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Katsuki woke to the sharp blaring of his alarm, the sound cutting through the quiet apartment like it always did. His hand moved on instinct, slapping down on the clock until the noise died. For a moment he stayed there, sitting up slowly, shoulders stiff, hair a mess from sleep.
The room was still dim with the grey light of early morning.
The bed smelled like Shouto.
He noticed it every time he woke up. It clung faintly to the sheets and the pillow beside him. Cool, clean, familiar. Four months later and it was still there, stubbornly lingering like the man himself refused to leave.
Katsuki hadn’t washed the sheets since.
Yeah, he knew it was gross. Unhygienic. If anyone asked, he’d snap at them for even bringing it up. But the truth was simple: the moment he washed them, that scent would disappear. And once it was gone… it would be gone.
So the sheets stayed.
He shoved the thought away and swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand down his face before pushing himself up. The carpet was cold beneath his feet as he headed for the bathroom.
The shower ran hot, steam slowly filling the small space while he stood beneath the water, letting it run over his shoulders and down his back. It woke him up enough to move through the motions. wash, rinse, dry, nothing more than routine.
When he stepped back into the bedroom, towel slung around his neck as he rubbed at his damp hair, he stopped.
Yori had somehow snuck in while he’d been in the shower.
The small calico Scottish fold was curled up comfortably on the bed, tucked against Shouto’s pillow like it belonged there. Her tail flicked gracefully as she slept, completely unbothered.
Katsuki stared at her for a second before clicking his tongue quietly.
Katsuki got dressed in something simple, practical, warm enough for winter without feeling restrictive.
A dark padded jacket sat over a layered hoodie, the collar slightly raised like he couldn’t be bothered to smooth it down properly. Loose trousers, worn in at the seams, and boots he didn’t have to think about putting on. Nothing flashy. Nothing that needed attention.
He didn’t look in the mirror for long.
Didn’t need to.
The kitchen was quiet when he walked in.
Too quiet.
Katsuki reached up on instinct, pulling two mugs down from the cupboard before he even fully registered what he was doing. The ceramic clicked softly against the counter as he set them out side by side.
He stopped.
Stared.
One second.
Two.
“…tch.”
His hand hovered over the second mug like it had betrayed him.
Right.
He didn’t move it.
Didn’t put it away.
Just stood there for a moment longer than necessary before something nudged against his leg.
Yori.
She was looking up at him, tail flicking once as if she’d been waiting for exactly this moment. Not demanding. Just there. Expectant.
Katsuki exhaled through his nose.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.
He opened a cabinet, grabbed her food, and crouched down to place the bowl on the floor. The sound of kibble filling it broke the silence in a small, normal way that almost felt wrong in how normal it was.
Yori immediately moved to eat.
Katsuki watched her for a second longer than he needed to, then straightened up and made himself a coffee with the same mechanical routine as always. Steam curled up faintly as he leaned against the counter, mug in hand.
Only one mug this time.
He didn’t look at the second one.
After a while, he set the empty one back in the cupboard without thinking too hard about it and started gathering what he needed for the day. Wallet. Keys. Phone.
Routine.
Yori finished eating and wandered off, climbing into her window hammock like she owned the place, curling up and facing the city outside.
Katsuki walked over on impulse and gave her a small scratch between the ears. Just once.
She leaned into it slightly.
Then he pulled his hand away.
“Don’t break anything while I’m gone,” he muttered, though there was no real bite in it.
Yori didn’t respond, already half asleep again.
Katsuki turned toward the door.
He paused at the genkan.
Saw the shoes.
Shouto’s.
Right there beside his own like it was still normal.
Like it still meant something simple.
Bakugou stared at them for half a second longer than he should have.
Then he looked away.
Cold air hit Katsuki the second he stepped outside the building, sharp enough to sting against still-damp hair and flushed skin. Winter had settled deep into Musutafu by now, wrapping the city in grey skies and biting wind that slipped easily beneath layers no matter how warm they were supposed to be.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking.
The streets were already busy despite the early hour. People moved around him in clusters—office workers with coffees in hand, students dragging themselves toward trains, civilians bundled up against the cold. Somewhere farther down the street a crosswalk signal chimed softly beneath the distant hum of traffic.
