Chapter Text
Wherever you may end up, I will be searching for you.
Find me.
/
12:00 am
There’s something magical in the moment the minute and hour hand touch. 60 seconds that represent the dawn of change, the opportunity to seize a new day with endless possibility.
Unlike others though, the opening of a new day doesn’t bring you elation or excitement. Instead, it brings you anxiety, a sense of foreboding.
For one minute every night, you’re granted a chance, but you don’t know it.
It’s a chance at something you left behind years ago, a connection fostered in a realm you can’t return to. If you had remembered, perhaps things would be different, but you don’t.
Usually, you find solace in the quietest moments of the night. It’s a complete contrast to the usual city buzz you’d been accustomed to, growing up amid skyscrapers and busy streets. But the dreams that ravage your mind nowadays are incomprehensible.
You’ve always thought your dreams were weird. There’s no real explanation to them, no method to the madness that occurs behind your eyelids in the dead of night. There’s no end to the possibilities of what you can dream, and that’s what makes them so volatile and random. What you do know, though, is that this dream must mean something.
Because every night, at midnight, on the dot, you see a series of images that you don’t understand.
You can’t make out much, the images passing far too fast for you to identify them individually. You see ruby eyes, tufts of ash blond hair, hear the pounding of feet on concrete, the swirling mix of voices and cars rising through your ears. Honking, buzzing, the noise of the city, rushing past you faster than you can comprehend.
The sounds of the city you left behind years ago.
12:01 am
Bakugo jolts up in bed, a thin layer of cold sweat coating his forehead as his sheets land in a heap at his feet, rumpled from his tossing and turning. Switching his lamp on with one hand, he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to ward off a migraine, fingers curling uselessly into his hair as he downs large gulps of air.
He’s tried everything to hinder that recurring dream. He’s gone to therapists, taken weird pills, even tried meditation, but nothing seems to rid him of the minute-long torture he experiences every day without fail.
Because every night, at midnight, on the dot, he sees something that pains him.
It’s a cesspool of bizarre imagery and sensation that leaves his head pounding and his heart hammering. Some of them are easier to bear—golden light, the endless expanse of sky, a gentle weight on his shoulder. Others leave him shaken, disoriented, and afraid—burning lungs, echoing screams ripped from his raw throat, sweat pouring down his forehead. Every image leaves him gasping, hollow.
It’s irritating and distracting, especially since he’s never been someone who dreams so much. Ever since he became a Pro-Hero, he’s barely gotten substantial sleep in general; dreaming is the least of his worries.
After a few minutes, his breathing finally calms down, chest rising evenly, and he moves to retrieve his blankets and go back to sleep.
Suddenly, a wetness drips onto his bare arm, and he flinches.
What the hell?
Trembling fingers hesitantly brush his burning cheeks.
When splotches of tears leak onto his shaking fingertips, Bakugo realizes he is crying.
/
9:10 pm
The air on the train platform is thick with expectation.
One day. You just need to return to the city for one day, say your piece, and then leave again.
Your mother had called you back urgently, citing business matters as her reason, and you’re no fool; you know she’s calling you back to try to convince you to stay. Ever since you had left, your parents had left endless messages, demanding you come home and take your place at the company, but you don’t want to.
Stepping carefully off the train, you take a sip of your iced coffee, dragging your suitcase along with your other hand. The air is fresher here, outside the city, so you gulp in deep breaths in preparation for what is to come. The city isn’t unfamiliar to you. You’d lived there for much of your life, but it feels foreign to be back.
When you climb into the sleek black car outside the station, the driver greets you warmly.
“Welcome back, Ms. [Name].”
You return a smile politely, already dreading what’s to come. You just want to get it over with. The drive into the city is silent, but you prefer it that way. The city is loud enough as it is.
“We missed you.” the driver says abruptly, and you cringe, already predicting what he’s about to ask. “Why did you leave in the first place?”
There it is.
You sigh, biting your lip pensively as you try to put your desires into words.
“I just wanted something that made me happy, even if it meant leaving it all behind.” you shrug. He makes deliberate eye contact with you in the rearview mirror. “I guess I just wanted to find-“
“-something more, I guess.”
Bakugo gasps the words out as his fists pound the bag precisely, small grunts leaving his lips with the force of every punch.
“You work almost nonstop every week, all for ‘something more’?” Kaminari questions, leaning against the gym mirror with a frown. “That’s pretty vague, don’t you think?”
Bakugo’s right hand pauses, knuckles barely brushing the bag as he pants from exertion. It’s only natural Kaminari wouldn’t understand his aspirations—no one ever does. Everyone tells him he’s lucky to have gotten so far as a Hero in so little time. Sure, Bakugo is already a Pro-Hero but he isn’t #1. Not yet.
