Katsuki awoke to the sound of incessant knocking on the front door. He groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow, hoping the noise would just stop. The world could end outside, and he'd still prefer to stay right here, wrapped in the warmth of his bed. His hand groped blindly across his nightstand, searching for his phone. No luck.

The knocking persisted—louder, more urgent.

"Are you kidding me?" he growled, voice hoarse with sleep. He threw the blanket over his head, squeezing his eyes shut in defiance. Maybe whoever it was would take the hint and leave.

But the banging grew even louder, as if the universe itself was conspiring to ruin his morning.

With a frustrated growl, he flung the blanket off and sat up, his blond hair sticking out in every direction. "Fucking fine!" he snapped, stomping toward the door, each step a deliberate thud that echoed through the house. His patience (or what little of it he had to begin doing with) had officially run out.

"Who the hell is pounding on the door at this hour?"

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the knocking had stopped. He paused, blinking groggily, before hearing a new noise. A voice—a trembling, high-pitched voice, sobbing words he couldn't quite make out yet.

He leaned over the bannister to see his parents standing at the front door. His mother had her arms crossed, looking less than impressed, while his father was murmuring something to the figure in front of them.

And there, clutching a tissue and hiccuping through sobs, was Inko fucking Midoriya.

"Fuck is she doing here?" Katsuki muttered with distaste, blinking in surprise. His mother was already leading the weeping woman into the living room, murmuring something awkwardly yet consoling.

'What a shocker.' The blond snorted, unimpressed, and scratched the back of his head, letting out a long yawn.

His first instinct was to turn around and head back to his room. Whatever drama this was, it wasn't his problem.

He turned on his heel, muttering under his breath, "What a drama que—"

Then, he heard it.

"He hasn't been home for almost a week now!" The much shorter woman wailed as quietly as she could. "I've tried calling, but he won't pick up!"

Katsuki froze mid-step. Deku hasn't been home?

The weight of Inko's words sank into Katsuki's stomach like an anchor . He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. Mitsuki was at Inko's side now, patting her back while his dad murmured something about calling the police. Inko's sobs only grew louder, her words swallowed by the noise of her grief.

He should walk away. This wasn't his business. He didn't even like Deku, so why did it matter? But his feet didn't move.

Instead, he crept toward the hallway, staying out of sight but close enough to hear. He wasn't about to go in there and offer her any sympathy. Hell no. But something gnawed at him, an itch he couldn't ignore. Curiosity—and nothing else—kept him rooted there, back pressed to the wall.

"I haven't—I haven't heard from him s-since he last left for school," Inko explained through sobs. "He was so quiet. I didn't think—oh, I didn't think he wouldn't come back! What if something's happened to him?"

Her voice cracked, and Katsuki felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest. He scowled harder, trying to shove the feeling away. It wasn't his business. He doesn't like Deku, so why should it matter?

"Quiet?" Mitsuki asked gently. "Did something happen?"

And just like that, the world tilted on its axis.

Katsuki's stomach sank as the events of that day slammed into him like a tidal wave. He could see it; Deku standing there, hurt in his eyes, too scared to say anything, too confused to even look him in the eye as Katsuki snapped at him. It had been another typical day—another spat of insults and jabs, another dismissal of Deku's obvious frustration. His mind replayed everything, each word, each sneer, each flash of green eyes brimming with hurt.

But now, as Inko's frantic voice echoed through the hall and his parents' worried murmurs filled the air, the weight of everything suddenly hit Katsuki all at once.

["Take a swan dive off the roof of a building!"]

'Has the nerd actually done it?—Serves him right!' he thought instinctively, then immediately scowled.

'What the hell, no it doesn't—He wouldn't do something like that!

...Would he?'

The cacophony of his thoughts grew louder, clashing in his mind like explosions on a battlefield.

'God, what a stupid weakling!' His fist clenched.

'It's not my fault. It's not. He wouldn't take it that seriously. He's just being dramatic. He'll show up any second, whining about his shitty life or something.

...Right?'

But the sinking feeling in his stomach told him otherwise.

He bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste blood, as Inko broke down into another sobbing fit. Mitsuki tried to reassure her, but Katsuki barely heard it. His pride demanded he scoff, storm back to his room, and let someone else deal with it.

But his guilt?

