about the good parts of teaching and heroism, only how blessed he is to be living this life. As if he’d desecrate something if he admitted that it was hard sometimes.
The suit had somehow made him conscious of others, if that was even possible. To this day, he never allowed Katsuki to pay the bill when they met up for drinks. Let me, Kacchan. You’ve paid for enough.
If Izuku was burnt out from his new double life, of course Katsuki would be the last person he’d tell.
So when Izuku decided to go undercover—something he’d usually never do—Katsuki figured he was at his breaking point. Of course that freak couldn’t actually take a vacation. But going on a mission so far away he would be forced to live only one life? That was the most Izuku version of a vacation there was.
The distress call arrived at a quarter past eight. At first, Katsuki assumed it was some kind of test—he’d stumbled out of bed and pulled the screaming watch from its charging station, squinting at the flashing orange display.
Izuku had never used this function of the suit before. The monitoring watch was mostly a clunky tracker device, but this was its primary feature: a direct SOS line if he ever needed it. Katsuki always wore it under his costume just in case.
The shrill wail lasted only a few seconds before cutting off. Katsuki had glowered at it, wishing he could slam the ridiculously expensive thing against the wall, furious to be woken up for no reason—but then his mind started turning.
It looked like a fluke, certainly. An alert that short that silenced itself? It could be an error in the system.
But the suit didn’t make mistakes, as far Katsuki knew.
System failure or user ejection was the automatic trigger for the alarm. Manually, Izuku could send a distress signal with a set of codes entered in succession. None of the stress tests Melissa performed activated the alarm outside of any of those cases.
That thought alone was strange enough to keep him from going back to bed. The short call to Hawks confirming the ship had been structurally compromised got him dressed.
When the coast guard reported that Izuku wasn’t among the evacuees, Katsuki was on the first helicopter they could find.
Hawks wasn’t alarmed yet—Izuku was the world’s most competent hero, after all. He’s probably off pursuing the guy, he’d said. Let him work.
But the location of the short distress call had been here, in the middle of the ocean. There was a chance Izuku never made it off this ship.
And with how exhausted he’d seemed lately, Katsuki wasn’t going to take chances. Fatigue led to mistakes, even for the goddamn savior of the world. And if those annoying news shows had anything right about the two of them, it was the loyalty. If Izuku stepped in shit, Katsuki stepped in it too.
“Beginning descent. How close do you need to be?”
The pilot's voice crackled too loudly in Katsuki’s earpiece. It was an uncomfortable hunk of junk, old, retired tech they lent him from the coast guard base that no one was using.
“Here’s good,” said Katsuki, approaching the drop off. The deck was still hundreds of feet below him, but even from this distance, spots of clearly charred deck were visible. It was a miracle there had been no casualties, but miracles happened everywhere Izuku went.
The young paramedic beside him went wide-eyed. “Here?” she asked, cupping her microphone to muffle the deafening engine. “We can get you closer.”
“Nah,” Katsuki stretched his arms, squinting through the mess of his fringe whipping into his eyes. He hadn’t even combed his hair before he left. “Stand back, though. It’s gonna be loud.”
The paramedic plastered herself to the back of the medical bay with a thumbs up. Katsuki leapt off the edge and exploded through the churning wind, lighting up the mist as he arched over the bridge. It was a mess on the north deck—definite signs of battle, and deep scraping in the woodgrain. Traces of the suit’s metal-reinforced boots, probably.
A sign of Izuku, but no Izuku. At least there was no blood.
Another detonation sent him flying back to center ship. Remnants of a struggle remained here as well—the tile path leading to the lobby was seared and chipped. As Katsuki’s boots hit the deck, he peered inside the vast double doors. They were propped open with obnoxiously patterned chairs from the foyer.
“Izuku?” He shouted. The sound was dampened over the rumble of the helicopter above. “Hey, nerd!”
He was met with nothing but the sound of waves and a creaking stern. With one final look around the deck, Katsuki crossed through the entrance into the waiting silence.
The atrium was left in disarray. Shattered glass crunched beneath Katsuki’s boots as he crept into the polished rotunda. Art pieces had fallen from the walls, vases from their glass-encased perches, and the grand chandelier hanging from above was half-stripped of jewels, the crystals ripped from their chains by something that had caught it from below.
Katsuki wondered if it had been Izuku, hanging there screaming at everyone to get out, catching those in the way of falling glass with Blackwhip and sweeping them to safety. The wreckage didn’t suggest targeted arson—there were holes in the patterned glass ceiling, overturned benches. The welcome desk had been cracked in half, the drapery behind it seared. There had been a struggle inside as well, and a lengthy one from the looks of it.
The thought sent Katsuki’s pulse racing. A run-of-the-mill street villain shouldn’t have given Izuku this much trouble. Hostage situation, maybe?
“Izuku,” he called again. The echo was strong against the vaulted dome above. “You in here?”
More silence.
Katsuki sighed, reading his belt grenades. “Stupid, reckless ass…”
He held a few in hand as he neared the unlit hallway. It was the only option for combat in a confined space—everything aside from the smallest grenades would blow straight through the walls. Of course Izuku would get lost in a cruise ship of all places. if the villain was still here, Katsuki wouldn’t be able to use his full power unless he lured him to the deck and into the open air.
Maybe Izuku had the same problem.
Katsuki took a deep breath. Getting ahead of himself was a pointless distraction. But ever since the war, he was plagued with this new infuriating, incessant worry. It was idiotic to baby Izuku to this degree, he knew that much. Izuku was just as capable as he was—frustratingly more so—but every time he left the walls of UA to run headfirst into danger, Katsuki’s chest lit up with panic.
It only lasted a moment, but every time they left for patrol, Katsuki felt it. It was consuming, world-ending fear that tore him up, flaring to the surface uninvited. The fear of losing Izuku had always been present in some way, ever since they were kids. Not wanting him to move away, because it was fun playing together. Not wanting to be left behind, when Izuku was improving too rapidly for him to follow. Worrying that he’d get himself killed to hand the world peace on a platter.
Those fears had been consuming, but in a way that was to be expected. In the years since Izuku returned to hero work, that fear had turned into something desperate and shattering. When news of hero casualties hit the local tv stations, Katsuki always found himself thinking the same thing.
Please, God, anyone but Izuku. Anyone but him.
It was a thought that always came with nauseating guilt. He didn’t want any of their friends to die. The hero profession was endlessly shrinking, and after ten years of peace, it was now a small, tight-knit field in every prefecture. Katsuki would mourn whoever it was.
He just didn’t know if he could survive mourning Izuku.
It was that thought that had led him here, walking the abandoned corridors of a ship in the middle of the night, when the rest of the world was still convinced he was perfectly fine. He probably was, truthfully. But Katsuki wouldn’t be able to sleep until he saw it with his own two eyes.
The golden light of the atrium was far behind him now. The main hallway was blanketed in darkness, though an occasional spark from the passageway lights above offered a glimpse of the wide path ahead. The tiny flashlight he’d plucked from his belt was only a pinpoint in the shadow, revealing glimpses of jumbled storefronts lining the corridor. A fuse must have blown here—the rest of the ship still had power, but—
A harsh whistle split the air behind him, leaving a chill in its path.
Katsuki whipped around, grenade and torchlight in one hand, palm sparking in the other. He scanned the way he came, all the way up to the gold-painted ceiling, through every shop he could find.
No movement.
“Hey,” he shouted, “Arsonist freak. Come out now and I won’t blow your balls off.”
No answer came from the dark.
“You wanna add resisting two pro heroes to your charge?” Katsuki swept the light in the other direction. “That’s another three to four years, ‘ya piece of shit. Get out he—”
A sharp sting cracked across Katsuki’s cheek.
He stumbled backwards from the force of it, his ears ringing. What the—that asshole had slapped him. He swung the flashlight around again, searching for a glimpse of a retreating figure. The hallway remained perfectly still.
An invisibility quirk of some kind, then. A support item, maybe.
“Playing some kinda prank, huh?” Katsuki spat. “Piece of sh—”
A cold, vice-like grip seized his throat.
He tried to gasp, but his lungs only seized and tightened, clawing at his ribs, straining helplessly against the confines of his chest. The touch was like compressing stone—cold and immovable, like a boulder had fallen on his windpipe, sealing off any hope of air. Katsuki clawed at the grip but found nothing to hold on to, only the skin of his neck bending by itself, concave under unrelenting pressure.
His lungs jerked again, desperate for breath, and his palms erupted, igniting explosion after explosion in a frantic barrage, the walls be damned. But the grip only strengthened, locking him in place with superhuman force that only intensified with every passing second.
Katsuki’s vision began to dim. His spine would snap at this rate. How do you fight an enemy you can't touch? None of his explosions were doing anything.
He could die like this. He was dying right now. That wasn’t supposed to be possible—Izuku. He needed to find Izuku. There’s no way he could go out like this, choked to death in an empty hall like a pathetic nobody, while he could still be in danger. What if the suit was out of commission? Quirkless, suitless Izuku trapped here with an invisible villain? He needed to get out of this. He needed to find him.
But despite the indignation, the outrage, despite everything that still needed to be done, it was no use. Katsuki’s head pounded and swam, the pressure building between his temples so intense he worried it would burst. But soon enough even his thoughts started fade, reduced to nothing but air, air, air, please, air—
Until the world went mercifully black.
“Hey, sir. Police guy, hey.”
A voice. A young voice that at first was miles away, until suddenly it wasn’t. It drew closer with every word, tugging him back from nothingness.
Katsuki’s eyes fluttered open to pitch black.
He groaned at the throbbing behind his eyes. There was a sharp, cutting ache blooming in his neck. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized his body was propped up somewhere, strangely bent like a ragdoll thrown against a wall.
Oh shit.
He took a deep breath and wiggled one foot, then the other. Okay, not paralyzed. Good.
“You’re not dead right?” The voice asked. It was light, almost whimsical.
“Get away,” Katsuki raised a palm in the direction of the sound, igniting a steady stream of flashes.
“Okay, not dead.”
A child approached and crouched in front of him, her face just barely visible through the glow of the sparks. She looked like one of Izuku’s brats—maybe fourteen, could be younger. She wore a band shirt so large it dwarfed her shoulders, and her hair was tucked behind her ears in a blunt bob, with not a single black strand out of place.
“Back up,” Katsuki braced a shaking hand on his arm, steadying his aim as the sparks intensified. All of his muscles were weak, and his thoughts were still cloudy, like he was stuck in a dream, fighting to shake himself awake. “I’m warning you.”
“Whoa,” She stood and held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, chill.”
“What did you do to me?” Katsuki rasped, pulling himself upright.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You tried to fuckin’ strangle me.”
“No,” she said flatly, “That Whistler tried to strangle you. I just saved your life. You police guys are always rude.”
Katsuki dragged a palm down his face, winching at the bruise forming on his cheek from the slap. He was exactly where he was attacked before—whoever attacked him hadn’t taken him anywhere. Had this girl chased the villain off by herself?
