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Katsuki sat rigidly on one of those plastic bench chairs in the OR waiting room, hands gripping his knees as he stared at the open door. He could hear the ticking clock mounted on the wall right across him.
Every passing second made the pit in his stomach grow and grow.
He drove there as fast as he could, as soon as he got the call. Car accident. Some drunk driver didn’t see the red light and slammed right into his parents’ car.
“Fuck.”
Katsuki keeled over, his hands coming up to catch his head. They hid his face it, which was good—he may be alone in that waiting room, but anyone can just walk in. He's too vulnerable in there, too exposed, so he can't break, not there. Not yet.
It took everything in him not to fall apart.
This was his fault, after all.
His parents had been on their way to Katsuki’s apartment for their Christmas “family dinner”—something they’d been doing for years, ever since Katsuki moved out.
And usually, Katsuki was the one who made the drive to his childhood home. But that night it was raining hard, and the gloomy atmosphere put him in a lazy mood. He didn’t feel like driving and had asked his folks if they could reschedule dinner for another time.
He should’ve known that the old hag would take up the challenge.
“A little rain isn’t gonna stop us from upholding a family tradition, brat.”
Well, fuck tradition. Look where it got them. With glass in his mom’s brain, and plastic in his dad’s heart.
The doctor wasn’t sure if they’d make it. He spouted some medical jargon about dying organs and survival rates but the grim bottom-line was, there’s a good chance his folks were rolling out of that OR in body bags.
All because Katsuki had felt too lazy to drive.
The pit in his stomach twisted even tighter. Katsuki couldn't decide if he wanted to cry or throw up.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Katsuki cursed under his breath. He was in no shape to socialize. “Go away, asshole.”
“You don’t look so well,” the stranger commented, unabashed by his rudeness. “Would you like some water? A coffee? Or a chocolate bar, maybe?” Katsuki felt the bench dip beside him. “Sugar and cacao are excellent modulators of grief, you know. Here, I have an extra candy bar. It has peanuts though, so I hope you’re not allergic.”
“What the fuck are you—“
Katsuki raised his head, ready to bite the stranger’s head off, but when he turned to look at him, Katsuki lost his breath, lost every thought in his mind.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” said the stranger, in a smooth, somber voice. “But you looked like you needed help.”
He was beautiful.
He was a young man, probably around Katsuki's age, lean and a full head shorter, wearing a ratty, oversized All Might hoodie over mint green hospital scrubs, and a pair of old red Nike Air Force sneakers.
And yet, despite being dressed like one of those overworked, underpaid schmucks who worked there, the man sat straight on the plastic chair with a quiet dignity, his knees primly pressed together and turned to one side, with hands tucked neatly on his lap.
And he was beautiful.
Breathtaking, painfully beautiful in a way Katsuki couldn’t get over. He had freckles across his cheeks, his skin glowing faintly under the fluorescent light. But his green eyes, though stunning, were heavy with a melancholy that made Katsuki’s chest ache.
He looked so sad and tired.
“You work here?” Katsuki managed to ask. He’s having a hard time stringing his thoughts together, and making his mouth move to his will.
The stranger seemed amused by his question. “You could say that," he answered. "I am a specialist. I come in when everyone else has given up.”
“So what, you’re some kind of miracle worker?” Katsuki frowned. “Why aren’t you in the OR helping my folks then?”
The stranger glanced at the waiting room's open door. Outside, surgeons and nurses in their colorful scrubs passed by, noses buried in patient charts or their phones, rushing from one operating room to another.
“They have no need of me, not yet,” said the stranger softly. “Your parents’ doctors are still fighting hard to save their lives. They are good people and excellent surgeons. There's still a chance that they won't be needing my services at all. Have a little more faith in them.”
He turned to Katsuki, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much of a smile, but it was enough to make Katsuki feel a little lightheaded. Who on earth was this guy?
“My name is Izuku, by the way,” said the stranger, as if reading his mind.
Katsuki hastily sputtered out his name.
“Katsuki,” Izuku repeated. His smile grew a little wider, and he pulled something out of his pocket. “Here. Have some chocolate.”
“No, I don’t need it.”
“I insist.” Izuku pressed the candy bar into his hand, and Katsuki’s skin tingled where they accidentally touched. “I have been on this job for… well, for a very long time, Katsuki. Trust me when I say this will help.”
Katsuki finally conceded and tore open the wrapper, taking a huge bite out of it. And like magic, he felt the knots in his stomach loosen and the nausea begin to disappear. The fear and guilt were still there, but they weren’t as overwhelming as before.
He looked at Izuku, flustered. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
Izuku appeared pleased, a little of his gloom fading away. “My pleasure. I am always happy to help."
“So,” Katsuki began, grappling for something to say. Izuku tipped his head curiously.
“So?”
“Uh, why are you here? You off the clock, or something?”
Izuku chuckled hollowly. “I don’t think I have had a day off in decades.”
“They work you that hard, huh?”
