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The rain poured mercilessly down, hammering against the wood of Ochako’s casket as it was lowered into the ground.
Mourners dressed in black huddled beneath their umbrellas, faces obscured by veils of sorrow. Izuku stood at the front, looking down at the earth, his hands curled into fists at his sides, green eyes empty and sad with grief.
His soon to be wife was gone. His future, the one they had slowly built together, was nothing now.
And worse—she had died before they had ever been truly together. Before he could give her all of himself.
He had plans to propose. It's all worthless now.
He remembers getting the chance to reconnect 3 years ago after Shoto's party. Three years after he rejected Kacchan's offer to join his agency. Remembers the unsettling feeling in his stomach, the voice in his head telling him that this is a bad idea, do not go chase her down. Kacchan's always been there for you.
But he did chase her down after forcing his mind to clear. But since then, the voices returned, the nervousness always there. Kacchan went his own way, and for the longest time, Izuku did not follow him. He tried to be perfect for Uraraka.
But he couldn't be perfect if he couldn't give her his all.
He regrets that now.
He thought he had loved her. Ochako had been his best friend, his safe place, his partner. They had whispered dreams in the dark, made promises with laughter and glances. He had wanted a future with her. To wake up beside her, to share everything.
But fate had stolen that future.
Maybe it was a sign. A sign to start anew.
And now he stood here, feeling like he had never truly known what it meant to be hers at all.
A firm hand gripped his shoulder. Kacchan. The only person who had dared to stand close to him since the ceremony began. The only one who truly knew Izuku. They had known each other for 25 years at this point.
Izuku wished he had never thrown away 25 years of friendship for a girl he had only known for 8.
"Oi," Kacchan muttered, voice rough, "You’re shaking."
Izuku exhaled sharply, only now noticing his hands shaking. His body was betraying him, just like his heart, just like everything else. He didn’t resist when Kacchan led him away, guiding him inside the dimly lit funeral home. The scent of lilies and aged wood was suffocating.
The moment the door shut behind them, Izuku turned, desperation clawing at his chest. His hands found Kacchan's jacket, clinging to him like a lifeline.
"She’s gone," he rasped. Strangely, being around Kacchan makes everything easier. He thought he'd be even more torn up now that he's no longer gazing at the earth, but there's always been something about the blonde that kept him steady, his sadness dwindling. His mind clearing.
"I know," Kacchan said, low and steady—like he was holding something back.
Kacchan had been holding something back from him for the last few years. He thinks he understands now.
Izuku’s breath hitched. Kacchan had always been like this, always burning too brightly, standing too close, the only constant in his life that had never wavered. Never left his side even after his rejection. Izuku at first didn't understand, but over time, and even now, he learned just exactly what those words meant back then.
Special.
If you treat everyone as special...
Then no one is truly special to you.
Katsuki was that special someone.
Ochako had been sweet, kind, someone he had loved in a way that was safe and good—but she had never lit a fire underneath him like Kacchan did.
He hated himself for thinking that now.
Kacchan must have seen it in his face because his grip tightened on Izuku’s arms. "Don’t do this if you’re gonna regret it."
Regrets? Izuku's would never regret this.
"I won’t," Izuku whispered, and he meant it. He needed something to hold onto. Needed something real, something that burned, something that wasn’t cold earth and an empty bed and the knowledge that Ochako had died before they had even shared the most basic of intimacies.
Kacchan had died.
He revived himself.
Ochako died.
She's still dead.
Now buried six feet under.
Izuku didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, crushing their mouths together in something bruising and desperate. Kacchan was warm, he was fire.
This is what he's been missing.
He finally truly felt alive.
Izuku gasped into the kiss as Kacchan shoved his tongue into his as he was shoved against the wall. Kacchan's hands fumbled with energy as he tried to unbutton Izuku's suit. Kacchan's breath was fire against his skin.
It shouldn’t happen here, not like this. But life was a mystery, and he was just going along for the ride.
Kacchan's hands were rough, his fingers played with the belt on Izuku's slacks as he deepend the kiss. Izuku could feel his pants getting tighter as his nerves were alight. Their bodies collided once again, Kacchan's groin grinding into his. There was no mistaking that Kacchan was also enjoying this. It was messy, frantic, years' worth of emotions between the two coming out at this very moment.
Izuku moaned against Kacchan’s lips, his fingers tangling in ash-blond hair as his body shuddered, overwhelmed. And when he finally broke apart, gasping, forehead pressed to Kacchan’s, he realized it wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
Kacchan didn’t pull away. He stayed there, pressing his forehead to Izuku’s, their breaths the only sound in the funeral home. A sweaty hand found Izuku’s wrist, holding it firm, grounding him.
"You’re not alone, Izuku," Kacchan murmured, "Not with me. And we have a visitor."
What?
Oh. Right. Ever since Kacchan had died at the hands of Shigaraki, he had said that he felt more of a connection with the supernatural.
More of a connection with the dead.
Kacchan has said numerous times over the years, to him, and to the class, that he could see ghosts.
Kacchan could see Uraraka.
She was right here with them.
Kacchan could also communicate with them.
Perks of being dead for a few minutes, he guesses.
Izuku closed his eyes, his throat tightening. He should feel guilty, but there was only warmth—warmth in Kacchan’s touch, in his words, in the way he had always been there, unshakable, burning just as fiercely as the day they met.
His fingers curled into Bakugou’s shirt, holding on.
"Hi again, Round Face--" Kacchan said out of nowhere, and Izuku could feel Kacchan's heart pounding in his chest, he could see the starburst scar peeking out from his shirt.
Kacchan was alive. Ochako was not.
Izuku wishes he could communicate with ghosts for just a second, to tell Ochako that everything would be ok.
"Oh you want to join us--" Kacchan said, and Izuku was extremely confused, and he really wanted to know what the two of them were talking about. What did Kacchan mean?
"--Oi Izuku, we're ditching this shithole, we're going back to your place. Round Face is coming with us, and you will absolutely not be walking tomorrow, courtesy of us." Kacchan's grin looked absolutely dangerous, and he felt something icy near his cheek, and then a speck of warmth. Ochako always had cold hands, but her lips were an inferno.
Ok. Izuku could do this. Kacchan apparently knew what to do when it came to ghosts.
Is this what Kacchan had been doing recently? Having one-night stands with ghosts?
The thought made him question everything.
Love was strange. Love was supposed to be messy. No love could be absolutely pure.
Izuku was going to have the night of his life with Kacchan and Ochako.
It wasn't how it was supposed to be, but love always found a way.