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smashboxgirl26 · 1 year ago

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hidden in the sand

part one out of two: anew bakugou katsuki x reader (oneshot) summary: seeing your face again wasn't something he'd called for, but you don't normally think about seeing your dead childhood friend as a mermaid. word count: 14.8k contains: mermaids, drowning, mentions of suicide, memories

Standing moonlit, over the half-sunken wharf at the edge of the island, Katsuki stood — going through the motions of taking small drags of his cigarette slowly, carefully: letting smoke fill his chest before pushing it out again. It didn’t have as much of an edge anymore, but maybe it was the familiarity of the motion that bloomed warmth within him. It was one of the few things in his life that had stayed relatively consistent —and it was enough. Enough to keep him content for a while.

Instead he stared, watching as the water pushed and pulled off the wooden stakes, cresting white foam visible only under the light of the full moon; the fishing boats staked nearby creaked in their spots, tilting slowly back and forth over the pattern of the waves — but Katsuki wasn’t paying attention. Neither the sound of rushing water under him nor the view of the boats in front of him held his focus: his mind was busy, blurred — unfocused.

After a second or so, he found himself crushing the cigarette under his heel as he stalked back towards the restaurant his friends were sitting at — ocean air chilling him through his thin linen shirt.

He would’ve made it, had he not heard the sound of singing.

Somehow it was sharp enough to cut through the chaos sprawled in his head, catching his attention almost instantly with its hauntingly sweet melody.

It echoed across the expanse of the water, and he lifted his head up — eyes scanning from where he stood — but to be left with nothing. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

It was faint and light — seeming to call out to him, and him specifically.

But there was something so familiar about it. Something he couldn’t resist — and it led him chasing back down the pier; the ships remained silent in their hold as he passed them, the pier creaking louder as his steps became heavier and desperate — the song becoming clearer than a faint sound stuck in the singing wind.

He wasn’t stopped when his shoes made contact with the sand, having followed the song to the beach — where a figure lay amongst the shallows, hidden in the darkness of the foaming water by the rising moon.

Some part of him wanted to call out to them — to ask if they required help — but all thoughts were swallowed under the sound; before he knew it, he’d stumbled across the beach, breaching the shoreline as he waded into the water without a second thought.

He couldn’t refuse the refuge the song brought from his mind, his thoughts, his feelings — the way it seemed to make him forget about everything — and the closer he got to the source, the more he felt the song beat in his ears.

He hadn’t even realized he’d breached the waterline of the beach until the sensation of stinging invaded his legs; cold water climbing up around him as he waded deeper past the shallows.

The figure lay closer yet still far away, its song louder and more prominent in his ears. His heart beat into his ears faster as the cold water lay higher over his abdomen — still walking slowly, silently towards it.

There wasn’t a chance to stop himself now, his mind was too receptive to the figure hidden behind the light of the moon — too fixed on following it out to sea. By the time he’d realized it was the sound of water rushing by his ears, he was too far from the shore to try and swim back.

The moon was his last witness, watching as he was pulled underneath, with no song to numb him now.

Wriggling under the dark surface, the existing pain shooting forcefully up his left leg, he desperately fought the pair of hands weighing him down, attempting to claw at them — though with failure. The water only worked against him, the waves roughly forcing him down as he fought with himself for air.

He finally breached the crest of a wave with a large splash, thanking the moon for being bright enough that he could see. Gasps of air came out in choked coughs as Bakugou tried to swim back: away from the ocean and all its dangers.

However, the thing was back — swimming under the water with great force around him. His paddles weren’t much compared to the way it moved the water — leaving him a small leaf as susceptible to the ripples in a river.

He’d lost most of his strength in the fight to pull himself above the water, and yet he prepared himself to use his quirk — arms raised above the water.

The figure rose to the surface once more, but no longer blanketed by the reflection of the moon; and Bakugou paused.

The face it bore was familiar: with cheeks tinting pink from the exposed cold, the same eyes he’d known ever since he was a child, hair curled around her face as if it were the frame of a painting.

The resemblance was uncanny. He knew her.

It all hit him so suddenly: the late nights spent under the stars, running around the forest barefoot, sneaking in through the window at night, watching the fireworks on the top of the hill; secrets, stories, lies — they all came back as easily as he’d repressed them all those years ago.

When she’d lost herself to the sea and left him forever.

“...Y/N?” his voice came quickly, the name rolling from his lips as the waves did onto the sandy shores of the beach.

She stared at him silently; and perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he saw her face change at the mention of that lost name.

It was overwhelming, the way the sight of her face affected his intoxicated mindset. Even though her body was as cold as the ocean around him, he latched on to her — pressing her closely against his chest so as to not lose her once more.

She struggled under the weight of his grip, assuming he was trying to attack her, fingers digging into the arms he’d wrapped around her; she scratched and pushed but he wouldn’t budge.

It wasn’t until she heard the sniffling come from above her, paired with the wracking shudders that went through the human’s body as he held her closer did she realize: he wasn’t trying to harm her.

“Don’t leave me..” he cried into her shoulder. “Not again…”

(It was March the last time he’d stepped foot on the Island — freshly graduated from UA and dragged there by his parents for a much needed week-long break after three years of consistent hero work.

He’d grumbled and grunted about the spontaneous trip the whole way through, complaining about how everyone else he knew was going to start working right away, how he was going to be left behind in the ranks, how it was going to be harder for him to reach Number One now because he’d be starting a week later than everyone else.

It’d been almost five years since he last came though, and as soon as he’d stepped onto the island, he was reminded of all that he’d missed; the salt air hit him as soon as he stepped off the ship, steeped in the scent of the local fisherman at the pier bringing in their daily hauls to be shipped off to the markets — both on the island and overseas — as well as the scent of food rising up in the air. He guessed that there was a festival coming up in the next few days, considering the higher number of tourists than what he ever saw when he came onto the island: confirmed by the flower wreath that’d been placed over the coppered statue of the Maiden and God that could be seen from where he stood.

He was quick to make his way past everything — the aunties squabbling at the market over which beans were the freshest and the retired American couples taking pictures in front of the statue with stupid poses — leaving his parents to go to the small cottage first.

He’d meant to find you at the beach at first — forgoing all your other usual spots for the nice weather; but he was stopped in his tracks when he passed the bookstore, spotting you sitting outside the front steps with a book and ice cream in hand — pink plastic flip flops sliding over the tessellated pavement that lined the shops near the pier.

You hadn’t even noticed him until he was standing right beside you — the hint of a raised eyebrow behind your sunglasses when you squinted up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” You smiled, pulling him in for a hug as quickly as you could stand up.

He wasn’t given any time to process the way you’d changed over the last couple years — the inches you grew, the baby fat that had left your cheeks. It’d been so long since he’d teased you for your butterfly clips, or thrown sand in your hair while his mother scolded him. To think that younger him would’ve never considered even talking to you was an understatement — but all of a sudden, Katsuki only seemed to become more than aware of the time that passed since he’d seen you.

You’d always been pretty, he always knew that — but the mature familiarity you held only added to the warmth that rose to his cheeks before he could stop it: your longer eyelashes, the lipgloss you were wearing; and you pulled away only when you realized your ice cream was about to melt onto the pavement before you.

“Hey,” he smiled back.)

His mind remained hazy and foggy when he woke up, faced with the white cracked ceiling that sat above his bed, like your face was a mixture of memory and delusion that had been forced into his pounding head. Bakugou tried to sit up almost instantly, a hand plastered to his forehead in anticipation of the arriving headache that throbbed through his temples.

It was only then, that he realized that the bed he sat in wasn’t that of his childhood with the old All Might bedspread his mother bought and the room wasn’t that of his summers past.

“He’s awake,” he heard someone (Sero?) mumble from the side — and Bakugou turned to see the friends that sat around his bed; a hospital bed.

Four faces stared at Bakugou with worry, each anxiously awaiting a response as he took his surroundings in with a new interest. As soon as it sank in — the stale sheet covering him, the chairs lined up next to the bed — he was already sitting up in an attempt to pull the IV out of his arm and silence the machine standing next to him, ignoring the concerns of his friends around him. “Stop,” Kirishima quickly corrected him, covering the IV embedded in his arm.