Izuku hummed, his eyes sliding back to the door. “They try their best not to,” he said. “Every day, they try. But sometimes, no matter how skilled they are, or how advanced modern medicine has become, there’s still nothing they can do.”
“And that’s when the other docs call you?”
Izuku’s lip twitched slightly upward. There’s that odd glint in his eyes again. “Oh no, they don’t call me. No one ever does. I just come in when I'm needed, and everyone hates it when I do.”
“What a bunch of egos.”
Izuku shook his head. “I do not take it against them,” he replied. “It is human nature to despise what they cannot understand or control. That’s how it was since the dawn of time, and that is how it will be till the end.” He spoke calmly, as if stating a fact, but there was a catch in his voice that Katsuki couldn’t figure out.
“But enough about me.” Izuku met Katsuki’s gaze, concern across his features. “How are you feeling?”
Katsuki bristled, swallowing the urge to brush him off.
He had never been the sharing type, especially towards men he'd just met. But there was something about Izuku that made Katsuki trust him. He felt at ease with him—as if they had known each other for a long time.
“Better,” Katsuki admitted. “But still pretty shitty.”
“That makes sense,” Izuku remarked, nodding absently, encouraging him to continue.
"And you know what makes things worse? Just being here, sitting on my ass, knowing that there's absolutely nothing I can do. It makes me feel so fucking—"
“Useless?”
Katsuki deflated. “Yeah." He rubbed his eyes, and if Izuku saw the tears he had quickly swept away, he didn’t say a word. “And there’s nothing in here to help get my mind off things for a bit. My phone’s dead and I left my charger at home."
"I mean," Katsuki angrily kicked the bench across him. “Would it kill the fuckers who ran this shitty hospital to put up a television in this room or at least stock it with a few damn magazines?”
Izuku tapped his chin thoughtfully. He glanced at the wall clock across them and then shifted on his seat, edging closer to Katsuki. Up close, Izuku smelled of fresh pine and fresh mountain air—two of Katsuki’s favorite things.
“Then how about a story?”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “A story?”
Izuku nodded, idly fiddling with a gold band on his ring finger. It was plain and slightly deformed, as if forged by someone who didn’t really know what they were doing. But it was clean and well-polished, clearly cherished by its owner.
“Something to distract you while you wait,” he explained. “It’s the only comfort I can offer for now.”
Katsuki frowned. “Didn't you say you're still on the clock? Won’t you get in trouble?”
“I am not needed, not yet,” Izuku replied, looking back at the open door. “However, if you would rather be alone right now, I will respect your wish.”
He began to stand, but Katsuki’s body moved on its own and grabbed Izuku's wrist, stopping him. Again, his skin touched the other man and this time, it was like electricity was running through them. Katsuki jolted and quickly let him go, but if Izuku had felt it too, he didn’t say anything.
“Stay,” Katsuki blurted, then he remembered his manners. "Uh, please?"
Izuku looked at him, surprised at first, but his expression softened and he smiled more brightly than before.
“As you wish, Katsuki.”
That perplexing grief was still there, but his smile felt like clouds parting to let some sunshine in. It made Katsuki’s heart flutter in his chest.
He cleared his throat as Izuku settled beside him. “So, uh, what’s the story, nerd?”
Izuku cocked an eyebrow. “Nerd?”
“Yeah, you’re dressed like a total nerd,” Katsuki teased, enjoying that faint pink blush that bloomed behind Izuku’s freckles. It made him look prettier, if that was even possible. “I didn’t think anyone was still an All Might fan these days.”
“He is a classic,” Izuku argued, seemingly affronted by the insinuation that All Might could ever be irrelevant. “He embodies everything a true hero is—bravery, hope, compassion.”
“And he’s fucking strong too.”
Izuku hummed approvingly, his eyes gleaming.
“Are you gonna tell me a story about All Might then?” asked Katsuki. “Just to warn you, I’ve read all the comics and watched all the shows and movies about him so I doubt you can tell me something I don’t already know.”
Izuku laughed a wonderful laugh.
“That is a tempting challenge, I must admit,” said he playfully. “But while it would be delightful to see who between us is All Might’s biggest admirer, the story I am going to share does not include him.”
Katsuki leaned back on his seat. “Then what is it about?”
“It’s about a boy with a heart too big for the world,” Izuku started, his tone shifting into something more somber again. “And the sum of everything he had lost because of it.”
Katsuki snorted. “That doesn’t sound like a happy story.”
“Would you prefer a happy one?” Izuku offered, but Katsuki shook his head.
“Nah. Happy endings are a scam.” Katsuki brushed some candy bar crumbs off his thigh. “Life never gives anyone a happily ever after.”
“That is true,” said Izuku softly. “But what is life, but the pursuit of that we can not have? Humans hope for the impossible all the time. And the boy in our story is no different.”
“Who was he?”
“He was no one that history remembers,” Izuku began. “Just a boy who lived a long, long time ago, in a nameless village of a kingdom that no longer exists today.”
“The boy lived with his mother, and it was just the two of them for as long as he could remember. His father had left before he was born, gone to war, missing or dead, no one really knew, but the boy never felt the need to seek him out."