A few heads turned when he passed.
Recognition.
He caught it immediately without even looking directly at them.
Number Five Hero.
Dynamight.
Widower.
The title clung to him now whether he wanted it to or not.
Some people glanced with sympathy. Others with curiosity. A few looked at him the way people looked at tragic headlines they couldn’t stop reading.
Katsuki ignored every single one of them.
His head stayed slightly lowered as he walked, scarf brushing against his jaw with every step. The grocery list folded in his jacket pocket crinkled faintly whenever his hand shifted.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Routine.
He kept moving through familiar streets until his steps slowed on instinct.
Then stopped entirely.
A park sat quietly between the crowded buildings, its pathways dusted lightly with winter frost. Bare trees stretched overhead, their branches thin and dark against the pale morning sky.
Katsuki stared at it from across the street.
A park.
No—
The park.
It was late that night.
Cold but no cold enough to be uncomfortable, just cool enough for Katsuki to keep his hand shoved in his jacket pocket between gestures while he talked. The city lights had reflected softly off the fountains water as he and Shouto walked through the park together, taking the longer route home simply because neither of them had wanted the night to end yet.
Katsuki had been rambling.
Something about one of his sidekicks being completely fucking useless during patrol earlier that day.
“He almost launched himself through a damn wall trying to look cool,” Katsuki scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I swear these extras lose all survival instinct the second they get hired.”
Shouto hummed beside him, quiet as always, listening attentively despite the fact Katsuki had been complaining for at least ten straight minutes.
Their hands were clasped together loosely between them. Katsuki’s rough palm against Shouto’s larger, softer one.
Warm.
Familiar.
He didn’t even realize Shouto had stopped walking until he felt the tug on his hand.
Katsuki stumbled half a step backward before turning around with a sharp, “What?”
Shouto stood there near the fountain, mismatched eyes reflecting the warm glow from the surrounding lights.
And then..
He let go of Katsuki’s hand.
Dropped to one knee.
For a second Katsuki genuinely thought his brain had stopped functioning.
“…hah?”
Shouto reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet box.
Opened it.
Inside sat a gold ring etched with delicate swirling patterns, tiny diamonds embedded carefully into the metal where the light caught them.
Katsuki stared at it.
Then at Shouto.
Then back at the ring again.
Shouto looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
It was subtle, barely noticeable unless you knew him as well as Katsuki did but it was there in the slight tension in his shoulders and the careful way he held the box.
“Katsuki,” Shouto started quietly, “we met when we were fifteen and honestly I don’t think I understood what love felt like until-“
“Yes.”
Shouto blinked.
Katsuki’s face burned instantly.
“I said yes, dumbass.”
There was a brief moment of stunned silence before Shouto surged to his feet so suddenly Katsuki barely had time to react.
Strong arms wrapped around him tightly, lifting him just slightly off the ground as Shouto buried his face against his shoulder.
“Katsuki-“
“Oi-!”
The velvet box slipped from Shouto’s hand.
Both of them froze.
The ring hit the pavement with a tiny metallic clink before bouncing somewhere into the dark grass nearby.
“…fuck.”
Shouto immediately let go.
They both dropped to the ground at the same time.
“You dropped it!”
“You answered too fast!”
“That’s your excuse?!” Katsuki snapped, already shoving aside grass with both hands. “If we lose this thing I’m killing you!”
“I’m helping.”
“You’re the reason it’s lost!”
Despite himself, despite the panic rising in his chest at the thought of losing it, Katsuki could still hear Shouto quietly laughing beside him while they searched through the grass together beneath the fountain lights.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft chime, warm air immediately washing over Katsuki as he stepped inside the supermarket.
The familiar buzz of fluorescent lights filled the store alongside the low murmur of conversations and the occasional squeak of cart wheels against polished floors. It smelled faintly of produce, packaged food, and fresh bread from the bakery section near the entrance.
Normal.
Painfully normal.
Katsuki grabbed a cart without much thought and pulled the folded shopping list from his pocket. The paper was creased and worn from being rewritten and added onto over the past week whenever he remembered something he was running low on.
He moved through the aisles mechanically.