She was blinking down at him in the dark with a scowl, her arms crossed over her huge shirt. No, it couldn’t have been her. She was just a kid.
“Are you one of the passengers?” He asked, staggering as he tried to stand.
“Yeah, I was.”
Katsuki sighed and reached for his headset. “I’ve got a civilian down here needing evac.”
“Rodger that,” came the immediate reply. “Send them to the north deck.”
The girl raised a brow. “Hey, uh, mister—”
“What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you hear the announcement? Muster stations, and all that?”
“It was kind of impossible not to. Went on for ages.”
Katsuki dusted shattered glass off his uniform and swiped his flashlight from the ground, pointing it at her. “Then why—”
In the expansive corridor, the girl was considerably tiny. A shrimp, really. She rested her hands on her hips and tapped the heel of her combat boots like she was expecting Katsuki to say something, and was grossly inconvenienced by the wait.
And she was…vaguely blue.
Katsuki approached, shining the light closer. She wasn’t just tinted blue. She was half-transparent. Every detail of the cafe behind her was visible through her face. She frowned, reaching out a pale hand to point the flashlight away.
“You're blinding me, mister.”
“What quirk is this?” He whispered. “Invisibility?”
The girl sighed. “You’re one of those people. This isn’t a quirk. I’m dead.”
Ah, shit. Katsuki lifted the headset mic to his mouth. “Civilian needs medical attention. Probable head trauma.”
“Rodger, prepping stretcher.”
“Hey—”
“What’s your name, kid?”
The girl narrowed her eyes. They were unexpectedly sharp, lined with a smear of black shimmer, and barely visible under the thick cut of her bangs. “Yura.”
“You hurt anywhere, Yura? Bleeding?”
“Uh…no.”
“Good. Did you see which direction that guy went? The one who attacked me?”
“Well, that way.” She pointed deeper into the shadow. “But the Whistlers are gone now. Ran off to the lower floors, probably. I’m top dog around here, so they’re scared of me." She flexed a tiny, pale arm. "The younger you die, the more powerful you are. It’s pretty nice.”
Katsuki frowned. This girl must have hit her head pretty hard. "Okay. Go out on the deck and wave your arms. They’ll send someone down to pick you up.”
Yura stepped in front of him as he turned to leave. “You’re here for that mech suit guy right? The one who evacuated everyone? He had a headset thingy like yours.”
Katsuki's pulse faltered for a moment. “You’ve seen him?”
“Yeah, I just saw him, actually.”
“Where? Where is he?”
“Um,” her gaze trailed away. “That’s a good question. I know where part of him is, but—“
“The fuck does that—” Katsuki clamped his mouth shut. Don’t scream at the kid with a head injury, Katsuki. “Tell me where you saw him. Please.”
“The indoor pool room. Two floors down in the center. He’s been there for hours.”
Hours?
The ship had been damaged from the fires, but the radios in the control room still worked. If the ship still had power, there was probably even WiFi. Even if the suit was out of commission, if Izuku was conscious, he should have been able to call for help somehow.
But any intel from a delusional brat wasn’t reliable either way. At least it was a solid direction to start.
He turned to thank her, but the words died in his throat when he noticed he was alone.
“Hey!” Katsuki called. “Hey, kid!”
“Watch your back, okay?” Came Yura’s answer from a distance. Katsuki shined the flashlight in the direction of her voice. She was going deeper into the ship. “The whistlers shouldn’t bother you at the top levels anymore,” she said, “But stay out of dark corners to be safe. And the kitchens.”
“Where the hell are you—Yura!”
“Dynamight,” the earpiece buzzed, “We don’t have visual on that civilian yet.”
Katsuki swore and took off after her. “Standby. I lost her. Yura?”
He ripped apart every souvenir shop along the way, searched under display tables, behind counters, everywhere a teenage brat with a rebellious streak would hide just to piss someone off. But the walkway eventually ended, leading him to a dead end marked by a stuffy abstract painting and an unlit exit sign.
She had definitely gone this direction. But even as he retraced his steps up the walkway again, there was no sign of her. No footprints or scuffs in the plush carpet. She hadn’t even made a sound. It was entirely silent aside from occasional groan of the ship settling itself from below.
Katsuki glanced towards the nearest set of emergency stairs—he should get to Izuku first. At least he knew where he was. If he could still move, they could split up and do a full search twice as fast, and drag that kid out of here by force.
He burst through the door and moved quickly through the pitch black stairwell, hand trailing the rail for guidance. He shoved open the door to B3, wincing as bright light spilled into the corridor. The main walkway on this level was much narrower, lined by wide slabs of sandstone and women's swimsuit shops.
There has to be a sign here, something with a swimming icon, a map of some kind. But the walls only offered framed photos of sealife and inlaid fish tanks.
Katsuki sighed. Tacky maze of a ship. Nothing else to do but pick a direction and start moving.
“—Might, standing tall, helping people one and all…”
From the far end of the hall, a soft, familiar song drifted through the air.
“Courage, heart, shining light…”
A man’s voice. Izuku’s voice. It had to be him—who else would be singing that goddamn All Might theme song?
Katsuki took off down the hall, his boots splashing through the thin layer of water from a shattered tank, the song leading him straight to a pair of metal doors just up ahead.
He threw them wide, eyes racing across the white-tiled room, over empty lounge chairs and discarded towels. His breath hitched at a blur of movement at the far side of the pool, and then he saw him. Izuku sat at the pool’s edge, staring back at him with wide eyes.
The underwater lights cast his face in shifting blues and greens, rippling soft color across his cheeks. He was stripped down to his black thermal undersuit, but otherwise unharmed—there wasn’t a scratch on him, no immobilizing injury, no mortal wound.
He was okay. Izuku was okay.
“Kacchan?” he whispered. The soft sound carried across the water easily, swirling up into the high lacquered ceilings. It was difficult to see his expression—the overhead lights weren't working here either. Only the ones in the water, lighting their faces from below.
But from what Katsuki could see, Izuku didn’t look very happy to see him.
He blinked at Katsuki a few times, then rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t quite believe what was in front of them. Then he scrambled to his feet, his mouth twisting and wobbling the same way it always did when he was about to burst into waterworks.
Katsuki hadn’t quite known what to expect when he finally found him. Maybe a few injuries, maybe a broken arm to splint. And sure, on the flight over, maybe he did imagine Izuku’s relieved smile a few times. A few cheerful versions of Kacchan, you came!
What he hadn’t expected was Izuku sprinting in the opposite fucking direction. Frantically, clumsily. As fast as his thermal socks allowed.
He was out the back exit before Katsuki could react. The door crashed shut behind him, the sound biting and final.
“Jeez, what did you say?”
In the blink of an eye, Katsuki found himself face to face with a familiar pair of glitter-lined eyes
“You—Yura,” he spluttered. What kind of quirk was this? “How—how the hell did you—”
“Sorry,” she said, smiling. It was decently apologetic. “Did I freak you out?”
Katsuki rubbed a hand over his face. He’d take the answer to that question to his grave. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I just wanted to see if you found him,” Yura shrugged. “If you’re worried about that villain, he’s gone now. He escaped pretty early.”
A sharp ache bloomed behind Katsuki’s brow. Kids these days have no fear. Deep breaths. Patient, hero-like breaths. “I don’t care. Go out to the deck now.”
“Whoa, fine,” Yura planted her hands on her hips. A collection of colorful bracelets rattled from the motion. “I’ll leave you alone. But if you’re going to search for the rest of your friend, could you make it quick? The ship is pretty heavy.”
Then, in a puff of vaguely blue smoke, she was gone again.
A sound followed in her wake: the distant shut of a heavy door. Izuku was still close.
Katsuki took off running, boots squeaking across the wet tile as he followed the echo. The back exit opened into a different corridor—a grander one—with red velvet carpet bordered in gold and polished oak arches. At every turn, another restaurant appeared: buffets, sit-downs, even small takeaway carts tucked into corners. Plates of half-eaten food still sat on the tables, their chairs knocked over in a rush. The alarms must’ve gone off in the middle of dinner hour.
The slam of another door ahead caught Katsuki’s ear. He tore around the corner into a lavish buffet, just in time to spot a flash of green vanishing through a metal push door at the back. Katsuki bolted after him, propelling himself forward with a burst from his palms, bursting through the revolving door into a spotless industrial kitchen.
The clang of bowls and rattling of metal shelves filled the room. Katsuki followed the noise down the long line of tables and stoves to a corner, where the contents of an external freezer lay spilled across the floor.
Katsuki approached the narrow appliance. It was older than the others, dented along the edges—and wiggling.
“Izuku?” Katsuki stepped around the discarded bags of dough. “Are you in the freezer?”
“No,” came the muffled reply.
Not many times in Katsuki’s life had he been rendered speechless by Midoriya Izuku. Somehow, in the last five minutes, it had happened twice.
Had everyone on this ship sustained a head injury?
Katsuki rubbed at the ache at back of his neck. As bizarre as this was, he’d looked genuinely upset earlier. Aizawa’s monotone voice rang in his mind: When the terrain is unknown, don’t rush the charge. “Right.” he said, “And why are you...not in the freezer?”
“Kacchan, you should go.”
“Hah?” Katsuki banged a fist against the metal. An undignified squawk sounded from inside. “You’re acting fucking crazy and you want me to leave?”
So much for not rushing.
“I’ve got everything under control here,” Izuku said, straining to speak through over the internal hum.
“You just emptied out a bread freezer to hide from me.”
“Is that what this is?” Izuku laughed weakly. “I love bread.”
“Izuku.”
“Y-yeah?”
“Get out. You’re gonna freeze.”
“I’m toasty, actu—Kacchan!”
Katsuki closed a hand around the handle and yanked hard. Of course the damn thing didn’t budge—Izuku was holding it shut from the inside. But they both knew who benched more at the gym, and that it was only a matter of time.
“Wait, wait, no,” Izuku sputtered. "I'm not ready, I'm—"
“I swear to fucking god, tell me what is going on or I will blast these hinges—”
“Okay! Okay, I’ll come out. Just...don’t freak out, okay? Or yell. Please don’t yell.”
“Fine,” Katsuki grunted, brain reeling. What could be so embarrassing that Izuku would resort to this? Did the suit singe off the back of his hair? “I won’t yell.”
The door creaked open, the metal shuddering as it swung wide, and Katsuki’s breath stilled in his lungs.
It was unmistakable in the harsh industrial light. Izuku’s body was faint and translucent, edged with a cool blue glow—just like that kid from before.
He fidgeted for a moment, probably thinking about running again, but the instant his eyes fell on Katsuki's face, his nervousness turned to worry. “What happened to you? Oh my god—your neck.”
Izuku reached out a hand instinctively, but caught himself. There were probably ugly bruises blooming there.