“His mother’s love was enough for him, you see, and she raised him to be a happy, loving boy with a bleeding heart—always eager to help, always willing to give up a part of himself to others without expecting anything in return."
"That's stupid."
Izuku hummed sadly. "Perhaps. Some villagers certainly thought so, and they ridiculed the boy for his generous heart. And others decided to take advantage, taking everything the boy offered and more, stealing what measly wealth he and his mother had for themselves."
“Then one day, the boy's mother got sick, and without any money left to buy medicine, she passed away before his sixteenth birthday."
Izuku paused, his jaw clenching. The grief behind his eyes grew heavier, and for a moment there, Katsuki didn’t think he was going to continue.
But Izuku shook his head and cleared his throat.
“However, even after such loss, the boy's heart remained as generous as ever, and although he left the village to go live elsewhere, he still willingly offered parts of himself without asking for anything in return."
“And once again, the people took advantage."
Katsuki clucked his tongue disdainfully. “He should’ve known better by then. People suck.”
"That is true, most of the time," Izuku agreed. "But as I said, humans have a peculiar tendency to keep hoping for the impossible. And this boy—he still believed, still had hope, that people can be good too. After all, his mother was the most loving and generous person he knew. Surely she wasn't the only one in the world."
"Yet despite his optimism, the boy continued to have troubles, as if the gods themselves were punishing him for his bleeding heart. Bad people flocked to him like moths to a flame, taking more than he was ready to give."
"Idiot didn't learn his lesson,” Katsuki scoffed.
"Oh, he did, albeit slowly,” said Izuku. “He might have had a big heart, but he was only human. And humanity's foremost prerogative is to survive . So with every cutting betrayal and broken promise, a brick was added to the growing walls around the boy’s heart.”
“He left town and lived deep in the wilderness, far away from the bad humans who kept taking too much. The boy built a humble cottage at the center of a labyrinth of his own making—with thick-oak and overgrown prickly thickets that blocked the path to his new home.
At some point, the boy learned magic from passing fae and wood sprites, and he set up enchantments around his dwelling in the woods, adding wards and traps meant to make the path to his home appear invisible, unappealing, or even dangerous.
"There he lived, in isolation, with only the trees and a few animals as company. It was a lonely existence, but the boy decided that he’d rather be alone and unhurt, than be betrayed once again. And so he stayed hidden for years, completely cut off from the world."
“What?” Katsuki huffed impatiently. "That's it?"
Izuku rolled his eyes. “Of course not. We are not even halfway through."
“Ugh. You talk too much.”
Again, Izuku laughed. “So I’ve heard. But bear with me a little longer, Kacchan.”
Katsuki frowned. "What the hell did you call me?"
"Oh." Izuku looked panicked for a split-second, before quickly collecting himself. "My apologies,” he said, with a placid smile. “I knew someone with a name like yours a long time ago. It's the nickname I used to call him by."
Katsuki wasn’t buying it. He could tell that Izuku was holding something back, and a part of him itched to get it out of the guy, but in the end, he figured it’s none of his business. They were just strangers, after all. "It's fine,” he replied. “Just don't use it around other people or I'll kick your ass."
Izuku’s mouth curved into a sweeter smile. "Those are reasonable terms."
"Go back to your story, nerd."
“Of course. So, as I was saying, for years, the boy lived in peaceful solitude. Until one day, a man walked into his forest."
Katsuki groaned. "Not again."
"Don't draw your conclusions yet," Izuku chided gently. "Because this man was not like the others. Firstly, he was a warrior of great renown who had won many battles—he was not only strong but also very clever; and he found ways around the boy's enchantments."
“When the boy heard him approaching, he clenched his fists, afraid and frustrated. Was this another selfish man, who wanted to take more than he can give?
The warrior stopped in front of his house, and with a loud, booming voice, commanded him to come out.”
The boy peered through the crack in his door. “Please,” he begged him. “Leave me be.”
"I am here to slay the monster that lives in this woods," the warrior declared. The blade of his broadsword glinted coldly under the dappled forest light.
"But there are no monsters here."
The warrior regarded him suspiciously. "Then who set all of those traps?"
"I did," the boy confessed meekly. "But I am no monster, and I mean you no harm."
“Reveal yourself or I will drag you out myself!” The warrior thundered.
Knowing he had no choice, the boy stepped out of his home, quaking with fear.
“Please,” he beseeched, keeping his head bowed. “I just want to be left alone.”
The boy heard the warrior move closer and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable. He only hoped that the warrior would at least grant him the mercy of a swift and painless death.
But a beat passed. Then another. Until a full minute had gone by with nothing happening. The boy finally opened his eyes and found the warrior just standing there, appraising him with an odd look on his face. He stood so close, the boy could smell his sweat and sweet musk. And he could see now the many scars all over the warrior’s bare chest, but the worst ones were on his right arm and face. It’s a miracle that his right eye hadn’t gone blind.
"What's wrong?" The boy asked. "Aren't you here to slay the monster?"