Katsuki refused, still tugging at it until Sero also got up to keep him from moving around, holding his other arm down. He could tell that everyone in the room was holding their breath about something, and he quickly tugged his arms away from both of them after promising he wasn’t going to pull out his IV prematurely.

“What the fuck happened?” he breathed — barely finding his vocal chords in agreement with his thoughts. Apparently more had happened then he thought.

His four friends looked to each other in concern, silently — which Mina broke when she announced she was going to get the nurse — leaving Eijirou as the one to finally answer his question.

“After you snuck away from the bar, we couldn’t find you anywhere.” he spoke slowly, and paused, unable to speak.

Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows in return. What truth was he trying to hide?

Kirishima pretended not to notice the expression Katsuki bore, clearing his throat before continuing — “We um, found you on the beach… lying unconscious. We didn’t know how you got there or what happened, and you were barely breathing so we rushed you here.The doctor said you drowned.”

“...Drowned?” Katsuki raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Kaminari finally spoke from where he was sitting, standing up awkwardly after a moment. “We were worried about you. We didn’t know if it happened because you’d gotten too drunk or… something.” He paused, after he spoke, considering his choice of wording.

“...Something?” Katsuki repeated, his eyes narrowing.

“All he means is that we were worried,” Kirishima jumped in. “You know, with everything that just happened. And we know that you’ve been–”

“I’ve been doing perfectly fine. You thought I couldn’t handle it? That I’m so fucking weak I couldn’t do anything about it?”

Kaminari quickly tried to step up; “He’s just saying that with your leg and what happened with Mei maybe you’d be–”

“I’d be what?” Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest. “Say it.”

Kaminari quickly flapped open and closed his mouth a couple of times like a fish, finally uttering “upset” to complete his thought. But that wasn’t what he was originally going to say — and it was obvious by the guilty expression he was wearing on his face.

Katsuki scoffed before he spoke, “I’m not fucking suicidal,” he deadpanned, focusing his attention on the two directly in front of him. “Do you think I’m that fucking stupid? Goddammit.”

“None of us said that,” Kirishima attempted to placate the situation once again with fail — Katsuki didn’t respond; instead, opting to lean back against the headrest and stare out the window towards the unfamiliar view of the beach. They were in town, he could tell by the rocky edges where the water met the land — the little clinic on the other side of the pier that could only hold about fifteen people. From here he could see the statues.

A moment passed before Sero finally spoke up from his spot in the corner. “We know you started smoking again,” he started, staring at the ground before shaking his head. “The packet was laying in the sand and the doctor found a lighter in your pocket. You only do that shit when something’s wrong, so clearly you’re not fine.”

Bakugou only groaned, rubbing his forehead between his fingers.

“You know how bad that shit is for you right?” Sero continued, his voice growing tighter with each passing second. “We’ve told you before that–”

“Then stop telling me. I don’t need to hear something I’ve already heard a hundred times.”

“Then stop smoking!” Sero exploded. “How the hell do you expect to go around and save people when you can barely breathe? What’s gonna happen when you get sick and are strapped to a hospital bed? And have you ever thought about us? Does our friendship mean nothing to the point you never listen to us? We’ve gotten you the gum, the patches, everything! But you’ve never used any of them for more than a week–”

God fucking dammit his head hurt.

The words were filtering through one ear and out the other. Bakugou only watched as Sero’s mouth moved in what felt like silence as all the words meshed together into nothing. It was the same thing he’d heard over and over and over again. And yet every time the lecture was given it seemed to hold less weight in his mind.

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore if he couldn’t do hero work. Maybe he welcomed a slow and agonizing death.

Maybe it was what he deserved.

The nurse came in soon after, Mina following right behind her. She was relatively young and shy, opting to try to stay quiet about the heroes that she was currently surrounded by. It was obvious she knew who they were by the way her eyes lit up when she entered the room, but she quickly subdued herself as she explained to Katsuki what diagnosis the Doctor had given him.

Apparently, his loss of oxygen to the brain hadn’t been fatal enough for there to be serious injuries. Apparently he’d been found just in time lying unconscious on the beach — but she did mention it was unusual for those who drowned in these waters to end up on the beach, as the direction of the currents in the tide went the opposite way, drifting most out to sea.

Perhaps, he was just lucky.

However, it didn’t help that he’d sprained his already injured leg in his desperation to swim to shore, which had set back his physical therapy for another two weeks.

Kirishima of course, had to make her aware that it wasn’t going to be that big of a deal since he was already seeing a physical therapist on the island: and that it contributed to about fifty percent of their reason for visiting.

The doctor came in soon afterwards as well, giving the basic instructions not letting him exert too much energy and making sure he rested and drank lots of water — letting them out after Katsuki promised he would take his advice. Before they knew it, the group wandered back through the town, following Bakugou’s lead to his parent’s cabin over the hill above the pier, stopping to point out the fresh produce in the little market store or the little trinkets displayed in the window of the souvenir shop.

Sero immediately began grumbling about the promise Katsuki had made to the doctor after they set off — which Katsuki staved off by walking ahead of the group and hiding his limp despite the spouts of pain that shot up his leg. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea — but he was eager to soak up the afternoon sun after being stuck in the stale hospital air all morning.

Most of the shops they passed were familiar to Bakugou, as he’d spent pretty much every summer before he got into UA on the small island — running between the beach, his house, and the Main Street next to the pier. Each area brought back memories — bringing forth the much younger him that had to be chased down the road by his mother so she could put sunscreen on him or commanding his army of heroes with you trailing behind him.

It was much livelier now than it had been back then; there were newer restaurants and shops that had opened on the pier — including a mermaid themed frozen yogurt place — each more busy than they’d ever been when he’d come throughout his childhood. A few restaurants even required the line to spill outside into the street with the sheer amount of tourists attempting to snatch up the “authentic” island snacks being sold.

It was easy to realize that there were a lot more tourists available to the island now — not just the old retired couples that came once in while to “relive their young days”; and it became an easy game for Katsuki to look at who was walking by and figure out if they were a local or a tourist.

A man with a large hat staring at a map next to a woman dressed in a bright floral shirt; Tourists. A mother with a basket swung over her arm and two children licking ice cream as they followed her dutifully; Locals.

Bakugou lost himself in his little game — perhaps as a coping mechanism. He didn’t want to think about what had happened the night before, to relive the hazy memories that swarmed through his brain.

He didn’t want to think about what he saw at the beach. He didn’t want to think about how cold the water was or how all the air was seemingly forced out of his lungs. He didn’t want to think about how she looked just like you did, or the way her eyes seemed to soften at the calling of your name, or the way she’d probably saved him.

Instead, stared longingly at a young boy and girl running past him, tripping over their own two feet at the sound of the ice cream cart’s bell as they chased it down the main street.

A tourist and a local.

The evening came quickly, the house quiet and unbothered; apparently everyone had stayed up all night out of worry, leaving them to fall asleep the second they walked through the door of his small cabin.

Katsuki stayed in his room, resting, trying to forget — perhaps both at the same time. He’d even fallen asleep after a while of laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Only one thing was clear about the whole situation: it was a dream. It had to have been.

The mixture of booze, exhaustion, and his smoking had finally gotten to him.

Everyone else woke up soon after the sun began its descent down the sky — orange fading into blue as stars stole their way from the edges of the horizon — watching as Bakugou led everyone down the little trail past the few other cottages in the area down to where the beach laid at the bottom of the hill, each carrying speakers, coolers, and chairs for a small party on the beach. For the rest of them, the trip served as one of the few vacations they got in a year, so they wanted to make the most of it.

They eventually reached a small cove near the water — which was secluded enough from the rest of the beach that they wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else who decided to go to the beach that night; and they began setting up as soon as they chose a spot close to the water. They had a fire going soon enough, and Bakugou watched as everyone rushed towards the water as soon as they could to jump in; the sun sparkling over the water as they played and splashed each other, laughter rising over the beach as the sun set.

Bakugou couldn’t help but watch the sun slowly fall — thinking about you. Or the thing with your face. Was it still out there, watching? Waiting?

He considered walking down the beach in an attempt to find her again — maybe pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. But instead, he sat stubbornly next to the fire, watching as the waves ebbed over the sand repeatedly, taking small sips from his beer.

The rest joined him soon enough, each nursing their own sport of drink as they went around the campfire under the night, trading stories and catching up after their busy lives. Bakugou felt like an outsider, despite how long he’d been friends with each — maybe it was because he had no good stories to tell of his own.