Kirishima smiles, setting a weight down on the rack and slinging an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “I don’t know, I think it sounds pretty manly!”
They don’t get it.
Bakugo shrugs his friend’s arm off, snatching up his towel and swiping it across his forehead. He glances out the floor length windows on the far side of the gym, taking in the darkening sky with a sigh.
“It’s getting late. I have to go, I have shit to do tomorrow.”
/
11:28 pm
The hotel room your mother rented for you is high, resting near the top of one of the skyscrapers that pierces the clouds above.
Tomorrow, you’ll have to tell her you aren’t coming back, and that scares you more than anything. You don’t know what gave you the courage to leave in the first place, so you aren't sure you can do it a second time.
Leaning over the balcony, you peer down at the streets below. Colors flash, ant-sized cars winding down the roads. There’s rarely a moment of silence here. Nameless, faceless forms pass in front of your eyes, and you’re reminded of just how extensive the city is.
You’re just one of thousands.
That was something you didn’t miss about this place; it made you feel small, miniscule, like you were barely even there. Unnoticeable in the crowd.
With that being said, you still aren’t sure where exactly you belong. It’s the sentiment you can only ponder at night, when you’re completely alone. Being outside the city makes you happier, sure, but it’s not as fulfilling as you had expected. You don’t feel as suffocated there, but you also don’t feel satisfied, a lingering hollow feeling ever present in your mind.
Like something is missing.
Across the city, Bakugo sits on his windowsill, one leg hanging out precariously, cool air grazing his bare skin. He doesn’t usually have time for star-gazing, but he decides to take some time to relax tonight—he has a big day planned for tomorrow.
Looking over the city reminds him of why his job is so important. There’s so many people, so many he needs to protect and save. It’s one of the things that makes this life so rewarding.
People are starting to recognize the name Ground Zero, the dream that he’s held since he was a child happening right before his eyes. He’s still far from the top, but he’s determined enough to get there.
The developments for his career should leave him breathless with excitement, and they do, sometimes. When he climbs in the rankings, he feels a burning pride, the hints of a smile, but with it comes an undeniable emptiness.
It’s ridiculous, and he knows it. He doesn’t like thinking about it too much, but he can’t ignore it. How can he be disappointed with this life, when everything is finally going right for him? It’s inexplicable, but it’s there—the hollowness.
Like something is missing.
A shooting star flashes across the dark sky, and both of you recoil in surprise. It rouses a slight nostalgia, but neither of you can remember ever seeing one in your lifetime.
There’s a tugging at the front of your mind, forcing you to wish for something specific, but you don’t know what the wish means.
Bakugo’s eyebrows furrow as his mind repeats a single word over and over, willing him to say it. Ordering him to voice it to the world, tell the world what he wants, even if he doesn’t understand it.
Your lips move, the word leaving your throat before you can stop it.
Bakugo whispers soundlessly into the air.
“You.”
A boy and a girl, both of them lost, search for each other in the maze of the city without knowing it.
/
The company building is as soul-suckingly boring as you remember. It’s all tall, grand ceilings ending in gleaming chandeliers. Stark white walls and floors that make you feel like a bear in a trap. You’re standing at the front desk, waiting for your mother to fetch you as you make small talk with Ami, the receptionist. You don’t dislike her, but she’s a little too close to home for your taste.
“Did you see the new Pro-Hero rankings? It’s all over the news!” she chirps, making an attempt at small talk. You hum in agreement.
“Heroes are getting more and more popular everyday, I swear. The company is even bringing one in today for advertising.” she sighs. “Makes sense though, being a hero isn’t easy.”
You’re nodding passively, leafing through the magazine sitting on top of the desk. “Yeah, I knew someone who wanted to be a hero once.” you reply absentmindedly. You’re too absorbed in sampling the perfume on the page to think about what you’re saying.
“You did?”
A shock runs up your spine, skin tingling as you look up in confusion. “What?”
Ami’s eyebrows are furrowed, perfectly manicured nails hovering over the keyboard. “You said you knew som-”
“[Name]!”
You and Ami look up to see your mother coming down the hallway leading toward the elevator, heels clacking loudly on the marble floor as she greets you. A nervous smile plasters itself on your face when she envelops you in a hug, Ami pointedly averting her eyes.
As she leads you toward her office, you mentally steel yourself.
You know what you have to do.
Bakugo’s storming down the sidewalk with an aura that makes people leap out of his way.
“Yes, I already told you, I have an advertising deal to work out today. You guys can go workout without me.” He readjusts the phone as it sits between his shoulder and his cheek, his hands fiddling with the straps of his hero costume as he tries to hear Kirishima over the background noise of the city. “What do you mean ‘what if I don’t get the deal’? Of course I will.” His next words slip out before he can stop them.
“There’s nothing wrong with being positive.”