"I have slayed many monsters and evil things," the warrior replied, his voice deep and gruff. He stepped back sheathed his sword. "And you are neither. I’m not in the business of taking innocent lives."
The boy looked at him, scandalized and confused. "Then what do you want from me?"
"Some water, for starters. Ale, if you have any. And whatever food you can spare. It’s been a long journey to this place." The warrior pulled a pouch off his belt and flicked a gold coin at the boy's direction. The boy caught it clumsily, marveling at it for a moment.
It's been years since he saw money up close. He never had use for it in the forest; whatever he needed, he hunted or foraged. He had set up his own garden for the herbs and spices he'd use in his food and spells.
"I have no use for your coin here," said the boy.
"Then what do you want in return for the food and drink?"
The warrior’s words made him pause. This is the first time anyone had ever offered to pay or give something in return for his help.
"I..." the boy faltered. "I don't know."
The warrior clicked his tongue, impatient.. "Well, fucking think about it then, ‘cause I ain't taking charity from anyone." And he marched ahead, making his way to the boy's cottage. The warrior was so tall, a hulking wall of rippled muscle, that he had to duck his head to get through the door.
The boy was bewildered by this turn of events, but his mother taught him how to be a good host, so he welcomed this stranger into his home despite his reservations. After all, he had nothing left to lose.
The warrior was different from any man the boy had ever met. He was loud and rude, but also careful with how he moved around the small cottage, treating the boy's belongings with respect. He ate and drank no more than what the boy set before him, even if the full pantry was in plain view. The warrior didn't ask for seconds, unless offered, didn't demand to be served or waited on, and he cleaned up after himself without any fuss.
And when night came, the boy expected the warrior to demand the bed and force him to sleep on the floor, but to his surprise, the warrior laid out his red cloak on the hard ground and settled close to the fireplace.
Before they went to sleep, the warrior again asked him what he wanted in return for his help, but the boy was still at a loss.
So the warrior stayed the next day. And the next. Until a whole week had passed with the two of them settling into some kind of strange cohabitation.
The boy had repeatedly assured him that he didn't need anything in return, but the warrior adamantly refused to be in his debt. His stubbornness baffled the boy, who, for all his life, had never met someone who seemed so averse to receiving his selfless help.
As a way to "earn his keep," the warrior took the task of hunting bigger game, while the boy foraged for food. His pantry had never been fuller, and the warrior also shared recipes from distant lands, introducing the boy to flavors he'd never experienced before.
And on days where there were no chores left to be done, the two would go to a nearby clearing with a packed basket, and converse about different things.
The boy was intrigued by the warrior's travels, and the warrior was curious about how the boy came to live in the woods.
Their conversations were stilted at first, for both still had walls in their hearts, hardened by their own burdens and tragedies. But slowly, with patience and understanding, those walls began to crumble.”
“Let me guess," Katsuki drawled. "The two dumbasses fell in love?”
“It was inevitable,” said Izuku, with a fond quirk of his lips. “There was an attraction between them from the very start, and the more time they spent together and got to know each other, the more this attraction grew into something else. Each night before turning down to sleep, the warrior would still ask the boy what he wanted as repayment for his kindness. And each night, the boy would say that he didn't know, afraid that if he gave him an answer, the warrior would leave."
But this weighed on his conscience, because it wasn’t in his nature to be selfish. So one day, months later, when the warrior asked the boy, one more time, what he wanted, and the boy finally gave him an answer:
“Your love,” he said, shyly, quietly, a part of him afraid to hear the warrior’s reply. “I would like to have your love in return.”
After a moment of stunned silence, the warrior harshly scoffed. “That’s unacceptable.”
“What?” Katsuki hissed, indignant. “That motherfucker!”
“The boy felt his heart breaking again, for the thousandth time,” Izuku continued. “But before he could run away, the warrior suddenly moved closer, closer than they’ve ever been before. Large, calloused hands gently cupped his face, and the boy met the warrior's soft gaze."
“ “Foolish witch,” he said. “You cannot ask for something that is already yours.”
“Oh?” The boy frowned. “What do you mean?” In lieu of an answer, the warrior kissed him roughly, possessively. And the boy, pleasantly surprised and delighted, kissed him back.
It was much later, as they laid on the bed—their bed now—their naked bodies cooling under the sheets, that the warrior asked the boy another question. “For how long do you want to keep my love?”
And the boy smiled and pulled him in for another kiss.
“Forever, please,” he whispered into the warrior’s mouth.
At that, the warrior laughed, a booming and triumphant laugh, and chased the boy’s lips into another hungry kiss.
“I find those terms acceptable.”
“The next morning, the warrior melted down two gold coins and created matching rings for the two of them—a sign of their promise to love each other for eternity.
"So what, they lived happily ever after?" Katsuki rolled his eyes. “I thought this story didn’t have a happy ending.”
"They lived happily, yes, but not ever after," Izuku answered. He spun the ring on his finger, turning it slowly in its place. He was staring distantly into space, his beautiful eyes glazed over as they looked at something beyond what Katsuki could see. "This is not the end of their story.”