But Katsuki couldn’t answer. His mind was racing, running every scenario he could think of that would make this make sense. Had that girl quirked him? Was it the villain? Had he been hit with a hallucination quirk himself? Was any of this real?
“Kacchan?”
“Uh,” Katsuki swallowed. “Villain got the jump on me.”
“What?” Izuku frowned. “The villain got away hours ago. Did he—”
A piercing whistle tore through the air.
An hand suddenly seized Katsuki by the arm, cold and unrelenting as steel. Panic shot up his spine as he was yanked off balance and dragged, then hurled into the wall so forcefully the pans above were knocked loose, crashing around him in a deafening heap. He tried to push himself up immediately, to raise a hand in self-defense, but his limbs were too heavy, his vision swimming severely from the impact.
He could only watch as his attacker approached, casting a large shadow cast over half the room.
But as Katsuki looked closer, that's truly all he was. A massive shadow with rippling arms and legs and no head. A bizarre, undulating creature—one he knew would kill him if he didn’t get his shit together.
Countless others assembled behind him. They flew in from the cabinets and stoves and refrigerators, converging like a pack of wolves that had been lying in wait. The whistling rose into a chorus of wailing, a groaning keen that trembled between sorrow and madness.
Nausea rolled in Katsuki’s gut as he struggled to push himself up. His balance was fucked, his ears were ringing, and black spots flickered at the edge of his vision. What a time to get the nastiest concussion of his goddamn career.
“Kacch—”
In a rush of icy wind, a clamp descended on Katsuki’s throat, squeezing with the same merciless force he felt before.
Every attempt to break free was futile—his hands slid right through it, and his explosions didn't even make them flinch. He fired again, palms flaring, but the blasts sputtered as soon as they landed, each one a useless spark against the hungry void.
“Okay, pack it up.”
The voice of a young girl brought everything to a halt.
The groaning built to a alarmed shriek that rattled the walls, and then the figures turned, surging toward the back door. They poured through the narrow opening, their bodies thick and black, like tar forced through a pinhole. One by one, they vanished, leaving the room in complete disarray.
Katsuki slumped against the wall, breath coming hard and uneven. Izuku was beside him in an instant, reaching out and cupping his cheek, turning his face to examine the damage, but his hand didn’t feel…right. It was like ice, closer to touch of those things than the touch of a human.
But Izuku’s expression was familiar enough. His lashes were wet with unshed tears, his mouth trembling around words Katsuki couldn’t quite hear. He was holding up a peace sign? Oh, he was asking how many fingers. Katsuki answered as best he could, but it wasn’t good enough, apparently. The worried line between Izuku's brows only deepened.
In his dizzy haze, Katsuki couldn’t help but feel relieved. This was the Izuku he knew. The one who was glued to his side, always making excuses to see him. Looking up at him with those wide green eyes that sparkled when he said his name.
Izuku didn’t run away from him. He didn’t hide.
“Don’t do that again,” Katsuki mumbled. He hadn’t meant to, really, but it came out anyway.
Izuku froze and withdrew his hands. “Oh, sorry. Um, can you stand?”
Katsuki frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. But Izuku was already backing up to a safe distance. The loss of his attention left an hollow hole in Katsuki’s chest.
Yura gazed down at them disapprovingly from her perch on the prep counter. “I told you both to stay out of the kitchens.”
Katsuki coughed, wincing at the pull of sore muscles in his neck, but forcing the words from his throat. “What the fuck are those things?”
“Whistlers," Yura sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Kacchan, you need to go,” said Izuku. “Those things are going to kill you.”
“You’re not crying,” Yura narrowed her eyes at Katsuki. She turned to Izuku next, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s not crying. He must not like you very much.”
“I haven’t told him,” Izuku mumbled.
Katsuki braced a hand on the wall, shooting a glare between them once he was steady on his feet. “What haven’t you told me? You both know something, don’t you? What quirk is this?”
“Kacchan,” Izuku looked like he was going to be sick. “I think I’m… uh…”
Yura nodded at him encouragingly.
Izuku’s throat bobbed as his slid his gaze to the floor. “I think I’m… dead.”
For a moment, Katsuki couldn’t think at all. He simply stood there, breathing mechanically, each inhale deliberate and forced, as the words tried to settle in his mind.
But they couldn’t. They were too illogical, too nonsensical. Terrifying, yes, but that terror was so completely unfounded, it was hard to be swallowed by it. Izuku couldn’t be dead if he was right in front of him. Talking to him, moving, touching him. There was no way for that to happen.
“That’s not…” he started, still a little dazed. “That’s impossible.”
“We think he’s dead,” Yura corrected. “We don’t know for sure yet. He’s got a heartbeat, but as you can see, he’s also clearly a spirit now. I’ve been helping him look for his body, but I haven’t found anything yet.”
“Do you…” Katsuki’s hands clenched at his sides. “Do you realize how crazy that sounds? You’re not dead, Izuku. Neither of you are dead. Obviously this is some kind of quirk affecting you both.”
“Kacchan—“
“Well I’m dead.” Yura shrugged. “Can’t speak for your buddy here, but I’ve been floating around this ship for two years.”
Katsuki dragged a hand over his face. “This girl is confused. You can’t listen to her. That villain must have had some illusion quirk or something. Maybe some mind control shit, I don’t know.”
“You know, I thought police officers would be smarter.” Yura folded her arms. “I told you there’s no villain here. You’ve never heard of spirits? Ghosts? The departed?”
“We’re heroes," Katsuki said, "Not police. And one of that shit is actually real.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, “I think she’s actually…departed.”
“Oh, it’s real,” Yura lifted a hand and snapped her fingers.
Every cabinet in the kitchen burst open at once. The noise hit like an explosion, a tangle of shrieking hinges and shattering metal that sent broken plates skittering across the tile. Izuku yelped, stumbling back until he was half-hidden behind Katsuki’s arm.
“Any Paranormal Activity fans?” Yura asked, as if she hadn’t just turned the room into a war zone.
Izuku shook his head furiously.
“It’s shit anyway.” She snapped her fingers again, and her outline wavered. In an instant she was gone, and the blue light left in her wake condensed into a little boy crouched atop the bread freezer, grinning down at them with a smile too wide for his face.
“The Grudge,” The boy said, in a high, croaking voice. “It’s a classic.”
Katsuki's mind was racing. This girl was showcasing multiple high-powered quirks. Invisibility, teleportation, telekinesis, shapeshifting. Abilities that had never appeared together before, at least not in any registry he’d ever seen.
There wasn't an explanation to reach for. She was beyond anything he could reason out, outside the patterns and rules he trusted. Which meant he couldn’t completely deny that she wasn’t what she claimed to be.
“Izuku,” Katsuki took a step back. “I don’t like this shit.”
“There we go.” The boy said, before swirling back into Yura. She swung her legs atop freezer, bumping her combat boots into the door. “Your friend is on the right track now.”
"I know," said Izuku, "It's really weird. I don't like it either, but—"
"What do you remember?" Katsuki asked, catching him by the arm. He scanned every inch of him, eyes racing over his body for signs of injury, a clue. Some form of explanation. “What the fuck happened here? Tell me everything.”
“I remember pursuing the villain and putting out those fires." Izuku turned in a full circle obediently, allowing Katsuki to search his back, then under his armpits. "Then he dove into the sea and then...nothing. Until I woke like this.” he turned to Yura. “Do you remember? How you...uh…”
“Of course I do.” Yura smiled wistfully. “Family vacation gone wrong. I got a creepy old man to buy me a drink, then got so hammered I tripped down the stairs and,” Yura’s neck suddenly elongated, then bent at 90 degree angle like a straw. Izuku screamed.
“He’s not dead,” Katsuki said, the words bursting from him. “You said he’s got a heartbeat.”
“He does," Yura nodded, "But I don’t know. Weird shit happens on the red moon.”
“There’s an eclipse?” Izuku frowned.
Yura raised a brow. “You didn’t know? You two got real unlucky getting on this ship tonight. You're on the oldest running cruise liner in Japan during the biggest red moon in fifty years.”
“Oh no,” Izuku wilted against the freezer. “That sounds bad.”
“You’re tell me moon juju is the reason those things are hurting us?” Katsuki scoffed. “Do you know how that sounds?”
“Pretty fantastical, I know.” Yura shrugged. “But folklore exists for a reason. The eclipse is the only reason they can touch you. And the only reason Mister Kacchan here can see us.”
“Dynamight,” Katsuki muttered. “Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.”
“Okay,” Yura said slowly, “Whatever you want, buddy. Anyway, once the sun comes up, they won’t be able to hurt you anymore."
Katsuki glanced toward the doorway where the shadows had funneled out. Sunrise was still hours away, and those freaks could return at any moment. Yura was the only one who seemed able to control them, but she was too unpredictable to rely on.
Plus, whatever she was, she’d clearly be fine here by herself until they reported to Hawks. They’d send backup to investigate and recover her.
If they could recover her. If she was even human. They didn’t have time to think about that now, though. One thing at a time.
“Okay look," Katsuki turned to Izuku, who had slumped to the floor, his eyes empty with defeat. "I don’t know what’s happening here, but we’ve gotta go. Those things are bad news.”
Izuku's lip trembled for a moment, then he averted his eyes. “I…can't leave.”
“What?” Katsuki glared down at him. “Cause of the girl? You saw what she just did. She’s not in any danger.”
“No, it’s—” Izuku huffed. “It’s hard to explain.”
“It’s part of the whole deal," said Yura, “Where you die is where you stay.”
“He’s not—” Katsuki jabbed a finger at her. “He’s not dead. You said he wasn’t like you. Whatever you are.”
“I don’t know what he is.” Yura floated down from the freezer, landing soundlessly between them. “He could be dying, or he could already be dead, and he’s just a new type of spirit. I don’t know what’s going on. But I’ll help you, okay?”
Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “What's the catch?"
"No catch. It’s real crowded here as it is. I don’t want either of you to join us on the S.S. Departed if I can help it, so I’ll keep looking for his body.”
Katsuki opened his mouth, but Yura held up a hand in apology.
“His possibly alive body, sorry." She rubbed her hands together. "Maybe we can shove him back inside or something. I'm down to try.”
“Thank you,” Izuku reached up to shake her hand. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome!” Yura beamed, and returned the gesture emphatically. “Finally some appreciation. Well, I cleared this area for you, but remember, no more kitchens or dark places. I’ll come to you if I find anything.”
Then, with a short wave, she puffed into smoke again.
Katsuki kicked a pan across the floor—unfortunately, a cast iron skillet. “Fuck. Don’t thank her," he bit out through a grimace. "All of this could be her doing for all we know.”
“I thought she seemed nice.”
“Tch. Maybe she’s some kind of quirk weapon. You know, nomu technology or whatever. There’s an explanation for all of this. God, my head hurts.”
“Kacchan—”
Katsuki rubbed at the back of his head. The sharp pain from the attack was dulling into an incessant throb. It curled around his temples, pulsing with every heartbeat. “I really think we should just leave. See what happens.”