When the sentence leaves his lips, a slight tingle runs down the back of his neck, interrupting the rhythm in his step. Kirishima whistles and laughs through the phone. “Wow, starting the positivity talk now? That’s pretty unlike you, you’re sounding more and more like Deku everyday.”
Bakugo’s eyes widen, because he realizes Kirishima is right. Positivity speeches aren’t usually his thing, and he has no idea what compelled him to say something like that. Perhaps the nervousness was getting to him.
After a few more short words, he clicks his phone off, ending the call as he continues down the sidewalk.
/
“I- What did you just say?”
Your expression wavers slightly as you meet your mother’s eyes. “I said no. I’m not coming back to the company.”
She’s looking at you incredulously, offended. You almost chuckle; it’s the first time she’s looked up from her computer since you sat down in her office. “What do you mean you aren’t coming back? I entertained your childish delusions and allowed you time to leave the city. Now it’s time for you to come back.” she spits.
Instinctively, you start to cower in submission. You aren’t used to standing up to your mother like this, and it scares you. The office starts to feel like it’s closing in, forcing you to heed her words. Perhaps you’d be better off if you just relent-
You don’t have to be whoever those extras want you to be, just be yourself.
The voice is quiet and gruff in the back of your mind, and you freeze in confusion. You know you’ve heard that same advice before, but where ? When you look up again, your mother is still staring at you expectantly.
“I said no .” you enunciate firmly. You’re nervous, fingers bunching in the fabric of your pants, but you can’t give up now. “I don’t have to be whoever you want me to be.”
There’s a thick silence in the air, the ticks of the clock filling the space.
She checks her watch, shaking her head in disgust. Sighs. “I have an advertising deal coming in right now. Goodbye.”
You despise the way she speaks to you, like you’re another client, another opportunity, and not her own flesh and blood. She doesn’t even look at you when you stand up. Yet, when you pick up your things to leave, you’re relieved. Free. You’ve made your intentions clear, and that’s all there is to it. It’s a breath of fresh air.
Slightly giddy, you make your way down the hall, mixing with the crowd of people and weaving past those who recently exited the elevator.
You walk right past him.
Bakugo is a bit annoyed at how long it had taken for him to check-in at the desk, but he tries to maintain his composure. If he gets this advertising deal, it would mean huge exposure. His career as a Pro-Hero could take off because of it, and it would surely help his public appeal. There’s no way he’s letting this chance go.
When he gets to the right floor and the elevator doors open, he’s surprised by the crowd of people waiting outside.
Of course there are so many damn people , he thinks. It’s a massive company .
Aggressively, he stiff-arms his way through the masses, an angry scowl on his face as he brushes shoulders with businessmen and businesswomen alike.
He walks right past you.
He gets halfway down the hall, scanning the room numbers to find the right one, when he feels it. A shiver in the air, the premonition that something important is here.
There.
Bakugo whips around, eyes darting through the hallway to see who called out to him, but he finds no one. The feeling is still there, the flutter under his skin, so he backtracks, running back and retracing his steps.
He turns the corner just in time to see the elevator doors sliding shut.
/
11:56 pm
You remember this plaza well.
Walking through here was a daily routine, back at your old job, and you note the way it hasn’t really changed. There’s still the same vibrant mass of people, the same buildings, the same electronic billboards showing you the time and whatever new brand is being advertised at the moment. Your suitcase rolls behind you smoothly as you make your way toward the train station.
It’s finally time for you to leave again, escape this city that kept you caged for all those years, but now you’re...hesitating.
You’re happy outside the city.
You thought you’d finally found it, your “something more”, and now that you’ve freed yourself from the expectations of your parents and their company, you can do as you please. You’ll never have to step foot in this city again.
So why can’t you shake this feeling? Why are your feet dragging as you walk away?
Why is something keeping you rooted here?
Bakugo knows this plaza like the back of his hand.
He’s been here thousands of times on his daily patrols, even fought villains here before, but he doesn’t usually come through here late at night.
An otherworldly force had compelled him to take this route home after he got the deal, perhaps because he was so bored of his usual routine. The hustle and bustle of the city is familiar, but no longer exciting. It’s strange, because he’s wished for this for years. He’s wanted this.
He’s happy with his career.
He’s finally where he wants to be, on the road to the top, and no one can stop his ascent. No one will ever doubt him again once he gets #1.
So why can’t he shake this feeling? Why is his mind telling him that this isn’t right for him?
Why is he still feeling so empty?
The two of you are on opposite sides of the plaza, traveling in opposite directions, on completely different paths in life. There’s no reason for either of you to turn back, to take a second look at the plaza where your connection was lost so many years ago.
You’re given one last chance.
Wait.