Katsuki heard the shift in Izuku’s tone and straightened; he could tell, from the way Izuku’s shoulders slumped under the weight of his grief that whatever was coming next wasn’t going to be good.
"What happened to them?"
"A foolish mistake,” Izuku whispered, his jaw tensing. “They were about to celebrate their fifth year together, and the boy wanted to give the warrior something special. Something he can't create with his spells or forage for in the forest. So when the warrior left to hunt, the boy slipped past the enchantments that protected their home and ventured into the nearest town. Again, he had hoped that humans had changed, that people had become kinder, better , in his absence. And once again, the boy was proved wrong.”
Izuku closed his eyes, and paused, inhaling slowly, but the exhale was ragged. When he opened his eyes, Katsuki saw an insurmountable pain behind them, and he found himself looking away.
“You see, the boy didn't notice that he had grown into quite a beautiful man himself. And when he reached town, he regrettably caught the eyes of vile men with vile intentions.”
Katsuki didn’t like where this was going.
"When the warrior finally found him, the boy was half-dead and bleeding between his legs. He saw the haunted, broken look in his lover’s eyes and something inside him just snapped."
“Fuck,” Katsuki cursed under his breath. “Fuck.”
"In his great anger and grief, the warrior forgot about his oath to never take an innocent life. He razed the town to the ground, and spared no one; he burned their houses, slaughtered the people in their beds, and he hunted down every man, women, and child who tried to escape. Their screams reached the heavens, and when the gods discovered what the warrior had done, they were horrified."
A bitter look crossed Izuku’s face.
"They didn't care about what had happened to the boy; they didn't care that the warrior had killed in the name of love—All they saw were the lives that had been reaped before their time. So they condemned the warrior's soul to the deepest pits of hell, to be tortured for five thousand and seven-hundred years—one year for each townsfolk he had slaughtered."
"But the boy, although broken in ways no one could ever heal, he couldn't bear the thought of his beloved suffering through such a fate. So he bargained with the gods, begging them to reconsider.
In return for a full pardon of the warrior’s crimes, the boy, with his ever-giving, ever-sacrificing heart, offered the last, most precious thing he ever owned—his soul.
“Why does that matter? Giving up his soul?”
“Because it meant that he will never have Eternal Rest, or a chance at Reincarnation,” Izuku explained. “The boy was forced to become a reaper, a ferryman burdened with the responsibility of guiding souls to the Afterlife. He resided in the Veil between Life and Death, unable to die or truly live, doomed to suffer a half-existence for all eternity.”
“That’s horrible.”
Izuku nodded distantly. “To this day, some say he's still at it, often wandering places frequented by death, like hospitals.”
Katsuki pondered at his words, his gaze drifting back to the clock. He didn’t realize that so much time had already passed. It was almost midnight.
“You think he’ll come for them too?” He asked quietly. “You think the boy is taking my parents tonight?”
Izuku didn’t reply—instead he tipped his head to the side, eyes furrowed in concentration as if listening for something Katsuki couldn’t hear.
After a moment, Izuku turned toward Katsuki and smiled. “No,” he answered with strange confidence. “Not tonight. Not for a long time.”
Then a doctor walked into the waiting room—the same one that had talked to him earlier. He was also smiling.
Katsuki jumped to his feet. “How are they?”
“The surgery was a success,” the doctor replied, and Katsuki’s knees nearly buckled with relief. “Your parents are out of the woods. We’ll keep them in the ICU for a few days, but if nothing happens in the next 24 hours, there’s a good chance they’ll both pull through.”
Katsuki heaved a deep sigh. “Thank you, doc. Fuck, this is—thank you. Thanks for not giving up.”
“Just doing my job, son. I’ll have a nurse bring you to them once your parents are settled in the ICU.”
Once the doctor was gone, Katsuki collapsed back on his seat.
“I'm happy for you, Kacchan,” said Izuku, snapping him out of his stupor. "I'm glad they're alright."
“Yeah, I—“ Katsuki laughed breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief. “For a second there, I thought I’d be burying my parents on Christmas day.”
“A little faith goes a long way,” Izuku mused. “I’m pleased that my services weren’t required in this case.”
He made a move to stand but Katsuki, once again, caught him by the wrist. “Wait! Where are you going?”
Izuku flashed a placid smile. “Duty calls. I’ve lingered here long enough.”
“But you didn’t finish your story!”
“There’s nothing left to tell.”
“You didn’t tell me what happened to the warrior!" Katsuki pressed, strangely desperate. He didn’t know why, but a part of him didn’t want Izuku to leave. “A guy like that doesn't strike me as someone who’d let his lover take the fall for his screw up.”
"The warrior didn't know what the boy had done," Izuku explained. "He thought he died, but when he reached the Afterlife himself, he didn't find the boy there. So the warrior chose the Path of Reincarnation, hoping that he'll find his love in the next life instead."
"Did they ever meet again?"
Izuku stared at him, and there was that strange glint in his eyes again.