It seemed like his entire life had been fucked over in the last couple of months. Everything that’d finally felt like routine had been tossed to the flames in a matter of seconds, and he’d had to watch it burn before his eyes as he writhed in agony.

“Hey, congrats on Number One, Katsuki,” Kirishima finally claimed his attention away from the wriggling fire — holding his beer bottle up in a makeshift toast.

Katsuki knew he was just trying to be a good friend and include him in the conversation — but god he didn’t want to talk about it. It didn’t feel good when everyone’s eyes turned towards him.

“Yeah congrats,” Sero agreed, letting a nod peek through towards him. “It was really recent too, right?”

“Yeah. Before it all went to shit, it was nice,” he grunted in response, letting himself finally rest towards the back of his chair. The silence was uncomfortable — and he watched as each of his friends’ expressions twisted in anguish.

“You’ll get there again,” Kirishima uttered quietly; the other’s silently nodded in response, taking to their drinks instead before Mina spoke up quickly.

“You’re in the top ten now, Ei, right?” she gushed. “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah I saw that too!” Denki chimed in quickly. “You’re so popular now.”

“Yeah I am,” Kirishima smiled awkwardly, draining the last of his beer before letting the bottle settle in the sand. “I honestly never expected it to happen so quickly — I at least thought I’d have to go on with my record for another year or so.”

“Nah you deserved it,” Sero added quickly, patting him on the back. “There’s a reason why you’re an amazing hero.”

Bakugou stopped listening as the conversation began fading into their hero lives. Denki started talking about how he’d narrowly escaped some aphrodisiac quirk but how awkward he thought it would’ve been — leading to Sero remembering the time an old woman tried to hit on him while he was patrolling a neighborhood he’d never been in before.

And once again, the conversation continued while Katsuki sat silently.

He didn’t want to talk about everything he’d sacrificed to get to his spot — to relive the pain that sat in his memories, weighing on the back of his mind. How the moment he’d felt he had it all crumbled only seconds later when he realized how flimsy the world had become.

He took another sip from his beer bottle, leaning back in his chair, before letting himself comfortably listen to the sound of the water crashing onto the sand.

To and from.

The sound of its rhythm was the only thing that seemed to keep him there, in that moment. Even if the only thing he was paying attention to was the flickering of the bonfire and the bitterness of the beer he was sipping, he wasn’t letting himself back into that deep, dark place in his mind.

He didn’t realize how long he’d been zoned out for until Kirishima was gesturing for his attention once more — the sky fully dark and the stars overhead gleaming brightly.

“Mina wanted to know about the legend of the island,” he gestured for Katsuki to continue. “The one with the siren or—”

“Mermaid.” Katsuki finished. “It was a mermaid.”

“Yeah, that one,” Eijirou smiled — and Katsuki let out a groan at the grins that were immediately sent his way.

They weren’t really expecting him to do this, were they? But the expectant looks on their faces spurred them on — and all four friends gestured for him to start.

Katsuki sighed.

It was your favorite to recite; never growing bored of it no matter how many times you’d heard it in a day.

(“Tell the mermaid story!” you’d cheer.)

And you liked to tell it the same way each and every time.

The island natives believed that their ancestry began while a great battle for good and evil was fought — and one god, the god of destruction, became severely injured/ He ended up coming to this island for rest and recovery.

He was a very vain and prideful god, and when he became well enough, he began to construct shrines for his worship all along the beaches — but there was a problem. Every time he returned to one, they’d been destroyed by the water. It didn’t matter if the tide didn’t naturally reach where the shrine was, because the water level would rise overnight and the shrine would be drifted away to sea.

Eventually, he grew fed up, and decided to wait one night and see what happened. So instead of building one and leaving it, he hid in the trees to see what happened. And at exactly midnight, he spotted a woman emerging from the water — except she didn’t have feet, she had a tail. Under her instruction, the waves rose and washed away the shrines he’d built that day before she dived back into the water.

He was angry, but he was more intrigued by her beauty. The next day he built more to lure her onto the beach, and hid when the night came in order to catch her. She came that night and succeeded in washing away his shrines — but she disappeared as soon as he walked out from the treeline. This went on for a couple nights, the game of cat and mouse, each becoming more and more fascinated and intrigued by the other. Until one night, she didn’t dash back into the water when he came out of the treeline — and by some miracle, the two of them were able to hold a conversation.

This continued for weeks, blooming a friendship neither would’ve ever expected. She was fascinated with everything he told her: about the land, the war he was fighting, the gods and their lives — as he was with all she told him about life in the ocean.

After a while, he even asked why she kept washing away his shrines. She laughed as she replied, “You cannot expect life to stay the same. The tide ebbs and flows unpredictably, as water carves its own path — you never know when the world will turn it’s back on you. What will you do with your silly shrines when no one is left to worship you? The only true form of worship is through love — of yourself, and those that you hold close to your heart.”

She eventually bore his children, who were said to be the descendants of the natives on the island, and for a while everything was perfect. But, he was eventually called back to his duties — and he left the island, with a promise that he would be back one day. Though he never returned, she waited for him on the shores of the island for the rest of eternity.

Before he left, though, he had built a shrine in her honor at the top of the mountain — her immortal words etched into the side as a show of his love and devotion.

(The look you’d give with that final sentence had always been so wistful, and Katsuki remembered how he’d joked that you’d been the mermaid yourself.)

“That’s beautiful,” Mina sighed.

“That’s who the statues are, right?” Denki spoke up. “The big one in town?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki grunted. He brought his beer bottle up to his lips, but clicked his tongue when he found it was empty. Standing up, he made his way to the cooler to grab another — only to find there was none left.

“Are we out already?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah,” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “S’fine. I’ll go grab ‘em.”

He could see Sero’s expression out of the corner of his eye — but he didn’t really care enough. He clearly hadn’t found the stash hidden away in his dresser drawer. The light of the fire slowly bled away into the dark of night as he followed the pebbly path back up the hill towards the cabin.

For some reason though, as he walked — he could feel the hairs on his neck stand up as if they were on edge, the anxiety rising through his veins. He even thought he heard a splash in the distance — but quickly waved it off. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him.

He reached the cabin quickly, jumping up the porch steps before pausing as he reached to open the door. Your house stared back at him when he looked up, just shy of a couple feet and connected by the little pebbly path; he shook it off as he stepped inside.

The lights were still on, so it was easy to just walk to the fridge and grab a six pack of beer. He guessed Denki’d bought it earlier when he’d gone out for a little.

He didn’t even stop to think about grabbing a cigarette from his room, before he was back on the porch and flicking open the lighter sitting in his pocket. A plume of smoke followed as he walked along the trail down to the beach, but not directly back to the campfire where his friends were sitting around. Instead, he wandered down near the shore, watching the sky overhead as it bled into the darkness of the water.

It was darker than it had been the previous night, with no full moon to give its light. The water wasn’t illuminated tonight, and the thought was unsettling.

Before Bakugou stood a large vast of black, to the point that he could barely tell where the water was hitting the sand. Besides the sound of the water rushing and pushing off the earth, there was nothing that indicated where it started or ended.

And though the cigarette had done well in holding back against most of his anxiety, the darkness of the water held a fear — that not even the cigarette could get rid of. There would be nothing to watch him drown tonight, nothing that could save him if he was lured again.

As soon as enough time had passed and his cigarette had been smoked down to its bud, he crushed it into the sand quickly, gripping the six-pack tighter between his knuckles as he began his way back to the campfire. However, another splash caught the edge of his ear.

Once again, it didn’t blend in with the natural push of the water, and he paused, watching the water out of the corner of his eye.

The sound came again quickly, followed by a figure dashing under the water; the six pack of beer was dropped to the sand without hesitation as Bakugou stomped towards it.

“Who are you?”

Only the sound of the water answered back, and Katsuki grumbled under his breath.

“Who are you?” he repeated, his hand sparking in warning. “Answer me.”

There was no response, but he could barely make out the silhouette that poked its way out of the water. It stayed quiet, and Bakugou strode closer, the edge of the water almost touching his shoes.

“Answer me.”

The figure didn’t answer, but it hesitantly swam closer; close enough that he could see its face in the sparking light of his quirk. Your face stared back at him again, confused expression and all — his quirk dying out as his mouth dried. Instead he was left motionless, staring in the dark as his breath quickened.