“No,” Izuku’s brought a hand to his chest, grimacing. “Kacchan—”
“It’s worth a shot. If it doesn’t work, we can rule it out, then—”
“No,” Izuku shot to his feet. “Just stop for a second.”
His face was suddenly tight with pain, one hand gripping the freezer for support, the other pressed to his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Katsuki rushed to his side, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Do you feel sick?” A cold buzz rippled through his palm—he was touching him, sort of, but it was less solid than before.
“Shit, you’re freezing,” he breathed.
“I don’t feel sick, exactly,” said Izuku, drawing back. “Ever since I woke up, there's been this pain in my chest, like it’s trying to open. Like something’s pulling at it, and it’s only getting worse. I can feel my heart beating like she said, but,” his gaze slid to he floor. “I don’t know if it’s going to stay that way for long.”
“That’s insane,” Katsuki’s pulse spiked, roaring in his ears. “You can’t know that. How can you know it’s gonna stop?”
“I don’t. It’s just a feeling. But there are certain things I want to say before…well, just in case. So listen to me for a second, okay?”
“Izuku—“
“I want you to auction off my All Might collection.”
“Huh?”
Izuku offered a sheepish smile. “Donate the money to whatever charity you want. And can you take care of clearing out my apartment? I don’t think my mom will be able to handle it, she’s—she’s going to be crushed. I don’t want her to have to worry about the logistics of…this.”
Katsuki’s mouth fell open, cold terror coiling in his chest. Izuku genuinely believed he was dying.
“I don’t know what kind of shape the suit is in, but I want you to keep using it until you find another person to take it over. Melissa really loves getting the data, it’s like her baby. She’d be sad if it was discontinued.”
“Izuku, stop.” Panic kicked up in Katsuki’s chest, pulling at his lungs. Izuku wasn’t dead, he wasn’t going to die, but still didn’t want to listen to this. It was painful, frightening—
“My students are going to be upset, so try to visit them as often as you can. I don’t know who’s going to take over my class, they really, really like you and—“
“No.”
“Kacchan, please. I know they annoy you, but they’re good kids, and they look up to you—“
“Stop,” Katsuki stepped forward, crowding Izuku against the wall. “Shut up. Shut up or I’ll shut your mouth for you.”
Izuku’s expression fell. “But—“
“We’re leaving. Now.”
“I told you I can’t. That feeling in my chest gets worse if I go any further than the pool room. I’ve tried.”
“It’s probably a barrier. You gotta break through. I can help you.”
“It’ll make things worse,” Izuku shoved Katsuki backwards, sending him stumbling over a sauce pan. The translucent edges of his figure had begun to glow electric blue, like glass lit from within. “Were you even listening to me?”
Blood thrummed under Katsuki’s skin. He’d listened alright, but hearing this this shit had set him on fire. He was roiling inside, his mind a rife with panic. It refused to accept it that the Izuku standing in front of him wasn’t the living, breathing version he knew. This was all a misunderstanding of some kind.
They just needed to leave. Get out of this place, get away from whatever it was doing to them, and go back to reality.
So he closed a hand around Izuku’s wrist and pulled him in the direction they came. The contact buzzed up his arm, pushed into his nerves. It was more unstable than before, a near unbearable, vibrating touch that wanted to melt into his skin.
Izuku struggled in his grip, but Katsuki only tightened it. “Let go—Kacchan—”
“No.”
“I’m serious. Let go. Something is—“
In a span of a breath, that electric touch swallowed Katsuki whole.
His stomach twisted, muscles seizing like a vacuum had formed inside his gut. Pressure built in his chest, forcing his ribs to expand until they ached, and then filled again, too quickly, too forcefully, like something had sucked out every atom of his insides and packed it full with something else, something foreign.
A flood of emotion overtook him: fear so sharp it could cut, despair that hollowed him out, rage that burned through his veins. Then an undeniable ache to live. Fury from being torn away from life, torn away from someone.
Someone?
These thoughts weren’t Katsuki’s own. These were Izuku’s feelings pushing into his mind. The pressure in his chest began to ease, fading into a strange, comfortable fullness. The cold shifted to warmth, like liquid heat sinking into his stomach then filling every inch of his body. Izuku was everywhere; he was in his brain, in the warmth of his own body, and beneath it all, he felt it.
A heartbeat that wasn’t his own.
Izuku’s heart was definitely beating. But the pull he described was also there. It was like his heart was like his heart was bound in cooking string, pulled taut to the point of fraying, tugging hard in one direction. It was exactly how Izuku described it.
The warmth spread behind his eyes, and his vision flickered at the edges. Then, without warning, the world flickered to black.
“—my god, please. Kacchan? Kacchan, can you hear me?”
Katsuki blinked awake to a freckled face streaked with tears.
“Oh, thank god,” Izuku’s hands found his face, brushing away the cold sweat on his cheeks. “I thought I killed you. I’m so sorry. I—I don’t know what happened.”
Katsuki groaned. "What the...hell was that?"
“I’m sorry,” Izuku hiccuped, rubbing his tears away so forcefully it had to be some form of self-punishment.
Katsuki’s heart twisted at the trembling sound of his breath. It always did that when Izuku cried. “Hey, I’m fine,” he said, reaching to pull at his shirt. “See? Whatever that was, it's over.”
Izuku peered down from over his sleeve, then inched away from his grip. “Don’t touch me. It’s dangerous.”
Katsuki sat up with a wince. He’d landed almost exactly where it happened—just a few inches from the back exit. He propped himself up against a cupboard, watching Izuku dry his tears with his shirt.
“You’re scared,” Katsuki said. The words had slipped from his lips, but maybe it was better if they talked about it.
Izuku looked up at him, his wet face paling.
“And angry. I could feel your…feelings and stuff.”
"Oh," Izuku’s transparent cheeks turned crimson. “Oh, no. Um, I can explain—”
“It was like those dumb movies that kid mentioned. Ya know, when people get, uh…”
Izuku waited for him to finish, the color in his cheeks cooling as he searched his face. “…Possessed?”
Hearing a word as ridiculous like that shouldn’t have been the final straw, but for some reason, it was. The panic Katsuki had tried so hard to bury surged to the surface, smothering every logical thought in pure fear.
He could deny what he seeing all night, but he’d felt it this time. He’d lived it himself, just for a moment.
Folklore exists for a reason.
“You can’t be dead,” Katsuki breathed, the words trembling out of him. “You can’t.”
“Kacchan—“
“S-She said your heart is still beating. That’s gotta mean something, right?” Katsuki drew in a shuddering breath, adrenaline flooding his veins like fire. But his own words were of little comfort. He didn’t have the heart to be sure of his own thoughts anymore. There wasn’t a quirk on record that had this much power, this much control over the human body, over the mind.
This was something else entirely. Something dangerously out of their control. How were they supposed to protect each other from something like this?
If that girl was telling the truth, then something had happened to Izuku. Something terrible. His body was somewhere else, a hollow shell without his soul.
“Please don’t cry,” Izuku whispered.
“M’not,” Katsuki mumbled, but when he wiped at his eyes to check, his hand came away wet. “Fuck, gimme a second.”
He closed his eyes, trying to will away the rising dread and still his trembling hands. There was no time for fear. Losing focus now would only make things worse.
But this was Izuku. Kind, infuriatingly perfect, sun-in-the-sky Izuku. The thought of him actually leaving this world was enough to rattle Katsuki to his core.
So he leaned his head back against the cupboard and tried to breathe. In and out, slowly, until the panic in his chest stopped pulling tears from his eyes, and settled somewhere else.
Izuku had edged closer at some point. He was glancing at him every so often, but he stayed silent, and made no move to comfort him.
“I could feel your heartbeat.” Katsuki said after a moment, scrubbing the last of the tears from his cheeks.
“I can feel it too,” Izuku pulled his knees against his chest. “Maybe ghosts have those. I don’t know.”
“Don’t—” Katsuki sighed, “Don’t say that word.”
“Sorry.”
“Is the pulling getting worse?”
“Slowly, yeah.”
“Does it ever…not hurt?”
Izuku thought for a moment. “No, but it eases sometimes. It wasn’t bad in the buffet room.”
“You said it feels like a string right?”
“Yeah.”
“That girl said she was looking for your body.” Katsuki pinched his nose, desperate to relieve some of the pressure behind his eyes from the concussion. “Maybe if we follow it, it’ll lead you back, or something.”
“Yeah,” Izuku smiled, “It’s worth a shot.”
At first, Katsuki thought it was a trick of the light.
As Izuku spoke, his form wavered, dimming in front of his eyes. It was a quiet shift, noticeable only in the smallest details of his face. The freckles that had once been so pronounced on his cheek were harder to see now. The outline of his scar was blurred.
Terror flared to life in Katsuki's chest again.
He scrambled to his feet. They needed to hurry. He needed to move, or the fear would paralyze him. “C’mon, let's go.”
“O-Okay. As long as you’re feeling better. You’re not dizzy or anything?”
Katsuki held out a hand. “I’m fine. C’mon, you're slow.”
Izuku grasped his hand automatically, but the moment he found his balance, he let go, startled by his own reflex.
“It didn't happen,” he whispered. "The possession thing."
“See? It’s fine. Now hurry.”
Katsuki yanked him to the exit harder than intended—Izuku didn’t weigh much like this—then kicked the door wide, stepping out into the empty buffet. The chill that followed Izuku’s every step dutifully followed.
The search led them in circles.
Up the deck, down two floors, then up again, and then back to where they started. Izuku guided them down countless identical hallways, into the flickering Pachinko parlors that stretched along the upper levels, then along the residence levels. Every time Katsuki thought they were getting somewhere, Izuku stopped and shook his head. It’s worse this way. Turn around.
There had to be some direction to follow. Katsuki assumed Izuku would be the key to all of this, but maybe it wasn’t that simple. None of this shit made any logical sense, after all. Of course the paranormal—or whatever—doesn’t follow the rules of the living.
Izuku was quiet at first, but as the hours dragged on, he began to ramble about a jumble of topics, each one stranger than the last. Do you remember that time at training camp when you ran out of shampoo? That was me, sorry. Oh, I meant to tell you. All Might talks about you all the time when you’re not there. I think he misses you.
None of it made any sense, but Katsuki kept listening for the same reason they kept walking. They tried a new direction—through the spa centers and their extravagant polished lounges—and eventually made it all the way to the second dining area on the opposite end of the ship. When that ended in failure too, Izuku’s rambling slowly came to a stop.
“What about there?” Katsuki asked, pointing at burger restaurant on their way back.
“No, that way is worse.” Izuku rubbed his chest. “It’s like having ghost heartburn.”
Katsuki shot him a look.
“Sorry.” Izuku muttered, then returned to his silence, picking at the callouses on his palm as they passed through a tiki bar.