"Oh, yes, countless times,” he smiled. “These two were Soulmates, you see, so they would always find each other, no matter what. Even the gods cannot break such a bond.”
"But they can impose limitations," he added, his expression souring again. "They decreed that the boy and the warrior could only meet once in each lifetime, and never cross paths again until it was time for the warrior to die.”
Katsuki scowled. “That’s fucking unfair.”
“As life often is,” Izuku sighed. “But love, as the old adage says, always finds a way. One day per lifetime. That’s all they were given, and they made it work. So even if the circumstances weren't ideal, they were happy."
“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
Izuku nodded. “But as I had previously stated—this story does not have a happy ending.”
The wall clock across them chimed—Katsuki didn’t even know modern ones still did that—and Izuku paused to stare at it. The sadness in his eyes grew.
“I need to go.”
“Finish the damn story, nerd,” Katsuki demanded. “C’mon, just do me this last favor, yeah?”
Izuku chewed on his bottom lip, conflicted. But after a silent battle of wills between them, he finally conceded.
“Sadly, what the boy didn’t know was that with each incarnation, the warrior's memories of his first life faded, piece by piece. Mundane things at first, like the boy’s favorite color, or his favorite stew. Then the warrior began to forget bigger, more important things—until there came a day, centuries later, when the boy met the warrior again and his beloved no longer recognized him."
"That day, the boy's true punishment began. In each succeeding incarnation, the warrior no longer sought him out, no longer desired to spend that one day per lifetime with him. He lived his own life, completely forgetting about the boy. And whenever he died, the boy would be filled with dread, thinking that perhaps this time, this time the warrior wouldn’t ask to be reborn—perhaps this time, he’ll decide to stay in the Blessed Isles for good, and the boy will never see him again.”
“Did he?” Katsuki asked, intrigued. “Did he stay?”
Izuku shook his head. “To the boy’s constant surprise, the warrior kept asking to be reborn. Why he did it, the boy did not know or understand. After all, his lover no longer remembered him.
“Maybe a part of him still does.”
Izuku snorted.
“Hey, you said it yourself. Those two were bonded in a way not even gods could break, right? Something like that…” Katsuki rubbed his jaw. “I mean, I’m obviously no expert but I don’t think anyone could completely get over a love like theirs.”
“It has been five thousand and seven hundred years though,” said Izuku, absently fiddling with his ring again. His voice was small.
“Well, five thousand or a million years, it shouldn’t fucking matter,” Katsuki declared. “The warrior swore to love the boy for all eternity. So even if his mind forgets, his heart is keeping that damn promise.”
Izuku finally looked at him, his eyes filled with cautious hope. “You truly believe that?”
Katsuki inched closer and reached for Izuku’s hand. Again, their skin tingled and crackled where they touched but this time, Katsuki didn't let him go. “Yeah,” he said, holding Izuku’s gaze. “I do.”
Izuku’s lip wobbled. “I thought you didn’t believe in happy endings?” He teased, trying to deflect, but Katsuki could see the tears edging out of his beautiful eyes.
“Just this once, I’ll make an exception,” said Katsuki. “After all the shit he’d been through, that boy deserves a happily ever after."
For a moment, Izuku said nothing. Then suddenly, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on Katsuki’s cheek.
Katsuki’s heart skipped a beat, his brain shorting out. However, before he could react, Izuku was already pulling away.
“That’s very kind of you to say,” he said softly. “But no matter how much we deserve it, there is no happy end to our story, Kacchan.”
Izuku glanced at the clock again, his lips pressing into a grim line.
“I really have to go.”
Katsuki squeezed his hand, trying to hold on a bit longer. But deep inside a part of him knew that their time was up.
“At least I was able to talk to you in this lifetime, even for just a moment. I’m glad to see you haven’t changed.” His green eyes gleamed softly. “You are still the man I fell in love with, thousands of years ago.”
Katsuki was crying now, and he didn’t understand why.
“I-I’m sorry.”
“Shh.” Izuku raised his free hand and cupped Katsuki’s cheek, gently wiping his tears away.
“You don’t deserve this.”
“It’s okay,” said Izuku serenely. “I have made peace with my fate several lifetimes ago. Don’t you worry about me, darling—even if you can’t remember me, I can love you enough for the both of us.”
“Wait, Izuku, I—“
“Try to be happy in this lifetime, Kacchan,” Izuku interrupted, giving him a beautiful, heartbreaking smile. “Try to find new love. And when it’s time for you to return to the Blessed Isles, please choose to stay. You deserve eternal peace, my love. You deserve a happy ending.”
“No, please, De—!”
Katsuki blinked, and found himself all alone.
“Bakugou Katsuki-san?” He jumped and turned around. There was a nurse standing by the waiting room door.
“Huh?”
“Are you Bakugou Katsuki?”
Katsuki frowned. “Uh, yeah.”
“I’m here to take you to your parents,” she explained. “If you could just follow me.”
“I—“ Katsuki frowned, looking around the empty waiting room. What was he doing before she arrived? He glanced at the wall clock. It’s 12:03 AM. Did he fall asleep? But he could’ve sworn he was just talking to someone, just seconds ago. He just… he just couldn’t remember who it was.