“Fuck,” he almost fell into the sand as he stumbled backwards. “Go the fuck away. Do you hear me? Get the fuck out! Leave me alone!” He didn’t even notice when his voice cracked, or the way his breath shuddered as if he was about to cry; how were you doing this to him? How was just the sight of your face doing this to him?

It was like the part of him that had died with you resurfaced, clawing its way up his body to remind him of what he’d repressed for all these years. The younger him — who’d dropped the phone to the floor after he’d found out what happened; whose knees shook as he held the wall to keep himself from falling over out of shock; whose eyes began to water as he sank to the floor — but ultimately hid them away so no one could guess what’d happened.

His knees hit the sand as he forced down the same tears he’d repressed all those years ago — feeling as hopeless as he did when he first found out you’d drowned. That you wouldn’t be there anymore for him to fulfill his promise.

That you were the one person he never got to save.

“Leave,” he whispered weakly, looking up to see the figure that was still sitting there, staring at him.

It didn’t move. She sat there — observing him.

It felt like hours passed as they both sat there — dazed — not a word in between.

“There you are!”

It was when Eijirou’s voice hit his ears from across the beach, with a splash following behind as he turned away, that he realized that it wasn’t a dream.

You were actually there — in some form or another.

He swallowed thickly as Kirishima approached — who paused as he spotted the six pack that’d been dropped into the sand hastily, before approaching him. He stared out into the water blankly, only to find it as empty as it should’ve been — but there was a small shell laying in front of him. A gift.

“What happened to you? We’ve been looking for you.”

Something about the shell was familiar — the curves, its color, the grooves on its side. He quickly realized why after he turned it over, and found his name etched into the side in messy kanji; looking back up to the water in surprise.

How did she find this? Did she know what this was?

“Katsuki?” Eijirou called once again — his voice wavering.

“M’fine. I just remembered something.”

Katsuki didn’t expect to be woken early the next morning; and yet, there he was. It was about six o’clock and he was awake because his phone started ringing. And though he’d initially tried to ignore the buzzing that continued against his nightstand (because he turned off the ringer after three rings), it continued to bother him no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

After its fourth cycle, he finally gave in — letting out a sigh before snatching the phone up from the bedside table and pushing the green button to finally let the person on the other line speak.

“What?” he croaked after reading the name, rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

“That is a rude way to address your mother,” the voice answered back with a huff, and Bakugou rolled his eyes in response.

“I was sleeping, goddammit. ‘Yer an hour ahead, remember?”

He heard his mom laugh at the realization. “Omygosh you’re right! It’s been so long since we went I completely forgot. Your father and I really need a vacation sometime soon then.”

“Whadd’ya want?” he rolled his eyes. “This was supposed to be a vacation.”

“I know that Katsuki. I wanted to know how the house was doing. Hopefully it wasn’t too dusty, right? The last time we went was about…five-–no six years ago. I don’t think we even got to cover everything properly with the sheets because we thought we’d be there again the year after that. But then remember, that was the year you and Mei got together and you wanted her to come with us and the timing didn’t work out ‘cause of your busy schedule.” “Yes. I remember.”

“Yeah. Anyways, I hope it wasn’t too dusty.”

“It was fine,” he yawned, letting his arms reach towards the headboard. “The sheets helped. And the rest of the house wasn’t that bad. Just needed a little wiping.”

“Ah that’s good,” she hummed, letting a moment of silence pass — and Katsuki grew slightly agitated.

“Was there any reason for this call or did you just want to know how the house was doing?” he grumbled. “Cause if you cared that much, you could’ve just called me the day we got here.”

“Am I not allowed to call you whenever I find fit? I am your mother after all.”

“Can you just spit it out already? I’m tired and I want to go back to sleep.”

“What were you doing all night, huh? Clubbing?”

“Obviously not,” he rolled his eyes once more. “You know there’s nothing like that here.”

“Still the same huh? Just old people?”

“Can you stop being annoying and just tell me what it is?”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed, pausing while Katsuki furrowed his brows. “Y/N’s mother called me yesterday.”

Suddenly his heart was pounding in his chest. Did she know about the thing in the water?

“Okay…” he spoke slowly. “What happened?”

“She found out that you were on the island from some social media thing, apparently. And, uh, she had a favor to ask.”

“What?”

“She was telling me about what happened after Y/N… They apparently just left afterwards. Both of them quit their jobs and moved to the mainland. She said it was too much for them to handle being in the same house with all her things after the funeral.”

Katsuki immediately raised an eyebrow. Where was she going with this?

“So?”

“They left all her stuff behind, Katsuki, because they couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. She said they took a couple of picture frames of her and that was it. But now… her mother regrets that. Deeply. She doesn’t have anything left of her daughter. And both her parents are too busy now to come back and pack up her stuff.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

The pit that had been growing in the bottom of his stomach ached and gnawed at him, thick, like bile rising up his throat. “I know you don’t want to be reminded of her.” Mitsuki replied with a huff. “I know that. But, she was wondering if you could go pack up her things and have them shipped to their new house.”

“Wh-”

“Before you say anything, let me finish.” She interrupted him quickly, and Katsuki gaped his mouth shut. “You’re the only one they trust to do this, Katsuki. They know you cared for Y/N as much as they did. Even with all the years you both spent apart. It would mean a lot to them. Just… help them. For Y/N’s sake.”

For fucks sake.

Bakugou didn’t speak, letting his hand run over his face as he audibly huffed loud enough for his mother to hear through the other end. Usually Bakugou would’ve been annoyed at his mother for trying to emotionally manipulate him into doing her bidding. And usually, he would’ve been able to refuse everything she said without a second thought.

But the image of you flashed back from the previous night — the look on your face after he’d yelled at you.

No.

Not you.

The thing.

…Mermaid?

“You gonna answer or what?” his mother invaded her way back into his senses, and Katsuki shook his head before replying slowly.

“...Fine.”

“Actually?”

“Yes goddammit,” he sneered. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. I’ll ask where to get the keys and all that. Just do it when you get the chance, okay? Prioritize yourself first.”

“Okay, I will,” he slumped further into the bed.

“Make sure to put the sheets back over the furniture before you leave. I don’t want it to become too dusty whenever we end up going back.”

“Okay,” he sighed.

“And don’t get yourself into trouble. I don’t want to hear anything about that in the news.”

“Got it.”

“Also make sure you say hello to-”

“Woman. Will you let me sleep now?” he forced out quickly. He didn’t want to listen to her shit anymore.

“I’m going to let you get away with being rude because it’s early there. Don’t think you’ll get away with that again you idiot.”

“Whatever, bye.”

“Bye.”

Bakugou tossed the phone back to his side table with little care, hearing it clatter slightly against the wood table before it stayed in place — burying himself back into his bed without a second thought. It wasn’t actually that early, but he’d rather not have had his mother talk his ear off for another hour and a half.

He already knew he wasn’t going to be able to lull himself to sleep. Not now. It’d been hard enough the night before — and the thoughts of you that’d passed through his mind constantly. And now that he had to go into your house and look through all of your things again? Sleep wasn’t going to welcome him back anytime soon.

His focus quickly changed to the light of the morning on the ceiling — drawing attention to the glow in the dark stars he’d stuck up there many summers ago. They still had some visibility, which was deeply surprising.

You’d actually helped him stick those up, and he’d gotten so angry at you for trying to make little hearts or circles out of them because “that wasn’t how stars worked”. He remembered how you eventually gave up and made your own constellations out of them, and how the both of you made your own stories accompanying each — now stashed away in some notebook hidden in his old bookshelf.

Even the Mermaid and the God were up there, since you’d insisted that they belonged in your imaginary collection of constellations.

It was probably one of the first times you’d ever truly gotten along after years of his mother trying to convince him to be nice to you. He’d always been more confused about why you never seemed to be deterred no matter how much he tried to torture you.

Throwing sand in your hair. Shoving bugs down your shirt. You’d screamed about those plenty of times. Yet you forgave him. Your persistence was so similar to someone else he knew — but for some reason he found you less irritating.

Eventually, Katsuki’s gaze rested upon his dresser; the shell sat at the edge, where he’d left it last night, his engraved name facing him but not visible in the darkness of the early morning.