Izuku always mumbled when he was nervous, and for the longest time, Katsuki had genuinely been annoyed by it. It wasn’t until after the war that he realized what it truly was: a way to calm himself down. He did it incessantly during their second year, spouting off hero facts like an encyclopedia after sparring sessions that ended in flashbacks. Katsuki would simply lay down next to him in the dirt and listen, sometimes throwing out opinions about who was overrated and who wasn’t.
That was probably what all the talking was, and like an asshole, Katsuki had barely responded to him aside from a few pathetic grunts. He'd probably taken the hint.
“So, uh,” Katsuki glanced over at him, “Tell me about your new patrol route.”
“Huh?”
“You never told me about it.”
Izuku eyed him warily. “It’s been fine.”
“Here?” Katsuki pointed down the hall. Izuku shook his head. “Just fine? You were talking my ear off a few minutes ago and that’s all you got to say?”
“It’s normal I guess.” Izuku scuffed his shoes on the carpet. “I don’t know what you're expecting me to say.”
“Any good food places along the way?”
“I don't know,” Izuku groaned, “I can't remember. It's not important.”
“You stealing my socks six years ago is more important than your new patrol route?”
“Sorta. I’ve always felt bad about that.”
Ice trickled down Katsuki’s spine. Of course that’s what this was.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Izuku’s face tightened. “It’s just in case.”
Katsuki’s stomach turned at the words. Just in case. "Well you're gonna a feel stupid later, 'cause we're gonna fix this."
“But what if we don't?” Izuku stopped mid-step, hands flexing at his sides. “I have things I want to say to you.”
“That sounds like you’re giving up to me.”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying,” Izuku narrowed his eyes, “I just don’t want to leave without—Just let me do this, okay? I have things I need to tell you.”
The last word left his mouth in a defeated sigh, but as soon as it did, Izuku flickered and dimmed again. It was like he was thinning—he was suddenly transparent enough for the patterned wallpaper to bleed through his cheeks.
Over the past few hours, Katsuki tried to convince himself he’d imagined what he saw in the kitchen. But here it was again. It was impossible to deny anymore.
Rage filled Katsuki’s chest in the place of despair, as it always did.
“Whatever you've got to say," he snapped. “I don't wanna hear it. We're running out of time. So put a can in it before I make you, and focus.”
Izuku’s face hardened, fury flashing in his usually kind eyes. The edges of his figure began to glow again just for a moment, bright against the dark wood and burgundy carpet beneath them. He pushed past Katsuki in a rush, the cold brush of his shoulder sending a jolt through his skin.
“Fine,” he said over his shoulder, colder than Katsuki had ever heard him. “Let's keep going.”
The lower levels were surprisingly loud. Each creak of the pipes lingered too long, like the ship was straining against its own seams. Power flickered out more often the deeper they descended, and more than once, Izuku vanished completely into the dark.
It was partly because he was walking so quickly—angrily—that he kept disappearing around corners. His footsteps made no sound on wood or even the tile, leaving only the sharp echo of Katsuki’s boots in their wake as they circled the entertainment deck.
They weaved through private movie theaters, empty yoga studios, and dance rooms with spotless mirrored walls. Izuku never lingered long when entering a room. He’d stop just past the doorway, close his eyes for a few seconds, then turn and leave without a word. Katsuki trailed after him in silence, sometimes stumbling over toppled chairs, scattered mats, and forgotten equipment littering the hall. At least Izuku looked fully focused now, even if he had the most unpleasant expression on his face.
Like he wanted to punch in a wall. But also like he was trying really, really hard not to cry.
It wouldn’t be smart to push him like this, Katsuki knew. He held in his questions for now. If Izuku found anything of note he would have said something. But at the same time, this marked another two hours gone with no progress.
Izuku walked ahead, turning his head from room to room, making no move to enter any of them. He looked half-erased now, more like a memory than a person. He’d faded to nothing more than a wisp of what he’d looked like before, only a shadow of the presence he'd had in life.
Life—wasn't he alive now? If they could accomplish nothing else tonight, if they couldn't stop this, then Katsuki wanted some way to stop time. If they could just keep him from fading any further. Even if he never returned to the world, at least he'd never leave.
“Psst.”
Katsuki startled, his spine straightening in painful jolt.
Yura materialized in front of him. "Sorry."
“Fuck.” Katsuki sighed, willing his heart rate to slow. “Fuck you.”
"You don't have to be so jumpy. I scared all the Whistlers off this level.” Yura glanced to Izuku down the hall. “Looks like you guys are having as much luck as I am.”
“We’ve been everywhere. This place is massive.”
Yura offered him a surprisingly sympathetic smile. “I’m going to search the sealed off areas. I don’t know what your friend would be doing in the boiler room but...” she trailed off, watching as Izuku kicked open a door. “Is he...okay?”
“I don't know. He’s pissed at me.”
“What did you do?”
“None of your business.”
Yura tilted her head, eyeing Katsuki for a moment before propping herself against the wall. “You know, I didn’t even want to come on this stupid cruise. My mom made me.”
Katsuki ignored her and continued walking, following Izuku's path into a wide lobby with a split staircase and chandelier.
Yura rematerialized in front of him, clearing the blue smoke with her palm before she continued. “I was so mad at her for ruining my summer vacation, you know? I was pissed, so I never smiled for any of the pictures we took. Not a single one. I know, petty.”
“Look,” Katsuki shuffled to a stop. “I’m sorry this happened to you. But I don’t have time for this.”
“That’s my point here, Mister Digimon.”
“Dynamight.”
“Right. You’re running out of time, but you’ve still got some.”
“You say that like you're not currently wasting it.”
Yura sighed. “What I’m saying is, those stupid pictures are all my mom’s got left. And from the way I’m frowning in them, you’d never be able to tell that I actually loved her.”
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the helplessness. But hearing those words sparked a memory in Katsuki's mind of summer. Their second year, on the hottest day in Musutufu on record, Izuku asked Katsuki to walk home together for the first time. He'd said yes.
He'd never seen Izuku smile so wide. It was nothing like the polite grin he offered everyone else. This smile was huge, comically uneven. It pulled at his scar and crinkled one eye more than the other. It was stupidly blinding, and had been seared into Katsuki's heart ever since.
He'd seen it countless times now that they were closer, enough times to know that unbearably kind words always arrived with it. He'd heard so many of them. Cheerful praises, comfort he didn't know how to face, kindness he didn't deserve.
And he'd answered all of it with a shove, a dismissive grunt. As if he wasn't secretly wrapping up every word and storing them in his chest like polished treasure. Why had he done that? What was so hard about saying thank you? Smiling back? The thought turned over in his gut, heavy and sour, another weight he didn’t have time for.
“He's not like you,” Katsuki said, wishing he had the confidence to fully believe it. "He's not gonna die." Maybe he could still speak it into the world.
Yura didn’t answer right away. She looked like she might cry, which only made Katsuki angrier.
“I hope not. But after sunrise, in about,” she checked a studded watch on her wrist. “Twenty minutes, you won't be able to see him anymore either way.”
A deafening crash tore Katsuki's attention to the foyer. His palms came up on instinct, heat already sparking beneath his skin. But when he scanned the area, there were no shadows approaching— Yura was gone. It was just the two of them standing in the shadow of a spiraling staircase.
Izuku stood outside the open doors of the ballroom, his breath ragged, hands braced on his knees. At his feet lay a silver serving tray, its contents splattered across the wall and carpet, shards of broken dishes glinting in the mess.
“It’s gone," he said, just loud enough to be heard.
“What?”
“I can’t feel it anymore. The pulling.”
“We probably went the wrong way.” Katsuki said, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. “Let’s go back a couple floors.”
“I could feel it so clearly, and then suddenly nothing.” Izuku shook his head. “I can’t even feel the pain anymore. It’s like…I don’t know.”
Roiling sickness stirred in Katsuki's gut. This was it, the moment time needed to stop. Don't go any further, not second more.
When he finally looked up, acceptance burned in Izuku’s eyes. The peace Katsuki saw there was like poison, spreading slow and cold into his arteries, his every vein, boiling his blood on its way to stop his heart.
Izuku was dimmer again, entirely translucent now. But he was still here. They still had time, surely.
“Your heart?” Katsuki asked, though he was terrified of the answer.
“It’s slower, but still beating.”
Katsuki exhaled shakily. “I’ll—I'll keep looking. You stay here.”
“Kacchan.”
“We haven’t checked the engine room. The staff lodging.”
“No. I want to stop.”
“You don’t have to come. Yura said she’d look, but I can go too, we can cover more ground—”
A buzzing hand caught Katsuki’s arm. “Will you listen to me now? Please.”
The touch was shocking, electric. The vibrations were sharper than before, a violent hum that left his skin twitching even as it pulled him in.
Izuku’s hand tightened, and the sensation intensified. “You can keep looking after I’m—” He sucked in a breath. “You can keep looking, okay? I just need you to listen to me first.”
“No,” Katsuki ripped himself free, shuddering from the lingering static. “No, we’ve still got places to check.”
“We’re out of time.”
“You’re still here,” Katsuki said, the words tumbling out of him. “Why would you say that? You're right in front of me. Don’t talk like this is over.”
“It is!” Izuku clutched at his chest. “I can feel it. Right here, it’s like I’m—I’m slipping away somewhere, a-and it’s only getting worse, and I don’t want to say these things, but I have to. Please. Please, just listen to me.”
Dread clawed through every corner of Katsuki’s body. It danced with the poison in his blood, hollowing him out, stripping him bare to only the most basic of senses: the carpet beneath his boots, the stale scent of old wood, and Izuku’s flushed, pleading expression before him. His eyes were wide with fear, glistening with tears, but his mouth was a tight line of resolve.
Katsuki wanted to deny him. He wanted to argue longer, push this off forever, but he couldn't anymore.
“Okay,” Izuku huffed. He began to pace, flexing his hands at his sides, like he was warming up for a sparring match. “First of all, I don’t want you to blame yourself. I knew the risks coming here solo. So it’s no one’s fault but my own."
Katsuki wanted to cover his ears like a goddamn child. A thousand words pressed at his tongue, all of them protests, ridiculous denials, but none of them made past his lips. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to speak again. He was sinking into sick darkness, into wretched, unrelenting torture.
He couldn’t live the rest of his life with this pain. He'd never survive it.
“If you can’t find my…my body, I’m okay with that." Izuku let out a shaky, thin breath. "If it’s not on the ship, it was probably dumped overboard. I don’t want a search, it’s just a waste of time. You know how it is, Kacchan. It’s near impossible to find remains at sea. The currents are too strong. My mom might need some convincing, though. If she wants to bury something, just...put all of my favorite things in a box. Plant a tree or something, I—”
Suddenly the distance between them was gone.
Katsuki’s arm was swinging before he knew what he was doing, connecting his fist with Izuku’s cheek.
The instant of impact was not what he expected. It buzzed and tingled, leaving a strange current crawling up Katsuki’s arm. Izuku staggered back, but only a few steps, not nearly as far as he should have.