“Bakugou-san?” The nurse repeated, now sounding concerned. “Are you okay, sir?”
“No, I—I mean, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I guess I’m a little tired.”
“Well the sooner we get to your parents, the sooner you can rest.”
“Okay. Sure.”
The nurse led him out of the hospital waiting room. As they walked down the sterile halls, Katsuki thought he saw a flash of green in his periphery. But when he turned around, there was no one there.
Katsuki was bewildered. Surgery was a success, his parents survived the car crash, and although there was still a long road to recovery, he knew they were going to be okay.
So why did he feel a great sense of loss?
EPILOGUE
It's that time again. Izuku stood at the foot of his lover's bed, waiting for him to take his final breath.
At seventy-three, Bakugou Katsuki had lived a full life. He didn't marry anyone, but he adopted a little girl whom he poured all his love into. She had been rescued from a human trafficking ring and had seen horrors that no child should ever see. Katsuki, being the brave, compassionate warrior that he was and will always be, had saved her from a terrible fate.
Eri, he named her. She was seated at his bedside, her delicate hands grasping his old, weathered ones, tearfully thanking him for everything he had done for her. She has a family of her own now—a devoted husband and two beautiful children. They inherited their mother's and grandfather's lovely red eyes.
Katsuki whispered a final goodbye—and issued an ominous warning to Eri's husband, Kota, to take care of his daughter and grandkids or else he'll come back to haunt him. And right there, surrounded by his family's laughter, Katsuki peacefully passed away.
"Hello, Bakugou Katsuki," Izuku greeted him, smiling. "I am here to guide you to the Afterlife.”
Katsuki stared at him blankly, saying nothing. Izuku wasn’t surprised. That’s how the average soul responded to him after they died, and Katsuki had become just that—just another human soul who didn’t know or care about who Izuku was.
They traveled through the Veil in silence, and Izuku didn’t bother starting a conversation. What was the point? Even if he told Katsuki who he really was, the man won’t remember him once he was reborn.
If he would even choose to be reborn.
He recalled what Katsuki had said that night in the hospital waiting room, but all these years had taught Izuku cautious skepticism.
He didn’t want to hope. Hope hurts and he has been hurt too much.
Finally, they reached the gate to the Afterlife. It wasn't much of a gate though, more like a borderline where the rocky, dirt-lined path of the Veil transitioned into a paved road lined with ever-blooming flowers.
"Here we are," Izuku declared softly. He turned to Katsuki. "This is where we part ways. Just follow the paved path and you will reach a fork in the road. One will bring you to the Blessed Isles, where you can rest in bliss for all eternity. And the other will…” He cleared his throat, struggling to keep his feelings at bay. “The other one will lead to the Path of Reincarnation. If you take it, you will be reborn. The…The choice is yours.”
Katsuki stayed rooted where he stood, staring wordlessly at the Blessed Isles.
“I…” Izuku swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I bid you good-bye then.”
Izuku hastily turned around, unwilling to watch the love of his life walk away. But before he could leave, a hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.
“Deku.”
Izuku froze. He had not heard that name in a very long time.
He slowly looked over his shoulder, holding breath, and without warning, Izuku found himself being pulled into a tight embrace.
He gasped.
Warm. It was so warm. Izuku couldn’t remember the last time he was held this way. Like he was cherished. Like he was loved.
He melted against that achingly familiar pillowy chest, a chest he had laid on countless times before.
"You—" He inhaled sharply. "You remember me?"
Katsuki replied by leaning down and kissing him, in his rough and adorably possessive way that always left Izuku a little breathless.
"I thought I'd never see you again, nerd," Katsuki whispered into his ear. At that, Izuku pulled away to gawk at him in disbelief.
For whatever reason, Katsuki's memories were back. He remembered Izuku. And he still loved him.
Izuku’s body moved without thinking.
He slapped his lover across the face.
"Ow!” Katsuki held his reddened cheek, flabbergasted. “What the fu—"
"Why didn't you say anything?!" Izuku fumed, overwhelmed by the emotions he was feeling. He smacked him again, for good measure. "You—you bastard!"
Katsuki caught his wrist.
"Jeez, nerd, give me a break. I got Detroit Smashed with all these memories right after I had just died —excuse me if I needed some time to fucking process!"
Izuku opened his mouth to retort, but then he felt the Veil tremble, and the path before them began to glow impatiently.
His heart dropped.
The Afterlife was already calling for the soul it was due— Katsuki’s soul.
No, Izuku wanted to cry. This wasn’t fair. After all these years, he finally got his Kacchan back. And now...Who knows if he’d still remember him after he's reborn?
But he knew there was no stopping this. He had learned to accept that, after five thousand and seven hundred years.
So with great pain, Izuku pushed his lover away.
“Y-You must go now, Kacchan,” he said, closing his eyes to hold the tears back.
Katsuki's grip on his wrist tightened. "No."