He remembered the day he’d carved his name into it; the last time he’d seen you. The both of you had done it — carved your names into a shell — before tossing them into the ocean together. It was a silly ritual, one he’d mostly humored because you were with him — but you’d said it’d bring good luck. And he believed you.

How did she, the mermaid, find it? Was it a coincidence, or did she know?

His entire night had been spent thinking about how it could’ve been possible. It could’ve been a quirk, but… you didn’t have one. And no villains had ever been reported on the island — at least none as powerful to do something like that.

Despite how much he tried to ignore his thoughts, the little memorabilia scattered around the small room only reminded him; the old posters hanging lopsided next to the door and the little stickers covering them, his old bookshelf filled with comics, novels, and little trinkets, even the old patterned quilt that lay over his bed. The view from his window: with the little trail that passed down to the beach and the little cove nearby, and the empty cottage that stood beside his with its barred windows staring back.

Bakugou’s forearm eventually came to rest over his forehead, letting himself breathe for a second before springing up from the bed.

Fuck it. He wasn’t going to try and pretend to sleep anymore.

His back popped as he stretched his arms over his head, pushing onto his hands as he sat up, still exhausted. Sighing, he got up from his bed, stumbling to the dresser to grab a t-shirt and shorts. He dressed quickly, ignoring the scar that sat on his left knee as he pulled his shorts up, shoving his phone into his pocket.

He caught a final glimpse of the shell on his dresser before he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Heroes shouldn’t slack on their training after all.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when he stepped out, and that only solidified how early in the morning it was. Stars were still sitting in the other half of the darker sky, and Katsuki realized he’d never really seen the sun rise before.

With hero work, he was put onto the late afternoon or night shift — where he came back to his apartment at three in the morning after a patrol, frantically scrubbed off the face paint wore under his mask, and stumbled into bed to be awoken by an alarm the next morning for the cycle to continue.

But now, at least for a couple weeks, he could let himself breathe.

At this point, he knew what he was doing as he stumbled his way down the trail to the beach, running sneakers padding softly in the sand.

He was quick to start: stretching his legs carefully, the way his mainland physical therapist had shown him to help ease his limp. So far he hadn’t seen any results — but it took time and consistency to see them; unfortunately he didn’t have much of either, not with the official hero rankings coming out in the next month and his reputation hanging on the line. He could only hope that this new physical therapist would be able to address his issues faster so he’d be able to get back to his life.

His stupid, fucked up life.

It was when the sun had lazily drifted past the horizon line that Bakugou finished all his stretches for the morning — letting himself sit silently, basking in the warmth. The sky was orange: a beautiful orange, your favorite orange — the color of those mandarins you’d once painted with watercolor and stuck on your wall (while he’d painted All Might instead).

Your orange.

He barely even noticed the figure in the distance that sat on the rocks until his gaze lazily drifted back towards the water; and he shot up from his spot in surprise, before slowly making his way down the beach, closer to the wet sand where she sat.

It was near where he and his friends had been the previous night, the smudges of their campfire still present in the sand.

By the cove, she sat, tail swishing slowly as she watched the sun rise — the colors of the day bleeding into the night as it disappeared slowly. She hadn’t even noticed him yet, her back turned as she relaxed into her rock.

Details sprung out at him instantly: ones he’d never been able to notice at night. Like the pretty orange color of her tail — almost like that of a goldfish, shimmering under the sun. The orange scales that climbed up her waist and the sides of her neck. The fins that protruded from the sides of her head in place of ears.

Eventually, the sound of sand crunching under his running shoes was what alerted her, shoulders jumping as she turned around to see him approaching. She looked wearily at his arrival, and tucked herself further inwards, but she didn’t move from her spot. Bakugou noticed and quietly sat down cross-legged on the sand, as close to her as he could get without getting wet by the water.

It was silent for a while. And both watched the clouds that passed overhead, the way the stars began drifting further away, how the sun began rising higher in the sky.

“S’pretty,” she whispered out, voice slightly hoarse — Bakugou almost jumped at the sound of your voice coming from the mermaid.

She spoke.

He sat shell-shocked for a moment, unable to process. It was hard for him to find his bearings, or even wrap his head around the situation — but she was looking at him. Expectantly.

She wanted an answer.

“The shell was pretty too,” he added, tentatively, watching as the mermaid bobbed her head, like she was agreeing with him.

She met his stare after a couple moments, head cocked as if she was studying him as well — her eyes darting up and down his body before she decided to ignore him. Laying on her rock, he watched as her tail sparkled under the glow of the sun.

Your orange.

(“Is this really fucking necessary?” Katsuki grumbled behind you.

“Yes,” he could hear the huff in your voice as you trudged before him. “It’s the best view of the entire island. Now hold Lord Explosion for a second while I climb over this rock,” you shoved the sad little goldfish bag into his hand before he could respond, jumping to the top of the rock so you could jump off on the other side.

“Lord Explosion?” he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“You’re the one who came up with the name, not me,” you only shrugged your shoulders with a smirk, reaching your arm out so you could take Lord Explosion from him and he could follow behind you. “Should’ve thought about that before you decided to make it official.”

“That’s Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight to you,” he huffed, scaling the rock with ease before the both of you dropped to the other side. “Can’t even get my fucking name right and you’re still making fun of it.”

“You think I care? The fact that it’s your actual hero name is hilarious,” you chuckled, racing ahead. “Where did you even come up with that?”

“Keep talking shit,” he sneered. “You’ll be the one eating it when I become the most successful hero.”

“Come up with that line all by yourself?” you raised an eyebrow at him — and he rolled his eyes. “We’re here anyways, so shut your trap before you ruin the view with your voice.”

He didn’t respond, but in his head he was ready to cuss you out.

The both of you reached the top of the hill after a few moments, the shrine in sight.

It was still relatively well maintained as it had been when he went there the first time as a child: the red paint of the gate still intact, the pathway cleared from moss, the bell still gleaming. The crumbling was present though, of the rocks that forged the structure. Most had cracks and moss hanging over.

The both of you quickly paid your respects — Katsuki eyeing the engraving in the gold plate — before you both moved past it towards the cliff.

From there, the both of you sat — watching the sun fall, the orange lighting up the sky. You could still see the lights from the festival down below — the aunties bustling around in their yakutas, the vendors that had come from the mainland with their games and food, everyone laughing and shouting and talking all over themselves from excitement.

You patted Lord Explosion’s bag, your supposed new best friend and prize from one of the games you’d forced Katsuki to play with you, before holding him off to show him the view.

“Bet you’ve never seen anything like this before, huh?” you asked the fish — and Katsuki couldn’t help the chuckle that it pulled.

The fish looked so dumb — bulging eyes and bubbles thinly floating to the air line while it coasted on the movement of the thin plastic.

You gave him an annoyed look before tucking the bag back into your arms safely — and Katsuki stared. Somehow. He couldn’t find his gaze to pull away from the way the light reflected off your face; the way you were staring off into the distance. And suddenly, he was fully aware of how close you were sitting, the way your hand shifted right next to his in the dirt, how your pinkies were almost touching.

It felt like time had slowed, the wind blowing, the smell of salt and the ocean, the trees shifting and the rustling of their leaves.

The fireworks came soon after the sun set — and they looked beautiful from where the both of you were sitting; just like you’d promised. After a while, you let out a small sigh before letting your head rest against his shoulder; but Katsuki didn’t dare look at you. Something about the way your scent had invaded him was making him unfocused. Jittery, almost.

In fact, he was so distracted, he couldn’t even find it within him to stay mad that you’d fallen asleep against him — leaving him to carry you back down the trail with your soft breathing against his neck, Lord Explosion in his hand.)

Katsuki recognized the knowing look on Sero’s face when he stepped out of his room the next morning, the pack of cigarettes no longer stashed in his dresser drawer; but he knew better than to say anything and cause another argument that wasn’t needed. Instead, he announced that he was going to his physical therapy appointment to the rest of the group, who’d been sitting around and talking about what they wanted to do for the day since morning.

They each grumbled out their disappointment at him missing their plans to go hang out at the beach and visit a few stores in town afterwards — but he barely paid any mind. His physical therapy appointment was later in the morning, closer to afternoon. Not right now — and he already knew where he’d be going.