It was like the air itself had absorbed the blow. Outrage swelled in Katsuki’s chest. So they couldn’t even do this anymore, huh?
He spun and stalked towards the tall open doors, overcome with the need to run, to be anywhere else for the moment. The upscale ballroom inside had been arranged for some kind of show; a circular tiled dance floor sat in the center, surrounded by tables still littered with artistic hors d'oeuvres. On the stage, abandoned instruments sat under a spotlight, gleaming under the only light in the room.
The busy hum of party guests and live music was long gone. It was as still as death everywhere Katsuki looked, and silent as an empty church. There was no sound left to cover the rasp of his breathing, nothing to muffle the first wretched sob ripping free from his chest. Nothing to soften the blow of what was coming.
“Kacchan,” Izuku appeared behind him.
Katsuki buried his face in his hands. This was really happening, wasn’t it?
“Kacchan, please look at me.”
How much longer would he be able to hear that voice? His favorite voice in the world, he realized. He’d never thought about it, but it was. Of course it was.
“Fuck you,’ Katsuki choked out. “Fuck you. I fucking hate you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Katsuki whipped around, hurt surging up from his core and tearing from his mouth. “You’re not sorry. This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Die a hero and leave me behind?”
“No, I—”
“Well, you did it." Katsuki tried to laugh, but the sound only fell apart. "Congratulations. Everyone made it off this ship but you.”
Izuku’s mouth drew taut. “I didn’t want this to happen.”
“Then why the hell did you come here? What made you suddenly want to run off to the middle of the fucking ocean just for fun, where there’s no fucking backup? You don’t do this shit.“
“I know. It was reckless. I just needed to think, a-and—”
“Think about what? Are you sick of teaching already? Hero work not eventful enough for you?”
“No. That’s not it.”
“Then, why?” He choked on the words, chest heaving. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn't breathe— “Why did you do this to me? Fuck. Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” Izuku’s voice wavered. “I’m so sorry. I didn't want this. I…god, I wanted so much more time with you.”
Katsuki shook his head, gasping through the shudder in his chest. He couldn’t listen to this. It was too cruel, too painful. Everything would be painful now for the rest of his life.
“I wanted to see you hit number one.” Izuku’s cold hand closed over his. “God, I wanted to patrol with you forever. For years and years, until we’re complaining about back pain and bad knees, a-and you’re yelling at me to retire, because, well, you know me. I’d never know when to quit.”
That future was the correct one. None of this was supposed to happen. A reality without Izuku shouldn’t be possible; he’d carried so much of the world on his shoulders, it had woven itself woven into his bones. Izuku was supposed to be here, growing and changing with the peace he'd fought to protect.
What would a life without him even look like? His name missing from the hero rankings. His classroom at U.A. wiped clean, some stranger sitting at his desk. His apartment boxed up and sealed away, like he’d never lived there at all.
Never hearing that name ever again.
Kacchan, hey Kacchan!
Morning, Kacchan!
Izuku’s hands were suddenly around him, holding him up, then lowering him gently to the floor. Had his legs given out? He couldn’t even feel them anymore. He could only feel Izuku’s strange touch. That wasn’t what his hands felt like. That wasn’t Izuku, yet somehow it was.
For now, it still was. Time wasn't going to stop for them, but maybe for a moment, they could pretend it had.
Katsuki forced himself to take one wobbling breath, then another. Could he even form words right now? He had to try, even if it was blubbering nonsense.
“Izuku," he whispered.
Cold hands tightened on his shoulders. “Yeah?”
If there was ever a time for honesty, it was now. “I don’t…know how to do this.”
Izuku inched closer on the dance floor, his legs folded under him like they were back in gym class on a sunny afternoon. “Do what?”
“I dunno how to…,” Katsuki paused to breathe. It was a wet, miserable sound. His chest burned. The tears wouldn’t stop. “You’ve…for as long as I can remember, you’ve always just…been there. What am I supposed to do if you’re…”
“Don’t say that,” Izuku’s voice was firm. “You can do anything, Kacchan. You don’t need me.”
The sincerity in his tone was unbearable, like he knew it as a fact of the universe. Katsuki had always known this was one of the possible endings to their story, at least in theory. One without the other, separated so far they’d never find each other again. All it took was a bad patrol, a badly timed rescue. The risk for heroes was higher than any other job on the planet.
But somehow, Katsuki had never truly believed it would happen. His own arrogance had prevented him from entertaining the thought. It was something he always believed he could stop if he tried hard enough. If they died young, he’d always assumed they’d be together. There was no other option except for that. If a building came down on them, Katsuki would throw himself over Izuku. Death would either take him first, or take them both.
This wasn’t a situation he truly considered. Izuku leaving him in a way he couldn’t control.
“But what if I do, though?” He whispered. It was the barest Katsuki’s soul had ever been. A truth that would never leave his heart in any other circumstance.
What if I’ve always needed you?
What would be left of him without Izuku’s warmth in his life? Would he slip back into his old ways, his old egotistical urges that plagued his nightmares? He’d be half a man, half a hero. Maybe he’d build himself back up one day. Maybe he’d remember all of the lessons Izuku taught him, and become a passable, dimmer imitation of what he was before. But until then he’d be hollow, torn open and gutted to his ugliest parts.
The future felt insurmountable in the face of that agony. Knowing that he’d have to move forward like that, bleeding out with every step, tearing that wound wider every day just trying to live. Having to go on and pretend he wasn’t missing everything that ever made him feel whole and good and heroic.
“You don’t need me,” Izuku said, taking his hand once more. He squeezed it so tightly it hurt. "It might feel like you do right now, but you don't. I promise.”
They sat like that for a few minutes, waiting for Katsuki’s tears to ease. In any other situation, the crying would have mortified him. But there was no one else here in this deserted, floating island. It was like the whole world had emptied itself just for them.
Izuku nudged him with a smile. “Am I so important?”
Katsuki averted his eyes, too exhausted to reply with anything but the truth. “S’nothing you don’t already know.”
“It’s just nice to hear it.” Izuku's eyes shined. “I can never tell what you’re thinking. Well, sometimes I can. But you hide a lot of stuff.”
An unexpected wave of guilt rose in Katsuki’s chest. “Sorry," he mumbled.
“What? No,” Izuku’s hand tightened around his. It hadn’t left since the moment he took it. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I mean, of course I’d like to know more, but you don’t have to tell me things. I’m just… nosy, I think.”
Katsuki arched a brow. “Nosy?”
Izuku sighed. “I wonder how you’re doing a lot. If you’re happy and stuff. Sometimes I wonder what you’re having for dinner, and I think about texting you a picture of my dinner to try to get you to respond with yours, but I never did it. I just… thought about it a lot. But we don't talk about that kind of stuff, you know?”
Katsuki scoffed. “You’re so weird.”
“I know. I know, I just. I can’t help it, I…” Izuku trailed off, fixing his gaze on the wood floor, then shrugged.
“You're obsessed with me,” Katsuki laughed, wiping at his face with his sleeve.
But Izuku stayed silent. His expression flickered, emotions chasing each other across his face until it eased into resignation. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve always loved you.”
Heat flooded Katsuki’s cheeks. They never threw the L word between them, even if they both knew it was there. It was the only word that fit. There was love between them fiercer than any rivalry, one they’d die to protect.
But hearing that word spoken out loud was so new, Katsuki didn’t know how to face it. So he sat there, red-faced and tongue-tied like an idiot. What did he want to say?
“I know you don’t feel the same,” Izuku stumbled over the words, voice shaking. “But I can’t—I can’t leave without saying it.”
“What?” A stone dropped in Katsuki’s chest. How could he even think that? “Of course I do. You’re my best friend."
“Kacchan,” Izuku’s looked like he wanted to drop into the floor. “That’s not it. I…um. I dream about you.”
Katsuki blinked.
“About me?”
“Pretty much every night. I’m usually…holding you. And we’re in my bed. Sometimes you’re asleep, but sometimes you’re not. And then I wake up and I’m alone. And I—I hate that you’re not there anymore.”
Shock set Katsuki’s mind spinning. They’d done that a lot when they were kids. “Izuku—”
“God, I’m sorry. I should have just told you instead of doing this.” He gestured around them. “I thought getting away for a couple weeks would clear my head. Now look where we are.”
“Wait, what? You’re not making any sense.”
“I really tried to be okay with my life, you know? I picked up so many extra shifts. I tried a few hobbies, too. But I just… I can’t forget about it when you’re right there all the time, so I—” Izuku’s shoulders slumped, like someone had let the air out of him. “I ran off.”
“What…are you…” Katsuki’s heart was in his throat. His mind scrambled to piece things together, but every word pointed to something that couldn’t be true. There was no way that was possible.
“I’m saying you’re right." Izuku’s voice trembled, frayed by the threat of tears. "I’m an obsessed stalker who’s in love with you. I wanted those dreams to be real so badly. I’m sorry I’m so selfish, but that’s the truth.”
Katsuki’s mouth fell open.
At first the thought was strange. Unfamiliar, like sitting in front of a man he didn’t know. But a calm warmth was spreading through Katsuki’s chest as well, a feeling he couldn’t identify. And with it came flashes of things he’d never let himself think about.
He’d never even considered kissing Izuku before. He’d thought about doing other things—hugging him as he cried, which he’d never been brave enough to do. Leaning against him at class reunions when they’d both had too much to drink. They’d done that a few times now.
That was where this feeling was from—from those nights. His heart had raced every time from the newness of it. He relished every second of being closer to him than any of those extras in that room.
He’d never considered that kissing him would be a step up from that. But right now, with Izuku's lips right in front of him, the only thing Katsuki could think of was how badly he wanted to try.
So naturally, he kicked him in the chest.
Izuku toppled over from the impact, his eyes blown wide.
God, it was all so obvious now. The consuming worry he couldn’t control, the hunger for Izuku’s attention, the way his stupid smile woke him up faster than his gallon of coffee in the morning. Of course. Of course.
“Fuck you,” Katsuki shot to his feet, his chest heaving. “Fuck. You.”
Izuku’s face fell, eyes glassing over with hurt. “Kacchan—”
“You are selfish.” Katsuki choked, trembling as another wave of tears overtook him. “I can’t—how could you—”
“I’m sorry. I never should have—”
“Shut up!” Katsuki jabbed a finger in his direction. “You—if you felt that way, then you should have fucking said something.”
Izuku blinked, tears spilling over his cheeks. “Huh?”
“You know I’m bad at this emotional shit. God, I had no idea what this was. I had no fuckin’ clue. But you knew.” Katsuki choked back a sob. “You knew, a-and you waited until you’re fucking fading away to clue me in. Fuck you.”
“What?” Izuku whispered.
“Stand up. I don’t have time for your bullshit anymore.”
“Wait, what are you—”
“Stand up. Now.”
Izuku squawked and scrambled to his feet.
Katsuki wiped at his face, and took in a deep, steadying breath. “Now stay still or I’ll melt your fucking face off.”