“Don’t make this harder than it should be,” Izuku begged. A part of him wanted to hold on to Katsuki’s soul, to keep it there with him, in the Veil. But he knew what happened to the souls who lingered in that place and he would never wish the same fate on the man he loved. “Take the Path of Reincarnation and meet me again, in your next life. But you can’t stay here.”
But Katsuki shook his head. “I’m not gonna do that anymore.”
Izuku froze. “What?”
"I'm staying in the Blessed Isles. For good."
Izuku opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't understand what was happening.
Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "You asked me to stay, remember? That night, at the hospital?"
"Yes, but that was before you—" Izuku faltered. That was before Katsuki got his memories back; before he remembered his love for Izuku.
Izuku had been praying for this miracle for centuries. But now that his prayer had been answered, he was going to lose Katsuki all over again. And for good, this time.
That small, selfish part of him whispered that if Izuku begged and pleaded enough, he could change Katsuki's mind.
But what right did Izuku have to deny Katsuki eternal peace? In fact, wasn’t this what he wanted for Katsuki all along—to have his happy ending?
If Izuku truly loved him, he would let him go.
So once again the boy with the bleeding heart put on his bravest smile, trying his best not to fall apart as he gave up the most precious thing he had left.
"I-I see," said Izuku, stepping back. “So this is good-bye forever, then.”
But Katsuki stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "Ha? The hell are you talking about?”
“What?” Izuku was growing more bewildered by the second. “I'm—Kacchan, we're never going to see each other again if you stay in the Blessed Isles.”
“What makes you think I’m gonna let your nerdy ass go anywhere without me?”
“B-But you just said—“
“Yeah, well, I meant this time, you’re coming with me.”
Now it was Izuku’s turn to stare.
“Kacchan,” he sighed. “If you truly have your memories back, then you know that I cannot do that.”
“Yes, you can. We can.”
“No! If I try to cross, we will both get dragged straight back to hell!" Izuku shouted in frustration and tried to push Katsuki toward the boundary line but the other man’s hold on him was steadfast.
The Veil continued to shake and crumble around them, getting angrier and angrier at the soul that had overstayed its welcome. Soon it was going to collapse completely and drag whatever wayward souls were left in it down to the Pit.
“Please, Kacchan! You have to cross over now!”
But Katsuki was stubbornly holding onto him, slowly dragging Izuku closer to the boundary between the Veil and the Afterlife. Izuku gripped the lapels of his shirt, digging his heels into the ground.
“Kacchan, stop!"
To his surprise, Kacchan stopped.
But he still won’t let Izuku go. Instead, Katsuki pulled him close until their faces were barely an inch apart. Izuku could feel his warm breath against his lips and his chest ached with yearning.
"Izuku," Katsuki whispered lowly, those beautiful red eyes boring into his. "Do you trust me?" Izuku bit his lip and cast an uncertain glance at the boundary line. Katsuki gently grabbed his chin, making him meet his gaze again.
There was something else in them that demanded his attention—who reminded him exactly who he was talking to.
The indomitable Warrior who had never lost a fight, Izuku’s symbol of victory.
This is the person who had never taken more than Izuku was willing to give; and who had given him more than he thought he deserved.
Of course Izuku trusted him. He trusts him with his heart and his life—everything.
“Yes,” he replied, breathless. “I will always trust you.”
“So trust me on this—everything's going to be okay."
Izuku took a deep breath and cast his doubts aside. He nodded. "Okay."
Katsuki smirked handsomely at him, and Izuku’s heart fluttered.
Then, without warning, Katsuki shoved him past the boundary line.
Izuku screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut and cowered, waiting for gale force that would throw them back into the Veil and straight into hell.
But a beat passed. And another. Until he felt warm, calloused hands tenderly cupping his face.
“Open your eyes, nerd.”
Izuku cracked one eye open and gasped.
He was… he was on the other side of the boundary line. In the Afterlife.
Izuku looked around, taking in the clear sky, the cool, fresh air, the distant sound of laughter coming from the Blessed Isle.
Then his eyes wandered back to Katsuki and found him completely unsurprised by this turn of events.
“How did you—?”
Katsuki shrugged. “I had a hunch.”
“You risked an eternity in hell for a hunch?!”
“Heaven or hell, who cares,” he scoffed. “They’ll still be paradise, as long as I’m with you.”
Izuku flustered. “B-But my punishment—“
“—is over, nerd." Katsuki grinned, brushing off the lingering tears on Izuku's eyes. "The gods demanded for five thousand and seven hundred years, and by my count, those five thousand and seven hundred years have just passed. The deal is done."
"So we—" Izuku's heart thundered. He was hesitant to say the words he once thought would never come to pass.
"We are free?"
"Yeah," said Katsuki, his smile softening as he tucked a curl behind Izuki's ear. "Now, and for all eternity."
Again, their lips met in a passionate kiss, and when they pulled back for air, both of them were crying with joy and relief.
They walked hand in hand toward their eternal home, smiling ear to ear, and never taking their eyes off of each other.
It took a long, long time, but finally, finally, the boy with the bleeding heart found his happily ever after.