His guilt was a silent, crushing weight that kept him frozen in place, fists clenched at his sides.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't sure if he was talking about Deku or himself.

"My baby never goes out late, let alone not come back!" Inko wailed, her voice cracking under the weight of her heartbreak. She clutched her crumpled tissue tighter, trembling as fresh sobs racked her body.

Masaru and Mitsuki exchanged uneasy glances. They both knew Izuku well from his years of running in and out of their home—back when he and Katsuki were inseparable. Even now, despite the strained and distant relationship between the two boys, they still thought of him as family.

"Let's head to the police station," Masaru suggested gently, placing a comforting hand on Inko's shoulder. "They'll know what to do."

Inko nodded hesitantly, allowing Masaru to help her to the door. Her steps were shaky, each one burdened by the sheer weight of her worry.

"I'll let the brat know we're heading out," Mitsuki added, her tone brisk but her face lined with concern. Without waiting for a response, she strode toward Katsuki's room.

'Shit.'

Katsuki's blood ran cold at the sound of her footsteps growing closer. His muscles tensed as he glanced wildly around the room. With no time to spare, he darted back toward his bedroom, carefully avoiding the spots on the floor he knew would creak. He closed the door behind him as quietly as he could before diving under the covers just as his door burst open.

"Oi, wake up, you damn brat!" Mitsuki barked, not bothering to knock as usual.

Katsuki barely had time to roll onto his stomach before something hard and fast smacked into the back of his head.

"OW! YOU HAG—"

"Shut it," Mitsuki interrupted sharply, crossing her arms. "Me and your dad are taking your aunt to the station. Stay here and watch the house. I... I'll send you the details later."

Her tone was different, lacking its usual edge. It was quieter—serious in a way that sent a strange chill crawling down the teen's spine.

He sat up halfway, glaring at her through squinted eyes. "Tch. Whatever." He flopped back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over his face. "See if I care."

Mitsuki didn't linger. She stood there for only a beat longer, watching him with an unreadable expression before stepping out and closing the door with an uncharacteristically soft click.

As soon as she was gone, Katsuki's let go of the breath he was holding, his chest closing in on itself.

His hands clenched the sheets, trembling slightly despite the sheen of sweat that made his palms feel cold and clammy. His head spun, his pulse thrumming loud enough to drown out the muffled voices by the front door.

His mom's tone—it wasn't like her. She didn't get serious unless it mattered. Really mattered.

And then there was Inko. The tears, the trembling, the way her voice cracked like she was on the verge of shattering completely. He couldn't block it out. The words kept echoing in his mind, over and over.

"He hasn't been home for almost a week!"

The memory of the day clawed its way back into his mind, sharper and more vivid than before.

"Goddamn Deku." He spat at particularly no one.

'This isn't my fault. He'll show up. Otherwise I'll kill him!'

But something about the weight in his chest—the guilt gnawing at his stomach—refused to let him shrug it off. He'd never admit it, not even under threat of death, but the idea that Deku could be...

"No," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "That idiot wouldn't do something that stupid."

'Would he?'

He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until his scalp stung. His mind was a battlefield, guilt and pride clashing violently. His breath hitched, and he forced himself to exhale slowly, trying to calm the erratic pounding of his heart.

'He's fine. He has to be.'

And yet, as he lay back down, staring blankly at the ceiling, Katsuki couldn't shake the sinking feeling twisting in his gut.

__________

It had been three weeks and three days.

Three weeks and three agonizing days since Deku vanished—since that grainy, unremarkable footage showed him leaving campus on his usual route. Same time. Same sluggish posture. Same everything.

And then, nothing.

No signs, no leads. Not even a damn clue.

Katsuki stared at his desk, jaw tight, eyes burning with a frustration that refused to dull. His room was eerily quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock on his wall and the muffled hum of kids outside. The notebook in front of him sat abandoned, its blank pages gaping at him like an open wound.

He'd tried—he'd fucking tried—to keep himself busy. Homework. Training. Hell, even chores. But nothing stuck. The same thoughts chased him in endless circles, fraying his nerves until his hands itched to hit something, to destroy something.

The police sure as hell weren't going to fix this. "He probably ran away," they'd said. Their casual, dismissive tone had been the first thing to set him off.

Ran away? Deku? The thought alone made Katsuki's lip curl in contempt. That damn nerd was too much of a goody-two-shoes to even jaywalk. He could almost hear Deku's voice—stammering, awkward, always full of useless explanations about "what would the heroes do!"