The walk to the town from the cabin wasn’t as long as one might think — seeing as to how winding and unshaded it is from the sun above — but it was nice. It didn’t actually stretch far, which Katsuki remained thankful for with his limp (no matter how much he tried to ignore its existence); so it wasn’t long till he could see the “town” from up ahead.

The main street wasn’t as busy as it had been the day before; it was a weekday, which meant that the tourists who liked to come across for the weekend generally left — leaving it more similar to how it’d been when he used to come — the old ladies that hobbled across the path with baskets filled with vegetables swung over their shoulders, the fishermen at the wharf bringing in their hauls for the morning. More boats were still at sea then there were at the land, white and dotted in the distance as Katsuki passed.

The small grocery store was the busiest — a couple aunties loudly chatting and grabbing fruit from the outside carts. A couple waved at him as he passed — probably friends of his mother.

Katsuki pushed past them towards the general store at the corner of the street. It apparently also doubled as a tourist information booth — which Katsuki only realized when he spotted the brochures that stayed stacked neatly outside its doors — pushing open the heavy, oak wood to the air conditioning inside.

The man working at the counter was unknown to him; and he let out a small grunt and a wave when he called out a greeting in his direction.

The space was cluttered, dark, filled with perhaps the most random assortment he’d ever seen in one spot: stuffed animals and touristy keychains and handmade ceramics and string lights all squished together next to each other. Katsuki knew what he was looking for wouldn’t be left out in the open though, and instead approached the guy at the counter.

He was young, tanned — probably the nephew or grandson of the man who used to run the place.

“Can I get a pack of Mevius?” Katsuki grunted, almost low enough that the man didn’t hear him — but he nodded quickly before grabbing them from the cabinet behind him and placing it on the grained counter.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“That’s it,” Katsuki concluded quickly — but after hearing the price and shoving a couple bills on the counter, he caught a packet of gum hiding underneath the counter and sprung out a couple of coins for that until the cashier was satisfied. Snatching both and heading outside.

He was quick to flick a cigarette between his fingers and shove the rest in his pocket while he quickly lit it and stole a drag.

For some reason it was one of the only times he was so acutely aware of his breath — the way it pushed in and out of him slowly, the stress it relieved. It felt like he was actually there. Not just running on command, out of habit.

It wasn’t too long until he found himself outside the door of his new physical therapist for the next couple of weeks. Her office was in her house; a small brick and mortar building, with a sprawling garden out front and a little gate pointing towards a broken fountain.

She wasn’t as removed from the town as he was — tucked a couple streets behind the main street and the wharf.

Dr. Furukawa — the sign outside her door read as he pressed the doorbell.

Katsuki guessed she was old, older, by the small plastic slide and blue bicycle with a cartoon superhero’s picture printed all over it. Her grandchildren probably came to visit from time to time. Not to mention that she was said to be the best when it came to hero-work-related injuries; something that only came with many years of experience.

Katsuki almost stumbled out of surprise however, when a younger woman was the one to answer the door — significantly younger than what he’d pictured at least.

Dr. Furukawa seemed to be in her mid to late thirties — though slight lines crinkled at the edges of her eyes as she gestured for him to follow her inside — leading him to her actual office.

Pictures of two children lined the halls: a boy around the age of seven or eight and a young girl around the age of three — surrounded by framed drawings and paintings the both had done. Those were her children’s toys outside.

The physical therapy rooms Katsuki was used to were mostly the same. Hard white mattresses, stale air and empty walls. His therapists as well — pushing and prodding at different places for about an hour or so before handing him a sheet with some stretches to do before sending him off for the week. Those worked for smaller occurences — the way his hands and wrists would hurt after overusing his quirk, or accidentally twisting a muscle when dodging a quirk. He’d never been injured this badly before.

Immediately after being ushered in, Katsuki noticed the difference. Pictures of her and her children, drawings (also done by her children), her hugging (presumably) patients — almost all of them old and white-haired, but smiling at the camera — lined the walls; followed by a couple potted plants that sat at the windowsill, vines reaching past to the floor, and table heaped in blankets.

There was even a small fountain on her desk — one of those desktop ones you could sometimes find at tourist shops — which he noticed when she pulled the chair up beside the table, which she gestured for him to sit on.

“So, Dynamight, right?” she mused after a moment or two. “What are we here for?”

“Bakugou is fine.” He answered. It didn’t feel right to make her call him that. “About a month ago I was in a fight, n’ my leg got blasted. My knee was shattered and some of my muscles tore. I was in surgery for a long time apparently, and it left a lot of scar tissue.”

She was scribbling something on a clipboard that he’d just noticed she was holding, before she looked up at him again — probably gesturing for him to continue, but he didn’t know what else she wanted him to say.

“Is there any reason you’re here, specifically?” she asked, voice low and tapered. “I’m sure there are more specialized therapists on the mainland.”

“I’ve tried ‘em all already,” Katsuki sighed. “Never really found any lasting results. Most of ‘em just gave me a list of some random stretches and said the results would come themselves.”

“Ah,” she hummed — like she was aware of what he was talking about. But she looked up at him with determination after a moment, setting down her clipboard next to the little water fountain in the process. “Well Bakugou, I hope that isn’t the case here.”

She instructed him to lie down as she got to work, asking first if she could touch his knee and if it hurt when she pressed into certain spots.

This part he was used to, pretty much every physical therapist he’d been to did these things. But instead of her just pressing and massaging random parts of his legs for an hour before calling it a day — she encouraged him to stand up, walk around, do a couple of squats or high knees before she did something else.

Eventually, she asked for permission to use her quirk to help aid his process; she didn’t explain much of it to him, only giving the basics. It was some sort of healing quirk: but it was slow and minor. The most she could do at one time was slowly build up threads of the muscles so that they would eventually reconnect on their own, but she couldn’t reconnect them herself.

She was quiet as she worked, asking Bakugou a couple of questions here and there about him, his life on the mainland — pressing into one spot in his knee or even going as high as twisting his back — answering a few of her own.

The clock ticked and the waterfall babbled for the majority of his time spent there — but Katsuki enjoyed the silence, even if he didn’t pay much attention to it.

Throughout most of it, Katsuki kept his gaze on one of the pictures on the wall: of Dr. Furukawa standing next to an older woman and hugging her tightly.

He knew her; she was one of his mother’s friends, having gone to her house and her come to his house multiple times each summer.

She’d died of cancer though, when he was about eleven years old, leaving her husband on his own.

Surprisingly enough though, as she walked Katsuki to the door after the session, he felt better — the limp having slightly tapered off, and the allowance of him to move fluidly once more. It was almost a relief, and he could see the smile on Dr. Furukawa’s face at the emergence of her results.

“Continue doing your stretches,” she told him, opening the front door. “They’ll help you more than they hurt — and they’ll make your results come faster.”

Bakugou huffed at the thought but he didn’t mind doing them as much as he liked to show it — instead just nodding as he walked through the door; he almost stumbled over a girl — about his age — pushing an older woman in wheelchair up the walkway of the old house, to which she apologized profusely while the older woman sat silently, staring ahead.

The main street was busier in the afternoon than it had been earlier — more people were awake, now running their usual errands and walking into different shops and stores to get the things that they needed. Even most of the fishermen were back on the wharf with their catches — the smell of gasoline and fish rising in the air as they shouted at each other from their boats discussing the conditions of the day as Bakugou passed.

He didn’t have any plans to go anywhere specific at that point, but wanted to roam the main street for a little bit.

The statues in the center caught his eye — and out of pure curiosity he walked over to them: the god and the mermaid.

He hadn’t seen them since the last time he’d come; the both of you had wandered around the wharf before sitting under it with some ice cream at one point while you talked about some different interpretations of the mythology and its different endings.

It was a beautiful, bronze statue — standing high over the wharf, watching the reef and the boats as they drifted in and out of the harbor day after day. The God was portrayed to be strong, muscular — thick legs holding up a stocky build, a sword in his hilt — while he carried the mermaid in his arms: her tail flapping over his arms as the both of them stared at each other, smiling. Deeply in love.

The plaque at the bottom read the same as that of the shrine: “The only true form of worship is through love — of yourself, and those that you hold close to your heart.”

The Mermaid’s quote was a famous one on the island — something the older folks held dear while tourists got to wear it on t-shirts and sip coffee with it facing them.

He’d actually saved someone wearing a pin with the quote on it once: it was blue and had colorful stripes behind the wording — which wasn’t exactly an eye-catching combination but he would’ve pretended to ignore it either way.