A supernatural shudder runs up your spine, freezing you in your tracks, high heels scratching against the asphalt. Passerby don’t spare you a glance, maneuvering around you like you’re just another obstacle. An overwhelming feeling of deja vu drifts over you, crippling you as you hunch over from the strength of the feeling.
It’s the sense of foreboding that comes as 12:00 draws near, but why?
You glance up at the clock billboard apprehensively.
11:59 pm
When 11:59 hits, you see him.
You don’t see him, not really, but you see flashes of what once was, feet pounding, arms reaching out and missing the mark at midnight. It’s all too real and all too painful at the moment.
Him.
Him.
Him.
He is what you’ve been searching for all this time. But who is he?
An invisible thread is yanking you toward the center of the plaza, the heart of the city. Toward wherever he is.
Go.
You drop your suitcase and it clatters to the ground uselessly at your feet. After you kick your heels off, you’re running, leaving your personal items strewn about carelessly. A few people yell behind you, trying to draw your attention, but there’s no time. You’ve seen what will happen when 12:00 hits.
Blindingly neon splashes of color decorate the skyscrapers surrounding you, a prison of bright hues that ensnares you. The chaos of the plaza seems more prominent than usual, making your mind hazier and thoughts slower. It seems hopeless to search for him like this.
The thin tights hugging your legs rip at the soles of your feet from the friction of the ground, but you don’t care.
“Move, please!” you yell. You’re desperately gripping at the shoulders of strangers, shoving past them, digging through the crowd. Curses and disgusted looks are thrown your way, but you can’t find it in you to care.
Abruptly, you trip and fall, meeting the dirty concrete with a cry, and you feel swallowed by the mass of people just passing by. It’s impossible. There’s too many people, too many obstacles standing in the way of whoever you’re trying to find. You should just give up now, return to your normal life, hope you’ll forget about it eventually.
Then, you hear it.
“Hey!”
A single voice, rising over the crowd and rushing right into your ears. It’s a guttural yell, and you’re too disoriented to tell where it’s coming from, but it tells you everything you need to know.
He knows. Your heart soars with the realization.
He is looking for me too .
You can feel it, the shift in the air that tells you he’s here. The answer to what you’ve been looking for, the formless hole in your heart that has left you hollow for all these years. Armed with newfound energy, you clamber to your feet.
Tell me your name.
“Wh-where are you?!” you scream, question ripping through the air, over the crescendo of general chatter. No one really notices you, passing you off as just another weirdo (there are tons of them in the city), but you want to be noticed. You want to be noticed, and you want him to find you.
A roaring voice cuts through the incessant buzz, a reply to you, and you’re moving faster, more desperately. You’re determined not to lose him this time, not to get lost in the crowd and let yourself fade away.
Things are different now.
This. This is it .
A shudder ripples under your skin, and the crowd parts for a single moment. When a pair of frighteningly familiar vermillion eyes meets yours, the air drains out of your lungs.
Your arm extends forward, his meeting yours in the middle.
When your fingertips meet, it’s electric.
It’s like you’re thrust back into your dreams, flashes of soft smiles and grazing touches brushing through your consciousness. You can hear him, like he’s speaking directly into your mind, and by his expression, you know he feels it too.
The mass of people in the plaza spreads, leaving you and him in a bubble, like steady rocks in rushing water.
Now, it’s just the two of you.
His breath hitches when he sees you, air locked in his throat as he struggles to understand the sudden alertness coursing through his veins. The mere sight of you is like an elixir, jolting him wide awake.
“I-” he swallows, trying to force down the thick lump in his throat. He’s confused; there’s a pressure in the corners of his eyes, tears threatening to squeeze out, but he doesn’t know why . “Do- do I know you?”
The gasping, raw tone of his voice is unnatural. Bakugo Katsuki is loud, self-assured, nothing like the man standing before you. He knows it’s crazy; he’d followed a strange whim, coming to find you here, and it seems unfathomable that you would have been able to meet like this. But you did, and you’re here, almost like it was meant to happen.
The clock is ticking.
“I’m [Name]. ” you introduce. His eyebrows furrow, mouth forming the syllables of your name, trying to commit it to memory. He doesn’t recognize it, though. Sharp red eyes are searching yours, blindly grasping for any indication for why he feels so vulnerable in front of you. “What’s your name?”
He hesitates, afraid to answer. Twice, he blinks at you in disbelief, as if the mere sight of you is too much for him to bear.
“Bakugo. Bakugo Katsuki.”
12:00 am
If one looked closely enough, they might be able to see it—the remnants of a single, thin thread that draws you together, leads you to him and him to you.
You offer a hand, a tender, genuine smile on your face.
“Nice to meet you, Bakugo Katsuki.”
He takes it, the hints of a smirk playing at his lips.
“You too, [Name].”
I found you.
fin.