And now they thought he ran away? What a joke.

"Fucking dumbasses," Katsuki hissed through clenched teeth. Heat prickled at his palms, the faint smell of burning caramel curling in the air as tiny sparks danced over his palms.

"Can't do shit right, and don't know shit!" he snarled, his voice echoing in the quiet room. His teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached, but he didn't care. He needed the pain, needed something to keep him from blowing a hole in the wall.

The quiet absorbed his voice like it wasn't even there.

A pencil sat forgotten near the edge; he grabbed it on instinct, fingers tightening around it like it might anchor him.

But instead of grounding him, the thoughts came flooding back.

'Two weeks and three days.'

'Where the hell are you, Deku?'

He didn't realize he'd snapped the pencil in two until the jagged wood bit into his palm. Katsuki stared at the splinters in his hand, something bitter and raw twisting in his chest.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, tossing the pieces aside.

The phone buzzed against the desk, startling him. The sound sliced through the suffocating silence, too loud, too sharp. For a moment, he just stared at it, tension coiling in his gut.

The caller ID read 'Old Hag'.

Katsuki snatched it up, already gearing up to snap at her for bothering him. "What do you—"

"Katsuki."

Her voice was soft. Too soft.

The edge of his words caught in his throat. His mom never used that tone—not with him.

"They... they found him."

The words hit him like a grenade.

His chest seized, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Relief slammed into him so hard it left him dizzy, but the sensation didn't last. Something about her tone—so quiet, so fragile—set the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.

Her voice. The way it wavered. The weight in her words.

His chest tightened, his pulse thundering in his ears. "Yeah? Where at?" His voice came out steadier than he expected, clipped and sharp like he wasn't already grabbing his jacket and jamming his feet into his shoes.

"Kid, listen to me—"

"Where. At?" he growled, already halfway to the door.

"It's better if you come down—"

"The hell do you think I'm doing, hag!?" he barked, yanking the jacket on and stomping toward the door.

"Damn brat, don't talk to your mother— Oi!"

The line crackled, and his father's voice replaced his mothers. "Kiddo, right now's not the time, alright? Don't argue. Just... just get here."

His steps faltered for a fraction of a second. His dad's voice wasn't supposed to sound like that—desperate, pleading, like he was bracing for something worse.

The knot in Katsuki's stomach tightened, but he shoved it down, forcing his feet to move again. "Yeah, whatever. Don't tell me what to do." he muttered, ending the call before they could say anything else.

The air outside hit him like a slap, cold and sharp against his overheated skin. He stalked down the street, his fists shoved deep into his pockets, his breath coming in fast, uneven puffs that he couldn't quite control.

He should've felt relief. They'd found him. That was what mattered, right?

But the weight in his chest wouldn't budge.

Something was wrong.

His mom's voice replayed in his head, over and over, until the words barely made sense anymore. The softness. The hesitation.

And in the background—just faint enough to make him doubt it—he thought he'd heard something else.

Muffled screams. Wounded sobs.

His pace quickened, each step heavier than the last as the station came into view.

Whatever this was—whatever the hell he was walking into—he'd deal with it.

Because that's what he always did.

__________

The first thing Katsuki noticed when he pulled into the parking lot was the sound—a raw, guttural sob that seemed to cut through the cold evening air like a jagged knife. His steps faltered as his gaze locked onto the frail, green haired mother. She was clinging to his mom with trembling hands, her nails digging into Mitsuki's sleeves as if she could anchor herself against whatever was tearing her apart. Every few seconds, she would let out a strangled cry, her breath hitching as she gasped out half-formed sentences—apologies, pleas, and phrases Katsuki couldn't piece together.

A shiver ran down his spine. There was something wrong about the sight of her like this, something that made his chest tighten uncomfortably. She looked... unhinged.

'What the hell happened? And where's the fucking nerd?!'

He clenched his jaw, swallowing the question before it could tumble out. Yeah, he could be a jackass sometimes, but he wasn't stupid enough to kick a hornet's nest when the air was already this tense. Instead, he forced his voice to steady as he asked, "Where is he?"

Crimson eyes darted around the lot, scanning for any sign of Deku, darting from one figure to the next, his chest tightening with every passing second. When he didn't find the familiar mop of green hair, his gaze landed on his mothers, silently asking for an explanation.