Eventually, he found himself standing outside of one of the little tourist shops — squished between the frozen yogurt place and one of the new restaurants that overlooked the pier — pushing open the heavy, glass door for a glimpse of what was inside.

It was just as he remembered it, filled to the brim with little trinkets and gadgets, candies and memorabilia. Little glass figurines of the mermaid and the god intertwined on the sand overlooked the room, staring from atop the highest shelves as Bakugou stepped in.

He felt too large and overpowering in the small, cramped space — almost like it was wrong for him to be there; it’d been so long since he’d wandered in.

You used to love walking in: tracing the fingers of the mermaid on one of the figurines, shaking the snowglobes aggressively to watch the snow settle gently over the small island, chatting with the few tourists who were looking around — and the old man loved when you visited. Bakugou always thought it was because you were always able to convince the tourists to buy the most expensive items, but now that he was thinking about it, he was sure the old man liked you just because you gave him company.

He’d always been apprehensive of talking to the adults on the island, but you treated them each as friends and relatives — dragging Bakugou around to do the same. He hated doing so, but the old man always treated the both of you to frozen yogurt after every visit.

“Don’t tell your parents,” he’d say with a wink while handing you a couple dollars each, watching you both with a smile as you skipped next door.

He’d even done so the last time he was there — and though the both of you rolled your eyes at the idea, he’d insisted — and the both of you’d walked next door with small smiles on your face to the idea of getting something sweet and cold as an escape from the humidity and heat for free.

One of the larger glass figurines caught his eye instantly — a direct replica of the statue, down to the inscription at the base — except it was colored: the mermaid’s cheeks rosy and warm while the god was dressed in gold, shining armor.

It’d been there since his first visit to the island: the shining diamond of the souvenir shop. Tucked away in a glass case it sat for all those years — waiting for someone willing to pay the price for it.

“Ah, Bakugou,” a voice called out — and Katsuki’s head whipped around to meet those of the man who’d run the shop since he was a child, peeking through the cramped shelves towards the register.

And there he sat — the same smile and cheerful eyes. Just as all those years ago.

But Bakugou was quickly made aware of the time that passed as he stepped closer: the thinning gray hairs, the wrinkles that decorated his eyes and the frailness of his hands coming into view — the weariness he held in his face.

He was no longer like the young — though Bakugou had always referred to him as old — spritely man who’d be chatting with tourists and pushing past their attempts at bargaining with ease, arguing with old friends whenever they wandered into the shop for a couple minutes of cold air, or offering the lollipops he’d hid behind the counter to the children who behaved well.

Suddenly, Bakugou was all the more aware of what’d happened. The time that’d passed since he’d last seen him.

It was strange.

“Mr. Yoshida,” Bakugou grunted after a moment, making his way over.

He seemed to tower over the man now — just as he had felt about the entire shop — even though he’d been taller than him since he was about thirteen. Somehow, Yoshida’s larger than life personality had always made up for it.

But now, with what seemed like the empty shell that was left, it all seemed to be lost.

“You’ve grown,” Yoshida smiled, the same crinkles coming back.

“Yeah.”

“I hope the attitude grew out as well,” the man chuckled, mostly to himself, but Katsuki let out a small smile.

“Of course,” he nodded. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” the old man waved off his own response. “You know how it is here — same old, same old. Nothing has really changed since you last came. Tourists come and go. I’d say you’re the one who’s had interesting things though.”

“I guess,” Katsuki shrugged.

“I’ve watched your fights on the telly. It was funny. I didn’t recognize you at first. You’ve changed a lot.”

Katsuki let out a polite nod. He’d heard that phrase too much recently.

“I’m proud of you though,” Yoshida continued. “It’s amazing work you’re doing out there.”

“Thanks.”

“Just don’t forget about us little ones,” Yoshida winked, before standing up from his chair, hobbling out from behind the counter. “But, I also have something for you.”

Bakugou blinked when Yoshida pressed a set of keys into his hand, staring at the small All Might keychain that was attached. For some reason it looked familiar.

“What… is this?” Bakugou stared back up at the man, confused.

“I assumed it was why you walked in,” Yoshida gave him a look. “Your mother called about you coming in to grab ‘em ‘cause you were cleaning out the house for ‘em — Y/N’s parents, I mean.”

Realization dawned suddenly, and he stared down at the keys, not even noticing that he was holding his own breath.

He’d gotten you that keychain for your eighth birthday.

He couldn’t even find much in him to hold the small metal ring in his hands, something about them made him feel uneasy.

“It was a surprise for her parents when they found out I had ‘em. They had no idea ‘till I told ‘em. Everything was strange after that.”

Bakugou only stared silently at the keys, shoving them deep into his pocket after a moment to let out a breath. The weight on his shoulders felt heavier — his feet further cemented where he stood. He could only look down at his shoes as his mind went blank and his breathing flattened.

“She would've been proud of you, you know?”

Bakugou’s head snapped to Yoshida’s face instantly, eyes running over his face, trying to read his expression.

“She’d been very excited, you know?” he continued. “Thought it was the most amazing thing that you were gonna go out and be a hero. Never stopped talking about it.” Yoshida shook his head in memory. “You should be proud of all you’ve done,” he smiled.

It was supposed to be warm, and inviting. A compliment.

“Thanks,” Bakugou answered stiffly.

The air felt stuffy — his heartbeat erratic and his throat tightened.

He’d already turned around and was ready to head out the door, but was stopped by Yoshida’s voice calling out.

“D’you want some froyo?”

Bakugou snorted before turning back, to see Yoshida offering out a couple dollars like had when he was a child.

“Maybe another time,” Bakugou responded before he walked out.

Evening fell relatively quickly — without much of a chance for him to protest against his friends after being away from them for the entire day.

It was how he found himself sitting in a booth at the back of one of the restaurants on the pier, squished in with the rest of his friends as they told him about all they’d done at the beach while he was gone.

“...and then Sero smacked the volley ball all the way to the other side of the beach,” Kaminari wheezed. “It was so funny! It took us like thirty minutes to find it and bring it back.”

“I told you guys it wasn’t on purpose,” Sero rolled his eyes, grabbing a long sip from his beer.

“It was totally on purpose,” Kaminari whispered in Katsuki’s ear when Sero faced the other way — and Katsuki sighed as he sank into the back of his chair.

“You know what was super weird though? That big pile of shells and seaglass that were just laying by the cove,” Mina suddenly spoke up from the opposite side.

She’d been busy whispering to Kirishima for most of the conversation, only deciding to speak up after he’d walked up to the bar to grab more drinks for the table.

Katsuki’s ears pricked up. “Just sitting there?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I guessed some kids were scavenging and forgot about it. It was fun decorating sandcastles though.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sero chimed in. “It’s a weekday, all the kids are at school.”

“But still–”

That definitely couldn’t have been a coincidence, right? Why else would they appear where he’d been meeting — well, seeing her?

And did all these things constitute as gifts?

“How was your new therapist?” Kirishima offered as he pushed a new round of glasses onto the table before scooting in next to Mina.

“She’s fine,” Katsuki shrugged. “Seems to already be doing better than everyone else I’ve seen.”

“That’s good,” Eijirou took a sip of his beer. “I’m also honestly, really glad that we all came here with you. It wouldn’t have been easy for you to deal with all of this stuff on your own, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou nodded slightly, passively agreeing. He wasn’t really paying attention though.

One of the waitresses was standing off to the side, whispering to another while making it obvious she was looking at their table.

Katsuki thought they’d been lucky this far to not have run into issues with fans and paparazzi. And they probably had been despite the hassle it was for all of them to get out of Japan without alerting every single news station possible. The natives mostly all knew Katsuki or his parents and thus understood he didn’t want to be bothered; and the American tourists clearly didn’t care about heroes who weren’t their own besides the few die hard superfans.

Of course there were those who came from the mainland, but they’d made it a point to stay hidden when the ferry arrived to avoid unwanted attention.

But instead of what he expected, the waitress walked up to the table after a moment — clearly unable to make eye contact with any of them, but smiling as she spoke.

“My name’s Kareena, I’ll be your server,” she announced, bowing tightly. “Are you guys ready to order?”