Then he dragged Izuku close by the wisp of his shirt and pressed their lips together.
The feeling was overwhelming at first; it was a cold, intense vibration that reverberated through Katsuki’s skull. But he pulled Izuku closer anyway, clutching at his shoulders, finding his cheek and holding him there as long as he could bear.
But just as he was reaching his limit, the rattling in his brain started to fade. It tapered off in waves as Izuku’s arms came up into his hair, as his lips pressed back insistantly. Katsuki could feel him now. He could feel Izuku’s touch below the wash of buzzing, his tongue brushing his lip, sliding inside of his mouth.
Katsuk gasped. Izuku had not stayed still like he’d asked, but that turned out to be a good thing. Katsuki didn’t know what he was doing, truthfully. But Izuku had watched a lot of romance movies, apparently. So he let his lips fall apart, groaning into the dizzying sensation, let Izuku’s tongue sweep and curl along his.
And then the warmth came.
It was just a hint at first, buried deep beneath the cold Katsuki had grown accustomed to. But it grew and grew the longer they were connected, like warmth seeping back into frostbitten skin.
From the warmth came something else: the smell of Izuku’s shampoo, the taste of his stupid Christmas chapstick he insisted on wearing year-round, the heady slick of his tongue. Katsuki gasped and drew back, dizzy from the heat of it.
“I can taste you,” He breathed. "I can feel this"
“Me too,” Izuku tightened his grip on Katsuki’s cheek. “Don’t stop.”
Katsuki gave him a small shove instead, and Izuku toppled easily, as expected. He landed on his ass in a soundless heap on the floor.
He frowned. “Hey—”
Katsuki was over him before he could finish, caging his thighs with his own. A harsh vibration rippled through his hips and spine where they connected, punching the air from his lungs. He grimaced, breathing through it slowly. It would fade like before. He just had to—
“Here,” Izuku said softly, nudging his shoulder. He guided Katsuki onto his back, then hovered over him with a faint smile. “I can float.”
“I was fine.” Katsuki muttered.
Izuku laughed and cupped his face in both hands. His fingers moved gently, tracing the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the fringe of his lashes, like he meant to take every detail with him wherever he was going.
“Kacchan?”
Katsuki’s eyes slipped shut, leaning into the budding warmth of his fingers. “Hm?”
“Am I really fading away?”
Katsuki’s heart splintered in two. He didn’t want to say it.
“Yeah.”
Izuku stopped breathing, and for a moment, Katsuki wondered if this strange, wonderful moment between them was over. Did he want to stop? Had it been too much?
But Izuku surged forward again, kissing him harder than before, hungrier, melting all of his doubt into hot, breathless need. God, it felt incredible. Katsuki moaned into Izuku’s lips, wanting him deeper, wanting him everywhere. The arousal curling in his stomach brought sweat to his palms, blood rushing to his cheeks, his chest, all the way to his fingers.
Izuku’s hips collided with his for only a moment—an accident, probably—but the few seconds of vibration alone was enough to leave Katsuki shuddering, moaning brokenly into the wide room.
Izuku pulled back, eyes wide and unfocused. “Oh, fuck.”
“Do that again,” Katsuki gasped.
“What? Really?"
Katsuki looked away, unable to meet his eyes. There was hunger there that burned straight into his skin. "You fucking heard me."
Izuku groaned and caught his mouth in another searing kiss.
He brushed a hand down his abdomen, then gripped the belt of his uniform, fumbling with the buckle. The leather slipped through his hands like soap, resisting every pull.
Izuku cursed under his breath. “Give me a sec—”
Katsuki reached down and undid it quickly, then reached for Izuku’s suit zipper. He pulled it without much thought—they’d designed a zipper to have the easiest glide for emergencies—but the flap stayed exactly where it was.
He tried again, harder this time, then once more, putting his whole arm into it. It still didn’t budge, as if it was glued to Izuku’s chest.
Oh.
Katsuki’s eyes began to sting, and the tears broke free again. So this is how he died. He was stuck this way, then. He wanted to see him, feel every inch of his body he could reach. But they'd gotten here too late.
“It’s okay,” Izuku kissed up his cheek.
“It’s not.” Katsuki choked out. “S’not fair—”
“I know. I’m sorry,” A thumb brushed over Katsuki’s lashes, then over the swell of his lip. “But I don’t need it, really. Let me do this for you instead.”
Through the blur of Katsuki’s tears, Izuku was almost invisible. He rubbed at his eyes, hoping it was a trick of the light, but even when he’d dried the wetness there, it was undeniable.
Izuku was barely there. He was just a blurred, breath of a figure. When had he faded this much?
“Kacchan? Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, “Hurry.”
Izuku smiled, his lips brushing Katsuki’s forehead, then his cheek. His touch felt lighter now, but Katsuki didn’t want to think about that. So he focused on the feeling of Izuku fumbling with his pants, the fabric slipping through his half-there-half-not grip, and then another buzzing kiss on his stomach, then his thigh, and finally at the base of his cock.
It was like static shooting up his spine.
He shivered, leaning into the sensation. It rippled up the base and to his head, but it was only a fleeting moment of pleasure—until Izuku’s mouth enveloped him whole.
Katsuki cried out, arching off the floor so suddenly he knocked his head on the wood. He grasped for Izuku’s hair, but his hands slipped through, slowly like his entire body was made of water.
It was cold vibration at first, but soon enough the warmth came, then the feeling of wet, slick suction as Izuku moved. Katsuki’s hips stuttered, thrusting up before he could stop himself, but Izuku didn’t seem to mind
The pleasure built so quickly it left him reeling. Katsuki was lost to it, powerless to resist when Izuku was watching him from below, his eyes dark and focused and hungry. The sight of him there, like that—
“I’m not—” Katsuki gasped. “Gonna last—”
Izuku pulled off and wrapped a hand around him, working him quickly. “That’s okay,” he said, so gently it hurt. “That’s what I want.”
Katsuki grasped at his shoulder to pull him up into a kiss, but his hand passed through again. It was easier this time—like he’d swiped through air instead of water. Like there was barely anything left to feel.
“Izuku,“ he hiccuped. “You’re—“
“It's okay. I’m still here.” A cool sensation closed over Katsuki’s hand. “I'm right here.”
Katsuki choked on a sob, his chest splitting open at the words. All he wanted to do was hold onto him, but that possibility had already left.
The only thing left to do was take in the sight of him. So Katsuki did.
He forced his eyes open through the mounting pleasure, and through the flood of tears, he memorized every inch of his face. Where every freckle fell, the curl of his eyelashes, the soft fall of his hair. Izuku seemed to shine the longer he looked at him, lighting up the hall in a cool blue glow.
Katsuki stayed like that until his vision blurred from pleasure, leaving him helpless to the shuddering of his body, and the sounds spilling from his chest, mixed with the rattle of tears.
Then, in a blinding flash of blue, he was sucked into darkness again. His insides flipped, contracted, then expanded it again with that familiar feeling of full warmth.
It was just like what happened in the kitchen, but entirely different—instead of crushing fear, he felt joy. Overwhelming joy that wanted to jump from his chest and turn into sunlight.
Then affection. Consuming, engulfing love that was so intense it was painful. There were images there of a home, a ceremony, places Katsuki had never imagined himself—but with them came flashes of grief.
Those days would never come. But those dreams existed. They would stay fixed in time here forever.
“Kacchan?”
Katsuki blinked awake slowly, taking in the near-invisible face in front of him.
“Are you okay?” Izuku reached for him. His touch felt like a cold breath on Katsuki’s cheek, and nothing more. “It happened again.”
“You love me.” Katsuki whispered.
"I—" Izuku frowned. “I told you that already.”
“Yeah, but,” Katsuki braced a hand on the floor, forcing himself upright. “It's real. You weren’t lying.”
“Of course it's real. Why would I lie about something like that?”
“I dunno.” Katsuki blinked away the tears still clinging to his lashes. “You could have been confused.”
Izuku laughed. The sound was bright and full. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“Well I know that now. You were thinking of having kids and stuff. You wanna marry me.”
“How did you—" Izuku’s eyes widened "T-That’s just a daydream! It’s not serious. I mean, it is. I definitely want those things with you, but—” He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. “Oh god. I’m sorry. It’s just—when you love someone, it’s hard not to think about those things. Of course I want to marry you. You're you.”
Katsuki imagined Izuku standing at the altar in white, sunlight catching in his hair. Flashes of small hands and green eyes passed in his mind, of freckles scattered across tiny noses, and laughter that sounded just like his. Kids with Izuku's smile, his warmth, his heart.
“Yeah,” Katsuki smiled, “I gue—”
The space beside him was empty.
He sat alone beneath the cavernous ceiling, surrounded by the ruins of a celebration. The room was suddenly too quiet, too wide, wide enough to swallow him whole and keep him there forever.
“Izuku?” he called, his voice breaking.
Beyond the arching windows of the ballroom, the horizon was deep, dark blue. The sun hadn’t risen yet. They should have had more time, at least five minutes more, and yet—
“Distress call incoming.”
The alarm buzzed under Katsuki’s sleeve, jolting him from a haze. He yanked the fabric back, revealing his watch blinking in bright orange, and a line of bold text pulsing urgently on the screen.
Distress tracker: 20M.
“Dynamight, come in.” The headset crackled in Katsuki’s ear, static roaring between each word. “The coast guard just confirmed a distress signal from Deku’s suit.”
Katsuki was on his feet before the transmission cut out.
He tore out of the ballroom, boots hammering the polished hallway until the number began to tick down. He burst into the stairwell, going up first—wrong direction—then finally down, which shaved distance off so fast his heart nearly stopped. Izuku was directly below him, eight meters deep in the center of the ship.
The air grew colder as he descended flight after flight, and the ground beneath his feet turned from luxury flooring to bare, rustic steel, creaking under his boots. STAFF LEVEL ONLY signs met him at the under-sea levels, but where he expected to find locked doors, he found only shattered, discarded locks and wide open gates.
The engine room door at the bottom of the staircase was left open, its Danger: Keep Out sign discarded on the floor like an afterthought. Katsuki checked his watch, the screen glowing faintly through the mist of his breath—five meters left.
The ship’s lowest level was a one-room maze of steel catwalks and pipework, a mess of rusting bones that creaked so loudly it sounded alive. It sat at least a meter below sea level, lit only by a string of dim bulbs lining the main rail.
And for some reason, everything was wet.
Katsuki pressed in further, arching his neck to see around the maze of pipes and walkways, trying every direction to get the distance to tick down again. Going north shaved off a little, but not enough. This was the lowest level of the ship, and somehow, Izuku was still two meters lower than where Katsuki was standing.
He rounded corner after corner until the glow of bright industrial lights appeared ahead, framed by guard rails and the outline of a ladder.