She avoided his gaze. Mitsuki Bakugo. The woman who was never afraid to face him head-on, who'd sooner yell his head off than back down. But now, she wouldn't even look at him. Her expression was tight, her lips pressed together in a way that made Katsuki's heart race.

'The fuck's her deal?'

He turned to his dad next, desperate for answers, but the old man wasn't much better—his shoulders were hunched, his gaze was fixed on the pavement.

His father, who always tried to stay calm and steady, looked pale and withdrawn, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Katsuki's stomach twisted, nausea bubbling up as unease dug its claws deeper into his gut. His muscles coiled tight, a scream building in his throat.

"Are they keeping him for questioning?" he demanded, his voice rising as he struggled to keep it steady. "What's happening? What is it?! Spill it out!" The words came out harsher than he intended, his frustration bubbling over into anger. But the silence in response was unbearable, suffocating. His fists clenched, the heat in his palms sparking faint crackles of sweat and nitroglycerin. He felt like he was about to explode.

"Kat..." His father's voice was barely above a whisper. The brunette's throat bobbed as he swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Katsuki's eyes. The hesitation, the damn pauses—it was infuriating.

"Cut the sap—" Katsuki started, his voice rising sharply, but his mom cut him off.

"He was found dead."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, silencing everything around him.

Dead.

Katsuki's world tipped, his vision narrowing as the word echoed endlessly in his mind. He stared at his mom, her usual fire replaced by something brittle and hollow.

"...What?"

The word slipped out, quiet and raw, before he could stop it.

"A worker reported finding a pair of shoes placed at the edge of a rooftop..." His mother's voice wavered, but she pressed on. "Izuku's body was found not too far from the building."

Each word hit harder than the last, like bricks being dropped on his chest. Katsuki stumbled back a step, his vision blurring at the edges as nausea threatened to spill over. His knees felt weak, like they might buckle beneath him at any moment.

"No," he muttered, his voice shaking. "No, that's not..." He shook his head violently, as if he could physically reject the reality in front of him. "It's not true! He wouldn't—he didn't—"

But no one corrected him. No one told him he was wrong.

'No. No. No.'

The denial screamed in his head, drowning out everything else.

But the images came anyway—shoes lined up neatly, an empty rooftop, and the way Deku had looked at him that day. The venom in Katsuki's own words echoed in his mind, sharper and crueler than he remembered.

'This is on you.' A voice whispered, unrelenting.

"No!" Katsuki barked, louder this time. His knees threatened to give out as the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. He gripped his arms tightly, his nails digging into his skin as if to anchor himself, but it did little to stop the spiral. Small pops crackled from his palms, the faint heat biting at his flesh. If he felt the pain, he wouldn't let it be known.

The edges of his vision darkened, his body trembling as he fell to his knees. The faint scent of burnt flesh mingled with the cold night air, but Katsuki didn't care. He couldn't. The only thing he could feel was the crushing reality sinking in, suffocating him with every passing second.

"It's not my fault," he whispered, though the words felt like ash in his mouth. "It's not... It's not my fucking fault."

But even as he said it, his chest constricted with a guilt so heavy it threatened to crush him. His knees hit the pavement before he even realized they'd buckled. His mother reached for him, but Katsuki flinched away, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

He didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to see the looks on their faces. He didn't want to believe it. But the weight of the truth settled over him like a suffocating blanket, inescapable and unforgiving.

For the first time, Katsuki couldn't do anything but break.

______________

The sun was unnaturally bright for such a dark day. Crisp autumn air nipped at Katsuki's cheeks, but he barely noticed. Every step into the funeral hall felt heavier than the last, as if gravity itself were conspiring to drag him down.

The room was suffocatingly still. Even before Katsuki stepped inside, the quiet was thick—an oppressive silence punctuated only by muffled sobs and the faint shuffle of feet on tatami mats. The faint scent of incense hung in the air, mingling with the sterility of polished wood and the faint musk of aged tatami.

Katsuki's fists clenched at his sides as he entered. His eyes swept across the sea of black-clad mourners, all seated silently, their heads bowed. His chest tightened as he caught sight of it—the altar, pristine and unbearable. The casket. The photo.

Deku.