Vegetables first.
Carrots. Green onions. Mushrooms.
Then proteins.
Chicken. Pork. Eggs.
His cart slowly filled as he worked through the list with the efficiency of someone who hated shopping but knew exactly where everything was.
Eventually he made his way toward the instant noodle aisle, already mentally sorting through what would be easiest to throw together for lunches during patrol days.
As he turned the corner, his steps slowed.
Then stopped.
The shelf where Shouto’s favorite soba used to sit was empty.
Not sold out.
Gone.
A different brand had taken its place entirely, bright packaging shoved neatly into the exact spot the familiar soba packets had occupied for years.
A few months after their wedding, the two of them had stood in the exact same aisle arguing quietly in front of the soba shelf.
Well..
Katsuki had been arguing.
Shouto had just been standing there holding five packs of soba in his arms with complete confidence in his choices.
“You do not need that much damn soba,” Katsuki snapped, shoving a packet of instant ramen into the cart. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Shouto looked down at the packs in his arms before looking back at him calmly.
“It was on sale.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s efficient.”
“You sound eighty years old.”
Shouto ignored that completely.
“I eat it often.”
“Yeah, no shit, I noticed.”
Katsuki reached over and tried pulling one of the packs away from him, only for Shouto to subtly shift it out of reach without effort.
“Oi.”
“I can carry more if needed,” Shouto offered helpfully.
“That’s not the issue!”
An elderly woman passing by glanced at them briefly before continuing on, probably deciding she didn’t want to get involved in whatever this was.
Katsuki clicked his tongue sharply.
“You’re gonna get fat eating this crap every damn day.”
“I work out constantly.”
“It’s still not healthy.”
“You ate chips for breakfast yesterday.”
Katsuki opened his mouth.
Then immediately shut it again.
“…that’s different.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is when I do it.”
Shouto hummed softly, clearly unconvinced.
Then, after a moment, he reached toward the shelf again and grabbed another pack.
Six.
Katsuki stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet you married me.”
The words came so casually that Katsuki physically felt his irritation stumble for half a second.
Shouto looked completely sincere too, standing there with six packs of soba in his arms like this was a perfectly normal interaction between newlyweds.
“…shut up,” Katsuki muttered, face warming slightly as he shoved the cart forward.
A second later he heard quiet footsteps follow behind him.
And then Shouto’s soft laugh.
By the time Katsuki reached the condiment aisle, his cart was nearly full.
A few final items.
That was it.
He stopped in front of the shelves automatically, eyes scanning until they landed on the familiar soy sauce bottle he bought every single time.
Only now it had been shoved onto the top shelf.
“…seriously?”
Katsuki frowned up at it before stepping closer. It wasn’t impossible to reach, just annoying enough to piss him off. He rose onto the balls of his feet, fingers barely brushing the bottle before finally hooking around it and tugging it free.
The motion was simple.
Familiar.
And immediately dragged another memory to the surface.
Katsuki had been standing in their kitchen years ago glaring up at the top shelf with visible irritation.
“Who the hell put these up so high?”
“The shelves haven’t moved,” Shouto answered from somewhere behind him.
“That’s not the point.”
Katsuki stretched upward again, fingertips brushing the edge of the taco shell box but failing to grab it properly.
A second later another hand reached over his head effortlessly.
Shouto pulled the box down with ease.
Katsuki immediately scowled.
“You did that on purpose.”
Shouto blinked. “You were trying to get them.”
“I could’ve gotten them myself.”
“You were struggling.”
“I was not struggling.”
Shouto handed him the box calmly, the height difference between them suddenly feeling criminally obvious at close range.
“You’re annoyingly tall,” Katsuki grumbled, snatching the taco shells from him.
“I know.”
Bakugou blinked back into the present.
The supermarket lights suddenly felt too bright.
The soy sauce bottle sat cold in his hand.
Without thinking too hard about it, he dropped it into the cart and kept walking.
When Katsuki finally left the supermarket, the sky had turned a duller shade of grey.
One bag hung from his shoulder while another rested heavy in his hand, plastic handles biting slightly into his fingers. His pace was slower now.
His head lower too.
The city kept moving around him regardless.
People crossed streets. Cars rolled past. Conversations blurred together into meaningless noise beneath the cold winter air.
Katsuki barely noticed any of it.
He passed the park again without stopping this time.
Didn’t look directly at it.
Didn’t need another memory clawing its way up his throat.
By the time he reached the apartment building, his shoulders felt heavier than the groceries themselves.
The elevator ride was silent.
The hallway outside the apartment even quieter.
Katsuki unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Warmth greeted him immediately alongside the faint hum of the heater.
Yori was still curled up in her window hammock, tail flicking lazily as she watched the city below through half-lidded eyes. She barely acknowledged him entering.
“Lazy cat,” Katsuki muttered automatically.
He moved into the kitchen and started putting groceries away in silence. Vegetables into the fridge. Meat into the freezer. Pantry items into cabinets.
Routine.
Always routine.
He had just reached for one of the noodle packs when another memory surfaced without warning.
“Katsuki.”
“No.”
“Katsuki..”
“Absolutely not.”
Shouto stood in the genkan dripping rainwater onto the floor with a tiny kitten cradled carefully in both hands.
His hair was damp, coat soaked through, and somehow he still looked completely calm despite the situation.
Katsuki stared at him in disbelief.
“You went out for groceries!” he snapped. “Why the hell are you back with a cat?!”
The kitten let out a weak little meow from Shouto’s hands.
Tiny.
Shivering.
Pathetically wet.
Shouto looked down at it briefly before answering, “It was outside.”
“And?”
“It was raining.”
“That’s not our problem!”
Shouto stepped further into the apartment anyway.
“Katsuki.”
“No.”
“It would’ve died.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue sharply, jaw tightening as he glared at both his boyfriend and the tiny animal currently peeking out from between Shouto’s fingers.
Shouto was soaked.
Actually soaked.
Rainwater dripped from his sleeves while he carried the kitten toward the bathroom like this entire situation was perfectly reasonable.
“You’re unbelievable,” Katsuki hissed while following after him. “You come home looking like a drowned extra carrying some random damn cat-“
“Kitten.”
“That’s not the point!”
A few minutes later Shouto stood at the sink carefully washing mud from the kitten’s fur while Katsuki hovered nearby with crossed arms and the expression of a man moments away from developing a stress-induced migraine.
The kitten sneezed.
Shouto’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“…Yori,” he said suddenly.
Katsuki blinked. “What?”
“The name.”
“You named it already?!” Katsuki barked immediately. “See, this is exactly the problem! Now you’re getting attached!”
Shouto looked genuinely confused.
“You’re yelling.”
“Because you’re emotionally adopting a cat you found twenty minutes ago!”
Yori’s tiny ears twitched at the sound of Katsuki’s voice.
Shouto glanced down at her before speaking again in that unfairly calm tone.
“Her ears are cute.”
Katsuki stared at him.
“…that’s your reason?”
“No.”
By the end of the week the kitten had a bed.
And toys.
And somehow a window hammock.
A sudden thud echoed through the apartment.
Katsuki’s head snapped up immediately.
The cabinet door in front of him swung slightly from where he’d left it open, groceries momentarily forgotten as silence settled again.
Too quiet.
His eyes flicked toward the living room window.
The hammock was empty.
Panic hit him before logic could.
“Yori?”
He was already moving, boots striking hard against the floor as he crossed the apartment quickly and shoved the bedroom door open.
Only to stop short.
Yori sat perfectly fine atop his bedside table, staring at him with wide, unimpressed eyes while his alarm clock lay upside down on the floor beside it.
For a moment Katsuki just stood there, adrenaline still buzzing unpleasantly beneath his skin.
Then he exhaled sharply through his nose.
“…stupid cat.”
Yori blinked slowly.
Katsuki rubbed a hand down his face, irritation quickly replacing the brief spike of fear. He stepped into the room and rested one hand against the edge of the bedside table before crouching down to grab the fallen clock.
His fingers hovered inches from it.
Then stopped.
Katsuki froze.
Something gold caught in the corner of his vision.
His wedding ring.
It had been hidden behind the clock for weeks—months, maybe. Tucked out of sight where he didn’t have to think about it too often.
Now it sat fully exposed beneath the dim bedroom light.
Bakugou stared at it silently.
Slowly, he pulled his hand away from the clock entirely.
It remained forgotten on the floor as he reached instead for the ring, picking it up carefully between rough fingertips.
It felt lighter than he remembered.
Smaller too.
The metal rested quietly in his palm while his thumb brushed over the familiar etched details worn smooth in certain places from years of use.
Or attempted use.
Neither he nor Shouto wore their rings often.
Too risky.
Hero work destroyed things constantly. Costumes, phones, equipment. Rings were easy to lose during patrols or missions, especially with quirks like theirs. More than once Katsuki had nearly blasted his own hand apart during combat.
So they usually kept them safe at home instead.
Still..
They wore them when they could.
On days off.
Late-night walks.
Quiet mornings.
Dinner dates neither of them had energy for after long patrols.
Katsuki swallowed once.
Today was his day off.
No patrols.
No missions.
Nothing that could damage it.
He could wear it.
His fingers tightened slightly around the band.
But he didn’t move to put it on.
The gold sat in the center of his palm, catching weak light from the bedroom window while memories pressed at the edges of his mind whether he wanted them there or not.
Just like that night.
Katsuki had the apartment to himself for once.
No patrol.
No paperwork.
No interviews shoved into his schedule at the last second.
Just a quiet evening at home while Shouto worked late.
The kitchen was warm.
Rich broth simmered softly on the stove, steam curling upward while Katsuki stood at the counter chopping vegetables with practiced precision. The rhythmic sound of the knife striking wood filled the apartment in steady intervals.
He was making Shouto’s special soba.
Not the cheap ones he bought in bulk from the supermarket.
The real one.
The annoying one.
The recipe used ingredients that were impossible to find half the damn time, which meant Katsuki had spent nearly two hours after patrol the day before tracking everything down from specialty stores across Musutafu.
Because apparently Shouto could somehow tell the difference.
Spoiled bastard.
Katsuki slid another ingredient into the simmering broth before tasting it briefly from the spoon.
Still needed time.
The rain outside tapped softly against the apartment windows while warm light filled the kitchen, comfortable in a way that only existed on nights like this.
Simple.
Domestic.
Home.
His phone suddenly buzzed against the counter.
Katsuki frowned immediately at the caller ID.
“Kirishima?”
He wiped one hand against a towel before answering the call, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear while reaching for another ingredient.
“What?” he answered bluntly. “I’m busy.”
On the other end of the line, Katsuki could hear sirens.
Loud.
Multiple.
Ambulances.
Police.
The distant chaos of a scene still actively unfolding.
His grip on the knife tightened slightly.
“Kirishima?” Katsuki frowned. “What happened?”
There was heavy breathing through the speaker before Kirishima finally answered.
“…it’s Shouto.”
Everything in Katsuki’s body went still.
The broth continued simmering quietly behind him.
Rain tapped against the windows.
Kirishima sounded strained when he spoke again, words rushed together beneath distant shouting and sirens.
“There was a building collapse during patrol. He got civilians out but there was still a mother and kid trapped inside and-“
The knife slipped from Katsuki’s hand.
It clattered loudly against the counter before hitting the floor.
Kirishima kept talking.
Something about rescue crews.
Something about medics.
Something Katsuki suddenly couldn’t process properly over the violent ringing building in his ears.
His chest tightened hard enough to hurt.
No.
No.
Shouto was fine.
He had to be fine.
Katsuki turned immediately, yanking the stove off so fast the burner clicked sharply beneath his hand. The broth continued steaming uselessly in the pot.
Shouto’s special soba.
Half finished.
Forgotten instantly.
“Katsuki—”
“Where?” Katsuki demanded.
His voice sounded wrong.
Too sharp.
Too strained.
Kirishima gave him the location.
Katsuki ended the call before another word could be said.
Everything after that happened fast.
Too fast.
He barely registered grabbing his coat from the couch as he rushed toward the genkan. His feet shoved roughly into shoes without properly tying them first while panic clawed violently up his throat.
He was still wearing sleep clothes.
Loose plaid pajama pants.
An oversized grey shirt that was two sizes too big since it belonged to Shouto.
He didn’t care.
Couldn’t care.
His hands shook as he grabbed the door handle.
Please.
Please be okay.
Katsuki bolted from the apartment before his mind could finish the thought.
By the time Katsuki arrived, the storm had only gotten worse.
Rain poured relentlessly over shattered concrete and twisted metal, emergency lights flashing red and blue across the wreckage of the collapsed building. The entire street had been blocked off, heroes and rescue workers moving frantically through debris while ambulances lined the curb.
Katsuki barely registered any of it.
He pushed forward immediately.
“Dynamight-!”
“Sir, you can’t-”
He shoved past them.
Someone grabbed for his arm and he ripped away instantly, shoulders heaving as panic drowned out everything else.
“Move.”
The word came out sharp enough to cut.
Heroes parted quickly after that.
Katsuki stumbled over broken concrete as he forced his way deeper into the scene, eyes darting wildly through rain and flashing lights until..
There.
Shouto.
The world stopped.
Shouto lay in the rain beneath the wreckage, blood running from a wound on his head and mixing with water against the pavement below him. A massive steel beam had pierced through his side, pinning him cruelly beneath debris.
There were other injuries too.
Burns.
Cuts.
Bruising.
Katsuki saw all of it and none of it at the same time.
His brain refused to process the image in front of him properly.
No.
No, no, no-
Nearby, Kirishima looked just as wrecked, blood smeared across his face and costume torn apart from the rescue effort.
“Katsuki-“
Katsuki shoved past him before he could say another word.
He dropped hard to his knees beside Shouto, water splashing violently beneath him as rain soaked instantly through his clothes. His hands hovered uselessly over Shouto’s body like he didn’t know where to touch without making it worse.
Shouto looked pale.
Too pale.
“Katsuki…”
Katsuki hadn’t even realized he was crying until tears mixed with the rain dripping from his face.
Hot.
Constant.
His breathing had turned uneven somewhere along the way, sharp inhales cutting painfully through his chest while his hands trembled over Shouto like he couldn’t decide where to hold him first.
Carefully, too carefully, he slid one arm beneath Shouto’s head, lifting it slightly from the soaked pavement. The other pressed instinctively against his chest as if he could somehow hold him together through sheer force alone.
“You fucking idiot,” Katsuki choked out immediately.
His voice cracked.
“You absolute reckless dumbass-“
Rainwater clung to Shouto’s lashes while blood continued trailing slowly down the side of his face.
Katsuki barely noticed.
“What the hell were you thinking?!” he shouted, panic bleeding violently into anger. “You can’t just throw yourself into collapsing buildings like some damn-“
His grip tightened slightly.
“You had rescue crews there-there were other heroes there-“
Shouto’s eyes remained half-lidded, unfocused.
Katsuki kept talking anyway.
Because if he stopped…
“You stupid fucking-” His voice broke hard this time. “You promised me you’d come home.”
Shouto’s breathing had grown quieter.
Slower.
Katsuki didn’t realize it immediately.
Didn’t notice the subtle way Shouto’s gaze started drifting somewhere distant while the rain continued pouring around them.
“You hear me?” Katsuki demanded desperately. “Oi. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Nothing.
For one horrible second, Shouto’s eyes slipped shut completely.
Katsuki froze.
Every ounce of air vanished from his lungs.
“No.”
His hand immediately moved, fingers pressing shakily against Shouto’s chest before lightly tapping against it once.
Then again.
“Shouto.”
Panic surged violently through him.
“Hey.”
Another tap.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Shouto stirred faintly beneath his hands, lashes twitching before his eyes opened again just slightly.
Katsuki could feel it.
The weak rise and fall beneath his hand.
Fainter each time.
Shouto’s heartbeat stumbled unevenly against his palm, slower than it should’ve been and terror curled tighter and tighter around Katsuki’s ribs with every passing second.
Rain soaked through both of them completely now.
Katsuki barely noticed.
Tears kept falling no matter how hard he tried to stop them, his vision blurring while he held Shouto close enough to feel the trembling breaths leaving him.
“Stay awake,” Katsuki whispered harshly. “You stay the hell awake, got it?”
Shouto’s lips parted slightly.
“Katsuki…”
The voice was weak. Shaking.
But there.
Katsuki immediately leaned closer.
“I’m here.”
For a moment Shouto just looked at him quietly, mismatched eyes unfocused beneath the rain.
“We met when we were fifteen.”
Katsuki’s chest tightened painfully.
“Shouto-“
“You were loud,” Shouto murmured faintly, the smallest ghost of fondness touching his expression. “Angry all the time.”
“Still am.”
A weak breath escaped Shouto that almost sounded like a laugh.
“You were everything opposite of me.”
Katsuki’s fingers curled tighter into his costume.
“Then stop talking like this,” he said quickly. “Save the dramatic shit for later.”
But Shouto continued anyway.
“I didn’t understand you at first.”
His words were getting quieter.
Slower.
“But I kept wanting to know you more.”
Katsuki shook his head immediately.
“No.”
“And then somehow…”
Another uneven breath.
“I fell in love with you.”
Katsuki’s throat closed painfully.
“Shut up,” he whispered desperately. “Don’t talk like you’re leaving.”
Shouto’s eyes fluttered slightly.
“I loved our home. Yori.”
The words were barely audible now.
“You yell a lot…”
A weak pause.
“…but it was warm.”
Katsuki’s breathing shattered completely.
“Shouto.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I’m sor-“
“No!”
Katsuki’s voice cracked violently through the rain.
Shouto’s eyes slipped closed.
His chest rose once beneath Katsuki’s hand.
Then again.
Smaller this time.
His heartbeat slowed.
Slower.
Slower—
Stopped.
For a second Katsuki couldn’t understand what he was feeling.
The silence didn’t make sense.
The stillness didn’t make sense.
“…Shouto?”
Nothing.
Katsuki’s hand shook violently against his chest.
“No.”
His voice came out broken.
“No, no, no-“
He pressed harder against him like he could force the heartbeat back through sheer desperation alone.
“Shouto!”
Rain poured around them.
Sirens screamed somewhere nearby.
Katsuki barely heard any of it over the sound of himself breaking apart.
Katsuki sat at the edge of the bed with the ring still resting in his palm, shoulders rigid while the memory continued echoing through him like something alive.
His chest hurt.
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
Just constant.
A deep ache that never really left anymore.
Across the room, Yori shifted atop the bedside table before carefully hopping back onto the bed, circling once against the blankets before settling near Shouto’s pillow again.
Like she was waiting for him to come back.
Katsuki stared down at the ring.
Gold.
Warm from his hand now.
Shouto had picked it himself.
Spent weeks pretending he “wasn’t hiding anything suspicious” while somehow being the worst liar Katsuki had ever met.
And despite everything..
Despite the anger still rotting inside him…
Katsuki still loved him so much it felt unbearable.
That only pissed him off more.
“You asshole,” he muttered quietly.
The words lacked any real heat.
“You said you’d come home.”
His thumb brushed slowly across the etched details in the band.
Then finally,
Slowly
Bakugou slid the ring back onto his finger.
It still fit perfectly.
Years passed.
Not quickly.
Not slowly.
But they passed anyway.
Bakugou was thirty six now.
Older in ways he noticed mostly during quiet moments. The faint lines beginning to settle permanently into his face. The stiffness in old injuries after long patrols. The exhaustion that lingered longer than it used to.
A few years earlier, he’d taken Shouto’s place as Japan’s Number Two Hero.
The headlines had talked about how fitting it was.
How Dynamight had risen naturally through the rankings after years of relentless work.
How he carried the same overwhelming presence and strength expected from the top heroes of the country.
Katsuki hated every article.
Not because he disagreed.
But because the number beside his name still felt wrong sometimes.
Number Two belonged to Shouto.
It always would.
There were days Katsuki stood outside buildings staring up at his own ranking displayed on giant screens and felt something bitter twist inside his chest.
Like he’d taken something that didn’t belong to him.
But then he’d remember Shouto’s face.
The quiet certainty in him.
And somewhere beneath the grief and resentment and years of anger, Bakugou knew Shouto would’ve been proud anyway.
That annoying bastard would’ve smiled softly and said something unbearably sincere about how Katsuki earned it.