Katsuki rushed toward the opening and stopped short at the edge to peer into the chamber below. A vast maze of steel walkways and engines stretched beneath him, lights flickering through the steam and the constant hum of machinery. The floor looked strangely dark—until he realized it wasn’t the floor at all, but a lake of water.
For a moment, Katsuki froze. The ship was sinking—no, the water was strangely still. Instead of rising, it only sloshed at the iron walls, stirring from the slight sway of the ship.
“Mister Hero!”
Katsuki whipped around, eyes darting to a corner where the metal catwalk disappeared into shadow.
Yura stood atop an engine, her hand raised in greeting. Behind her other palm, the air churned with a swarm of Whistlers, a knot of shadow and teeth pulling against some invisible tether.
“I was just about to come find you!” she said, pointing down to the water below. “I found him. They were all over him down there.”
Panic clenched hard in Katsuki's chest, and he ignited his palms, blasting across the opening to land on the walkway below her. Izuku lay face down at the bottom just as she said, his full helmet on, with the orange tracker light flashing on his hip.
He dove in head-first on pure instinct, but the water nearly paralyzed him. It was icy, practically arctic, freezing every muscle working under his uniform. He forced a stroke, then another, cutting deeper and deeper towards the bottom plating, which, to his surprise, was riddled with gaping holes. Enough holes to sink this ship in a matter of hours.
Izuku lay among them, one arm outstretched towards the biggest one. Katsuki grabbed him as soon as he was close enough, hooking his arm around his shoulder and started to kick.
The suit was like a boulder strapped to his back. He was swimming too hard—he knew that, somewhere in the back of his mind. He’d run out of air too quickly at this rate, but he couldn’t stop. Izuku could still be alive in there. How much oxygen could the suit produce again? What was the hourly limit?
Katsuki chest burned. His lungs were screaming for air, but they’d only made it a quarter of the way up. He reached for the emergency release button on Izuku’s chest, struggling to angle the watch to activate it. This could work. He just had to swim fast; CPR on the surface could get any water out of his lungs—
Amid the light trickling in from above, a familiar face descended towards them with a twisting swarm of Whistlers still contained behind her palm.
Yura closed a surprisingly firm hand around Katsuki's arm, her touch icier than the water. The moment they connected, gravity began to vanish—she pulled them to the surface easily, like pieces of cotton in her palm, as if they weighed nothing at all.
Katsuki gasped as his head broke the surface, air ripping back into him in a ragged rush. Chest heaving, he scrambled onto the catwalk and hauled Izuku onto the grid, laying him as flat as he could manage. He slammed his watch against the emergency sensor, waiting and praying for the activation tone.
“Welcome, Dynamight. Emergency override initiated.”
“C’mon, Izuku,” he muttered, eyes raking over the panels unlocking one by one. Like petals, the suit segments recessed in semicircles, folding back one after another until the flushed skin of Izuku’s face was revealed.
Flushed skin. That means blood. Blood pumping to every corner of his body by a beautiful, beating heart.
Izuku’s face pinched suddenly, and Katsuki let out a strangled breath of relief. His shaking hands found Izuku’s shoulder, his cheek—anything to anchor to the fact that there was heat. There was motion. He was here, warm under Katsuki’s palms, stubbornly alive.
Izuku groaned, turning into Katsuki’s hand. His face wasn’t just warm, he was burning up—the suit itself was giving off more heat than Katsuki had ever known was possible.
The temperature regulation system. The self-oxygenation system. The suit had kept Izuku alive in three meters of freezing water for hours.
“Holy shit,” Yura peered over his shoulder. “They were trying to pull him out of that thing.” She slapped Katsuki’s shoulder, laughing in triumph. “You can’t pull a spirit out of somebody who isn’t dead! Evil suckers were fighting a losing battle.”
“Thank you,” Katsuki choked. The word scraped out of his throat in a rush. It didn’t feel like enough to only say it once. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Yura said, bright as if they were on a pier in daylight. ”We don’t need any more newcomers here, really. Hey, if I save a hero, doesn’t that make me pretty cool?”
A breathless laugh burst from Katsuki’s chest. “Yeah,” He cradled Izuku’s cheek, tracing it over and over under his thumb. “You showed me up, kid.”
Izuku’s eyes fluttered open, squinting weakly against the light.
“Kacchan?”
“Hey. Yeah, it’s me.”
“You okay?”
Katuski scoffed. “Am I okay? What the hell were you doing down here?”
Izuku frowned, eyes unfocused. “I dunno. Don’t remember.”
The steel wall behind them rippled suddenly, and from it stepped an old woman with long silver hair. “Are you done yet, dear?”
“Not yet, Granny,” Yura waved at her, smiling softly. “Almost done, I promise.”
The wall shimmered again, and a man’s head poked through this time, water dripping from his hair and chin. “Hey, you found him!”
Yura smirked. “I told you I could,”
“She’s a big hero fan, you know?” The man said, jerking his thumb towards her. “This ship was going down after that villain messed it up. That’s good news for us, freed from thy ghostly tether and all. But Yura was so upset that hero guy hadn’t left yet.”
“Oh my god, shut up!” Yura shrieked, waving the gaggle of Whistlers at him. “I’ll send my dogs after you, I swear to god.”
The man just laughed and reached for the old woman’s shoulder, guiding her through the wall again. “It's almost over, Granny.”
Katsuki smirked. “You were pretending not to know us?”
“No,” Yura’s face turned a ghostly shade of very desaturated red. “Maybe. It was easier, okay? We had a job to do.”
“Do you want an autograph?” Izuku rasped from the floor.
Yura rolled her eyes. “What I want is for both of you to get off my ship. My friends are clearly getting tired if they’re leaving their posts to embarrass me.”
She faded into a cloud of blue, only to snap back into shape a moment later. “Also for the record, Kamui Woods is still my favorite. But you guys are second and third.”
Then in a puff of finality, Yura vanished, leaving the room a few degrees warmer.
Izuku laughed, leaning into Katsuki’s touch and, closing his eyes into the warmth of his palm. “We’ve got to tell Nishiya about his number one fan.”
“Do you think he’ll believe us?” Katsuki smiled down at him, then froze, his hand stilling. “Wait, hold on. I know you don’t remember what happened here, but do you remember, uh—”
“Being a ghost?” Izuku grinned, crooked and a little dopey. “Oh, yeah. Best night of my life.”
Izuku’s left leg was a twisted wreck, so they strapped him into the gurney for the ride back. Katsuki blasted up to the waiting helicopter, watching from above as the paramedic buckled him down and gave the okay.
It was laughable how happy Izuku looked while being lifted into the sky like cargo. He was gazing at the clouds, watching the first peek of the sunrise over the horizon, but his face lit up even brighter when he saw Katuski waiting in the door to receive him.
“Hurt anywhere?” Katsuki shouted over the propeller, hauling him inside.
Izuku shook his head, his smile never faltering.
The paramedic climbed inside to check every inch of Izuku’s body, cutting away his thermal suit to reveal nothing more than surface level bruises. Katsuki breathed a final sigh of relief, but even as his shoulders eased, a strange sense of urgency remained in his chest.
Izuku looked so radiant like this, in full color. The green of his eyes was so deep, his freckles perfectly visible again. Even his hair looked shinier than before. He was still smiling like an idiot, stealing glances at Katsuki in between his exam, giving the paramedic quiet, extremely distracted answers.
Every time their eyes met, Katsuki felt a rush of something strange. It felt like fear turned inside out, with all of the dark, terrible parts replaced with goodness. It made his heart leap, his palms sweat, but it felt safe somehow, like if he stumbled he'd simply fall into a cloud. It was almost like sparring, the rush of a contained thrill—
That was what this urgency was. Excitement. He was hungry for what came next, giddy at the thought of it. What would happen after they landed? A hospital stay, probably. Izuku would need a change of clothes, some stuff from his apartment, deliveries from his favorite restaurants. Those things felt like his to do now. Katsuki wanted to do all of it.
As the paramedic anchored down the cot, Katsuki's eyes fell to Izuku's bruised, swollen hand resting on his stomach. Before he realized what he was doing, he imagined a ring there. A silver band resting at the base of his finger.
Well, then.
“Attention crew. Prepare for forward flight.”
Rare impulsivity welled in Katsuki’s chest. He was drunk on this new feeling, swept up in its warm, rushing winds.
“Hey, nerd!” He shouted over the ramping engine. “I'll marry you!”
Izuku’s head snapped up. “W-What? Now?”
“No,” Katsuki spluttered. “Well—u-unless—”
“That would be crazy,” Izuku shouted back, “We’re not even dating yet.”
“Fine, nevermind!” Katsuki crossed his arms. “Forget I said anything.”
“No!” Izuku sat up. “No, I didn’t mean to say crazy, of course I—”
“Stop moving,” The paramedic eased him down again. “Dynamight, stop agitating my patient.”
“Let’s get married, Kacchan!” Izuku cried as she strapped him in, locking a seatbelt over his chest. “Let’s do it. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
Katsuki ran a hand down his face. This was not going well. “That’s not what I’m saying, stupid. We can’t get married yet. My mom would kill me.”
The paramedic sighed, securing her headset before signaling the pilot for ascent. “What is he saying?”
“He’s…” Izuku’s eyes widened. “He’s saying he loves me.”
Katsuki huffed and sat at the back of the helicopter, his face burning all the way to his neck. He fixed his eyes on the cargo hold, determined not to look anywhere else for the rest of the ride out of sheer embarrassment—until a scuffle of ripping fabric and shouting broke through the cabin.
“I’m fine!” Izuku had torn out of his cot, and was crawling across the floor, dragging his splinted leg behind him.
“You idiot,” Katsuki rushed up to meet him, and Izuku stumbled into his arms. He was laughing, and even if he had little strength in his legs, his arms were warm and strong, squeezing Katsuki tighter than he’d ever been held before.
As the helicopter rose higher, and with Izuku safely plastered to his chest, Katsuki allowed himself to lean into the window and relax at last. The ship dropping away below them looked strange in the first light of morning, less like a city and more like a husk, its age and rust laid bare in the dawn.
Something flickered at the edge of Katsuki’s vision, pulling his focus back to the sea. Around the ship’s hull, a strange glow shimmered against the water. At first, it looked like sunlight breaking through the waves, but beneath the light lay faint wisps of movement.
The glow was full of faces. Hundreds of figures floating in the rippling water—men, women, young and old—their outlines rising and falling in the current. They were stirring along the ship, busy with something—as the helicopter circled wider, the pattern became clear: one by one, they were releasing the ship’s hull.
A bright flare drew Katsuki’s eye back to the deck. A near-transparent figure in a T-shirt and boots stood at the topmost level. Her arm was raised an arm in an easy wave, more of a see you later, I guess than a goodbye. Katsuki lifted a hand to the window in return.
If he’d stayed to watch, he would’ve seen the ship start to sink, exhaling its long life into the sea. A blinding scatter of blue light would emerge above it, its fragments dancing in the clouds until they faded from sight, called to wherever souls freed from their tether were meant to go.