He knew exactly who she was. The girl from earlier, the one who he’d seen pushing her grandmother up the pathway towards Dr. Furukawa’s house. She was pretty — though clearly not fully Japanese —her slightly foreign features fit her face nicely; such as the slightly curly hair that fell just past her ears and tucked from her face behind a small pin with a seashell.

It was obvious that she was nervous; she clearly knew who they all were — stuttering over a couple words or even accidentally dropping her pen once or twice. Everyone stayed patient as they ordered, to which she offered a big smile before she walked back to the kitchen.

It seemed each pair of eyes at the table instantly turned to Katsuki, and he in turn, gave them all a sneer.

“What?”

“Nevermind…” Kaminari shook his head — and the conversation turned to other things.

Most of dinner stayed uneventful: the eventful part being when Kareena arrived with bottles of water for the table and accidentally spilled one of them over Katsuki’s lap as she was setting it down — but he got over it quick enough.

The food was delicious: fresh oysters, crabs, and fish straight from the ocean — the scent of it on each, steeped in broth or sauce, fried or boiled or baked. It occurred to him quickly that he’d barely eaten anything all day — just a mandarin he’d stolen off the tree in your yard. Katsuki didn’t ever think he’d ever felt so full before.

The restaurant was new. It had never been there when he was a child. But guessing by its angular cut furniture and generally minimalist decor it was mostly for the tourists: a new attraction for them to flock to when they ventured over. At least the food was worthy, unlike some of the other places that didn’t prove true to their boastings in the slightest.

Eventually, after eating enough to induce about ten food comas — the moon hanging high over the sky — the group decided it was time to start heading home. Kirishima was already trying to convince everyone to get froyo with him, to which Kaminari replied he’d “explode” if he did (looking at Katsuki with a stupid smile etched on his face). Everyone chipped in quickly as Kirishima decidedly told them they were all going to the froyo place whether they like it or not — groaning and grumbling, but begrudgingly following behind him as he led them out the door. They all knew it was a trap: the second they saw Kirishima with his, they’d all want some.

Bakugou had shoved his wallet back into his pocket, rolling his eyes as Sero and Kaminari laughed like banshees about something either had said, as he followed them out the door.

“Mr. Dynamight?” a voice rang out behind him — his fingers brushed against the door handle — and he turned to see Kareena holding out his credit card. He’d forgotten it, apparently.

And somehow, despite how well known his name was, none of the other diners cared; the restaurant settled in its peaceful chatter, the occasional clinking of spoons against bowls or the metal chopsticks against plates banding together.

“Ah. Thanks.”

She dropped it into his open palm, giving him a slight, polite bow — but not letting him turn back as she cleared her throat.

“I, uh… Sorry for spilling the water on you,” she stared at the ground, her fingers ringing together nervously. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“Oh. S’not a big deal,” he replied absent mindedly. “S’just water.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice still wavering. Apparently that wasn’t all she’d wanted to tell him. “I was wondering… and um, obviously you don’t have to say yes, but… could I apologize by buying you lunch?”

Her voice came out stumbled, breathy and quick — and Bakugou only blinked in response. His mouth opened quickly before he closed it again, gaping at where she stood. What was he supposed to say?

She quickly picked up his hesitation, shaking her head before quickly pushing out a “It doesn’t matter” and a “Don’t worry it’s fine” before she walked away — leaving him to feel lightheaded as he pushed his way back out the door.

Everyone had been waiting — having watched his interaction through the glass door, but not hearing anything. Somewhere through it all, Ashido had nestled herself into Kirishima’s side, their hands rubbing together in the breeze.

“What happened?”

“I think… I just got asked out,” Katsuki replied. He was lightheaded, dizzy — and for some reason he felt like he was about to throw up.

“What’d you say?” He heard Kaminari’s voice exclaim from the side, but he couldn’t find anything in him to form an answer.

“By that reaction we all know he said no.” Sero answered for him, contempt in his voice as he started walking towards where the froyo shop sat in the distance — the rest following almost silently behind.

Katsuki found himself staggering behind the group — for some reason focused on the way Ashido and Kirishima’s hands stayed interlocked in front of him as they walked, occasionally speaking to one another in hushed, low, voices. Sometimes she would giggle at something, and he would press an arm around her waist to squeeze her tight, her head resting on his shoulder.

And despite everyone’s grumbles about being full, they all ended up with a cup in their hands as they walked to go sit outside.

Bakugou barely registered the taste of his mango yogurt, leaving its soft, bittersweet aftertaste lingering on his tongue as he sat — watching the rest.

Eventually Kaminari piped up from beside him: “Why’d you say no?”

Katsuki shook his head, trying to push the thought out of his head. Why was everyone his fucking case about everything all the time? First his mom and your parents, and now this?

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” he muttered back — watching as Kirishima fed Mina a spoon his yogurt while she laughed.

(“How could you do this?” Mei stormed out of the bedroom of their shared apartment, clutching at her forehead in anger.

Bakugou huffed as he followed after her, stumbling to put the boots for his hero costume on. “Listen, Mei,” he called out after her. “Mei! Can’t you see how fucking good this would be for my ranking? And-”

“Can’t you see that maybe I don’t care!”

“You don’t care? You don’t fuckin’ care about my life?”

“Are you fucking kidding me Katsuki?” She spun back around. “The mission is optional! You could’ve just said no! There are plenty of other heroes ready and able to go.”

“I had no choice!” his tone raised. “Deku just passed me because of attacks in the islands! I have to get there first!”

“Yeah,” she scoffed. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“Fuckin’ listen to me!” he shouted, watching as she startled, staring at him with wide eyes — his heart began to crack. He stopped and pinched his forehead after a moment. “Mei. Look, I really don’t wanna fight right now. Can’t you see how much this would help me in the future? I’d get to build up my status across the world and-”

“Build up your status?What about us?”

“Us?” he echoed. “What about us? We’re together, I just bought this apartment for us.”

“Please,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. “You bought this apartment so you could impress people with a house more fitting for someone of your ranking.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” he guffawed. “I bought this place thinking about our future!”

“Our future is later!” she huffed. “What about our now?” He paused, cradling his temple in his fingers before he looked back to her — his voice dropping to a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

“To spend time with you. For us to be away from everyone else for a bit. Just for a week,” she pleaded.

“If the Hero Commision specifically chose me for this mission, then what do I do? I have to fucking go!” he sighed. “And if it all works out, they’ll start giving me better hours. Can’t you see that?”

She frowned. “And what about our deal?”

He huffed as turned away, looking back at her with a pained look. “We can still go when I come back!”

“Katsuki,” she was still staring at him with wounded eyes, her voice almost dropping to a whisper. “It was my birthday.” She sighed. “It can’t wait until you get back.” He could spot the tears that’d begun to well up her eyes, hear the way her voice began to crack as she spoke. “In the past year, when was the last time you didn’t come home when I was already sleeping, or woke up when I hadn’t left for work yet? When was the last time you got an evening off for us to go out for dinner? Or even to just stay at home and watch a movie together?” She sniffed, pulling away from him to wipe a stray tear. “And you promised me that no matter what happened we’d go on this trip together. And then you canceled the tickets without telling me?”

“Mei, I’m sorry,” he stepped closer, trying to keep her from backing away once more, his thumbs coming to swipe at the tears that fell. “You can’t even imagine how bad I feel. But I can’t…”

And at that, his phone began ringing.

He stared at her apologetically, whispering “it’ll just take a second” as he answered it.

She sighed before shaking her head silently, gathering up her purse and keys from where she’d left them on the couch before walking out the door.

It was when the door slammed behind her that Katsuki realized what’d happened, dropping the phone to the floor as he chased after her.

The street was busy: pedestrians and cars alike — most of them stopping once they’d noticed Dynamight in their presence.

Katsuki could barely make her out of the crowd, pushing past the old lady at the bus stop and the kids drawing on the ground with chalk as he tried to reach her before it was too late. To stop it before it was too late.

He was close. He was so close. Close enough that he could see that she was rubbing her eyes as she made sure to stay away from his voice. That if he reached his arm out far enough he could fix it.

Through the noise of the street and the fans who were trying to placate him into giving them an autograph — he didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late.

Until Mei was in the direct line of fire. Until the world began to move in slow motion as he rushed ahead and pushed her out of the way, the light fading to black.)

to be continued....

#lol remember this #whoops #self rb!!

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