So Bakugou kept moving forward.
That was all he could do.
Things changed over time.
He stopped setting out two mugs in the mornings.
He did wash the sheets.
The first time had nearly destroyed him.
Afterward the apartment smelled different.
Cleaner.
Emptier.
But survivable.
And the ring..
Katsuki wore it whenever he could now.
Sometimes during small patrol beneath his gloves despite regulations. Sometimes during interviews. Quiet nights at home. Grocery trips.
He stopped hiding it.
Yori had changed too.
Age had settled over her slowly across the years, softening her movements and frosting grey through patches of calico fur. At twelve years old, she spent most of her time sleeping in warm places around the apartment rather than climbing furniture like she used to.
Her jumps weren’t as graceful anymore.
Sometimes she needed help reaching the bed.
Katsuki pretended not to notice the first time it happened.
But he did.
Of course he did.
He noticed every little thing.
The slower walks to her food bowl.
The way she slept more deeply now.
The faint cloudiness forming in her eyes.
One evening she curled up in his lap while he sat on the couch reviewing patrol reports, purring weakly against his stomach like she had years ago when she still fit in Shouto’s hands.
Katsuki rested one rough hand against her fur carefully.
Quietly.
He knew.
The next morning, Katsuki woke before his alarm.
The apartment was quiet.
Not unusual anymore.
He sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes before forcing himself out of bed. The floor creaked softly beneath his feet as he moved through the apartment on autopilot, brushing his teeth beneath harsh bathroom lights while half-awake thoughts drifted aimlessly through his head.
Another patrol later.
Paperwork.
Probably interviews.
Normal.
Routine.
When he entered the kitchen, Yori was curled up on the couch nearby in a small ball of faded calico fur.
Katsuki glanced at her briefly.
“Morning,” he muttered automatically.
No response.
Not surprising.
She slept heavily these days.
Katsuki grabbed his mug from the cabinet and started making coffee, movements practiced from years of repetition. Water boiled. Steam curled upward. The rich smell of coffee slowly filled the apartment.
Usually by now Yori would wander over.
Slowly these days, but she always came eventually.
She’d nudge against his leg while he prepared her breakfast, impatient in her own quiet way.
Katsuki waited for it absentmindedly.
The soft brush against his ankle.
The tiny meow.
Nothing came.
The coffee finished brewing.
Still nothing.
Katsuki poured it into his mug carefully before moving toward the kitchen counter and sitting down on one of the stools with a quiet exhale.
Steam drifted directly into his face.
He stared at the dark surface of the coffee silently for a moment.
Then looked back toward the couch.
Yori hadn’t moved.
Her eyes stayed closed.
Her body remained curled tightly together, tail tucked near her paws like she’d simply fallen asleep there sometime during the night.
Katsuki’s grip tightened slightly around the mug.
The apartment suddenly felt too still.
Too quiet.
He just sat there staring at her from across the apartment, coffee growing colder between his hands while morning light slowly spilled through the windows.
Part of him waited for movement.
A twitch of her tail.
An annoyed flick of her ears.
Anything.
Nothing came.
His throat tightened.
Slowly, Katsuki set the mug down onto the counter.
The soft ceramic clink sounded far too loud in the silence.
He stood.
His footsteps felt strangely heavy crossing the apartment, every instinct in him already understanding what he would find before he even reached the couch.
Yori looked peaceful.
Curled up exactly the way she always slept.
Katsuki crouched beside her carefully, one rough hand hovering uncertainly above her fur before finally resting gently against her side.
Still warm.
But unmoving.
No small rise of breath beneath his palm.
No purr.
No sleepy reaction to his touch.
He shut his eyes briefly.
“…tch.”
The sound came out weak.
Not irritated.
Just tired.
So unbelievably tired.
His hand moved slowly over her fur, smoothing carefully along her back the same way Shouto used to when she was younger and small enough to fit in both hands.
Twelve years.
Twelve years of claw marks on furniture, stolen pieces of food, fur on everywhere, toys…
Twelve years of loving something Shouto brought home dripping rainwater all over the damn floor.
Bakugou let out a slow breath through his nose.
“You waited a long time,” he whispered quietly.