Katsuki's breath hitched as his gaze landed on the framed picture propped on the altar. It was one of those stupid school photos—his green hair wild, his uniform slightly askew, and that relentless, idiotic grin plastered across his freckled face. Katsuki couldn't stop staring at it. That smile. That naïve, unshakable hope. It felt like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of everything that was now gone.

He wanted to look away. He needed to. But no matter where his eyes darted—the crack in the lacquered shoji screen, the slow, curling smoke of the incense—his gaze always snapped back. To the photo. To that stupid grin that mocked him even now.

The priest began chanting sutras, the rhythmic cadence washing over the room. Katsuki bowed his head reflexively, though the words barely registered. His nails bit into his palms as he stared at the tatami mats beneath him, the coarse fibers digging into his knees through his pants.

"Damn nerd," he muttered under his breath, barely audible. His voice was low, shaky, almost unrecognizable to his own ears.

His mother's hand on his arm startled him. "Katsuki," she whispered softly, her voice tinged with worry.

He shrugged her off without a word. He didn't trust himself to speak. If he opened his mouth, he was sure he'd crack, and he couldn't—wouldn't—let that happen. Not here. Not in front of these extras.

The mourners began rising, one by one, to pay their respects at the altar. Katsuki's turn came faster than he expected. His legs felt like lead as he stood, every step toward the altar heavier than the last.

The incense felt fragile in his trembling fingers. He lit it, watching the thin, ghostly wisp of smoke curl upward as he placed it into the holder. He bowed deeply, the motion mechanical, forced. His mind screamed for him to pray, to say something.

But what could he say?

"Sorry"?
"Please come back"?

The words caught in his throat, jagged and sharp, refusing to come out.

Straightening, his gaze caught the photo again. Deku. Always smiling. Always enduring. Always trying to make things better, even when Katsuki shoved him back down.

His chest hollowed out, a gaping void that swallowed the air. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, tearing his gaze away and retreating to his seat.

The ceremony dragged on in a haze. Katsuki stared blankly at the floor, his nails carving angry crescents into his palms. His body was rigid, trembling with the effort to keep himself together. Around him, the whispered condolences of others felt like nails driven deeper into his soul.

When the service ended and the mourners began to leave, Katsuki stayed frozen in place. His parents ushered him to the door, but he shrugged them off, mumbling something incoherent. His eyes darted toward the altar, where Inko clutched Deku's photo to her chest.

Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her grief raw and uncontainable. Katsuki wanted to say something, anything, but his feet stayed rooted to the spot. His throat burned, words lodged there like splinters he couldn't dislodge.

She turned to him then, her eyes bloodshot and brimming with unshed tears. Their gazes met, and for one agonizing moment, Katsuki thought she knew.

The guilt came crashing down again, suffocating in its intensity. His head dropped low, and he muttered a hoarse excuse before fleeing the hall.

____

That night, Katsuki sat on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The faint scent of incense clung to his clothes, clinging like a ghost he couldn't shake. His hands trembled as he curled them into fists, but no amount of pressure could drown out the images flashing through his mind.

Deku on the rooftop. Deku's shoes by the ledge. Deku's laugh in his ear, faint and far away, as though mocking him from another world.

"It's not my fault," Katsuki whispered into the darkness.

But the darkness didn't respond.

"It's not," he repeated, louder this time. His voice cracked, and he hated how pathetic it sounded.

The silence pressed in around him, thick and unrelenting. Somewhere deep inside, a fragile, unyielding truth whispered otherwise.

And Katsuki hated himself for listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Never ask a mha fan what happened on November 30th, 2024.

What better way to cope than to write angst about your favorite yaoi boys!!! (◜ᴗ◝)

Bawling or balling? Find out next time you watch the news!

Genuinely thought, my goat bakugo got rejected, so I'm currently dealing with this gaylord's heartbreak while also going through my own doomed yuri moment!! ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

Here I thought I could cope about my almost something with these two fruit snacks once again! But oh how wrong I was. Now i'm comparing everything to me and her, which is NOT the bit least fun.

Other than that, I had LOTS of fun writing this chapter!! ^_^ hope u guys also enjoyed it, I cooked it up in the middle of thanksgiving dinner and my niece's birthday while also consuming unhealthy amounts of social media content.

I now have about 2651 tiktoks saved, 302 screenshots from twitter and tumblr, and green flies around me ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )