:)

cw: (incorrectly) assumed character death, aged up, canon compliant, alcohol mentions, angst with a happy ending

//

It's not on fucking /purpose,/ but Katsuki confesses to Eijirou on a Wednesday night, sitting in their shared apartment, while both of them are on call.

He's not thinking, he's too caught up in the way that Eijirou's laughing, the way he's tucking over at the waist, holding his beer upright as best he can as he wheezes out rolling laughs.

His laugh is bright and beautiful - kind of ugly too, the way he wrinkles up his nose and bares his teeth a little bit and his eyes get bigger - but Katsuki would watch him laugh for the rest of fucking forever.

This is the thought that occurs to him as they're sitting there in the dim light of whatever damn movie they've put on - Katsuki hasn't seen a moment of it - and like a greased fucking seal, the words just slip free from Katsuki's lips like they aren't life-changing.

Closer to warm than he's ever been in his life, his voice bordering on soft, on kind, Katsuki says --

"Fuck, I'm in love with you."

That's the way he says it too, /that's/ his word choice. No way to weasel out of it, no way to make an excuse, like he meant something else.

That means love, means soul-crushing, undeniable, heavy and suffocating /love./ The kind that makes you do things that you'd never do.

The kind that makes Eijirou stiffen up, fingers going rigid on his drink, eyes widening, all traces of laughter gone. The kind that makes Katsuki want to shove his entire body into his beer bottle, disappear from existence.

The kind that wrecks things that were /good./

And it wrecks it now - like Eijirou slamming through a wall like the Kool-Aid Man, hardened and taking down bricks like they're nothing. It slams into the moment and takes everything down in dust and rubble.

Eijirou brings the beer closer to himself, drops his eyes. He picks at the label with a fingernail, opens his mouth, closes it. Open, closed, repeat. Finally he bites his lip, squeezes his fingers. A sick, swirling feeling has taken up residence in Katsuki's gut.

It's not like Katsuki to back up from something, to do anything but take life head on. But he backpedals as quickly as he can, panic overtaking him. He glares at his beer and chokes out, "Sor- fuck. Sorry. Never mind. Forget I said it, okay?"

The redhead looks up, makes eye contact. He looks /wrecked./ Katsuki wants to punch him in the face - maybe just because he wants to punch /himself/ in the face and that's less possible.

"Kats," he says softly, like he's trying to let him down easy. Fuck, Katsuki's gonna hurl.

And of course, for better or worse, some divine being steps in right there, and both of their pagers start dinging at the same time.

Relief thunders through Katsuki like a horde of elephants as he turns and reaches for the little device, letting out a deep breath.

"Villains by the docks," Eijirou breathes out - and Katsuki studiously ignores the waver in his voice..

"Suit up," Katsuki grumbles, turning, booking it for his room without looking at his best friend, the confession hanging in the air. They can talk about it when they get home - or they can never talk about it at all. They can forget it ever happened and go back to how it was.

That's the option that Katsuki would prefer, actually, since it's pretty goddamn obvious that Eijirou doesn't feel the same way. He's made his point clear by not saying anything, by getting uncomfortable, by leaving Katsuki hanging.

They can just wipe the slate clean of the flubbed confession, can kick it to the curb and go back to being best friends. They can pretend it never happened, and Katsuki won't lose his best friend. He'll hold on screaming if he has to. He can't lose Eijirou.

Not like this.

It's raining cats and dogs as they get to the docks - Katsuki can barely see three feet in front of him. It makes his quirk shit, washes away his sweat and cools him down, produce less sweat than he does when it's dry.

Eijirou doesn't have the same problem, rippling into stone and leaping into the fray, where there are already other heroes fighting what looks like a well-trained group of thieves, going after the cargo on one of the trade ships.

There's gunfire somewhere - Katsuki hopes wildly that it's fucking Snipe and not one of the villains, grabbing some bastard by the back of the head and launching him across the canal next to them with an explosion.

It's hard in the rain, but Katsuki's careful not to launch anyone into the canal - the water's moving too fast, it's deep as hell so the boats can go through. Anybody that falls in there won't be going to jail anytime soon. They won't be going /anywhere/ except straight down.

It's a long, grueling fight, and Katsuki's sure he's going to be aching for days, but he still fights, spins and places his punches carefully, steps around Eijirou as he crosses his arms against a quirk and fires off an AP shot at a villain that was going for the redhead.

"Thanks," he says breathlessly, kicking back the villain and spitting out rain from his mouth.

Katsuki just grunts his response and spins on the next oncoming asshole, palms sparking.

It's just winding up, most of the villains unconscious or restrained, and Katsuki's starting to breathe easier, when the night turns downhill faster than a kid with a toboggan on an icy-slick hill.

At first Katsuki thinks it's an explosion that rocks the ground, spraying water sideways, drenching him in places that were somehow still dry. He raises an arm to block the water, to try to see, and is met by the /worst/ news.

"Please tell me the giant octopus man is on our side," Kirishima says, from somewhere behind him. "Please."

"Bad news bears," Cellophane says, clicking his helmet shut. "I haven't seen him at the meetings."

The heroes curse and dive to the sides as a giant tentacle slams down into the pavement, and the fighting begins in earnest again.

It's a hard fucking battle - it's a goddamn /long/ fucking fight - but they get the upper hand. Of course they do. That's what they do, they're /heroes./ They /win./

Katsuki's more tired than he's ever been as he sets off his biggest explosion yet, crashing back to the pavement, head over heels. He grips on hard, knees and fingers scraping against the ground, looking up to see if his hit had worked.

It appears that it has, the octopus bastard writhes and groans, still hanging half over the edge of the canal. Katsuki ducks out of the way of a flailing tentacle and watches other heroes do the same. It's going down. They probably won't even have to hit him again.

And no, they don't, but that doesn't mean that the fight is out of him yet.

Katsuki's on his hands and knees, shoved off balance, and the tentacle that whips towards him is impossible to dodge.

However, it /is/ possible to block.

Katsuki just sees the flash of red in front of him before it's yanked away, the tentacle wrapping around Eijirou's middle as it whips him towards the edge of the pavement, the drop towards the water.

Katsuki's on his feet in an instant, blasting towards him, watching a hardened hand clasp onto a streetlamp, bending it with his and the octopus's combined weight, dragging towards the water.

"Eijirou!" Katsuki screams, skidding to a stop at the edge, hand reaching, reaching...

Instead of reaching back, Eijirou hesitates, the same look from back in the apartment, sitting on their couch, echoing in his eyes.

And in that moment, his hand slips from the streetlamp, and tangled with the villain, he tumbles into the darkness of the canal below.

/\\/\\/\\/\\

They hold a funeral for Katsuki's best friend with an empty coffin, with good food and of the music that Eijirou liked.

/Likes./

Katsuki doesn't go.

There's pounding on his door at eleven in the morning, and Katsuki leaps for it, in the middle of getting himself packed for a long weekend of searching.

He yanks the wood out of the way, and frowns. /Not/ who he wanted it to be.

"Where the /fuck/ were you?" Kaminari demands. He looks like he's been crying.

Katsuki tries to slam the door, but the blond sticks his foot in it, and Katsuki spins, annoyed. "I'm not going to some shitty fucking funeral for someone who's /not dead./"

"Kacchan!" Kaminari snaps, following him into the apartment. "Stop - stop it! Listen, okay? It's been a week. You know he'd be back by now. You /know./ Nothing would keep him from coming back."

"Get out of our apartment," Katsuki snaps, going for his bag.

"/Your,/" Kaminari stresses. "Bakugou, listen to me, okay? I know you don't want to hear this but you have to face it, okay? You need to /talk/ to somebody about this, okay? You can talk to me."

"I'll talk," Katsuki says, swinging his bag onto his back. "I'll talk to /him./ When we find him."

"/Bakugou,/" Kaminari snaps, but Bakugou just shoves past him.

"Lock it on your way out."

Three weeks since Kirishima fell into the water - one week since he's been declared as presumed deceased - Katsuki hasn't stopped. Not for one day. He's been searching, renting out boats and searching the water, checking hospitals downstream, along the shore of the ocean.

He can't believe it, not until he knows for sure. Because Eijirou isn't going down without a fight. Eijirou's not going to leave - not like this.

Not like this, /please,/ not like this.

Every day Katsuki searches, calls hospitals, police stations, hero agencies, tabliods. Anyone who might have a hint at where his best friend is.

And every day, Katsuki comes back to an empty apartment, bone-tired, half-defeated, sits on the couch he used to share with Eijirou.

And he sits there, staring into the void, past the walls in front of him, and pretends that maybe, maybe, /maybe,/ he's not alone.

And maybe it's /not/ his fault.

Katsuki can't shake that feeling, he can't get it to go away.

It's his fault, isn't it? He can't get around it. Eijirou would have reached out, would have grabbed his hand. He /would have./

But he didn't. Because Katsuki couldn't keep his mouth shut, couldn't keep his feelings to himself.