Archive of Our Own

It’s the sound of someone shuffling around in his kitchen that has Katsuki swimming back to consciousness. The click of porcelain and the rush of running water floating into the room as he glares in confusion at absolutely nothing. He blinks slowly, brain a muted hazy gray, and realizes he’s sprawled awkwardly on his sofa. He stares blindly at his ceiling, trying to remember why exactly he’s on his sofa and who could possibly be in his kitchen. It is his kitchen right? This is his apartment.

Well… he’s pretty sure it is. His brain is still a sluggish mess but it feels like this is supposed to be his apartment.

He sits up slowly, hands shuffling through his hair as he glances around him. The objects on the shelves, hanging on the walls, littering the surfaces, all seem familiar and completely foreign at the same time. He recognizes them but can’t for the life of him say why. The coffee machine in his kitchen beeps and he remembers he has company, though he’s reasonably sure he lives alone.

Alone.

Yeah, that seems right.

He staggers to his feet and shuffles to the kitchen, leaning against the doorway to squint at a tall man dressed all in black standing at the counter. Soft purple hair is pulled up and out of his narrow face, twisted into a messy bun and held in place by, of all things, a pink scrunchie. The man pours coffee into two mugs and turns to face Katsuki, holding one out to him.

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, voice a deep rumble that feels powerful and infinite.

“Okay.” Katsuki takes the mug, hopping up to sit on the counter, surprisingly comfortable in the stranger’s presence. He stares down at the steaming black liquid and wonders why that is.

“I’m Death,” the stranger says and takes a sip of his coffee, purple eyes watching him over the rim. “Would you like cream in that?”

“No thanks,” Katsuki replies, trying to figure out what kind of morbid parents name their kid ‘Death’ and why the hell he let that person into his apartment. “That’s a shitty ass name.”

“That’s not my name,” Death cocks his head and jewelry glitters in his ears like stars, reflecting light that doesn’t exist in the room.

Weird, Katsuki thinks.

“Then why’d you say it was?” he snaps, draining half his mug. The coffee tastes slightly off, less like coffee and more like something trying to be coffee. Maybe his beans are going stale. Not-Death’s mouth frowns at him.

“I never said it was my name.”

“Okay, fine,” Katsuki agrees because his head is starting to hurt and his vision is getting a little wobbly around the edges. Outside the street isn’t visible, a heavy fog pressing hard up against the windows. Looking at it makes it feel like the fog is pushing against his head, pressure building behind his eyes and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the beginnings of the headache that seems to be forming. Not-Death notices, raising a thin eyebrow and the edges of the room stop their funny painful dance.

“I don’t think you understand,” Not-Death says and Katsuki nods, sipping his not coffee. Probably not. He’s really tired. Too tired to be annoyed at the stranger making themselves at home in his kitchen. Too tired to follow this weird circular conversation. Just really goddamn tired.

“I’m here because there’s a bit of a problem,” Not-Death continues and Katsuki frowns. In his line of work ‘problems’ usually mean extra paperwork, and he hates extra paperwork. “See, you’re dead. Sort of.”

Oh, that is a problem.

“I don’t feel dead,” Katsuki points out and Not-Death smiles, slow and lazy, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

That gives Katsuki pause and he stops drinking his sort-of-coffee to think about it. He stares down at his hand, wiggling his fingers and they move as instructed, though it still seems a bit… off. He pats himself down and again, nothing seems out of place, though there’s still a sense of something missing. He scowls at Not-Death, convinced that he’s where the problem lies, and not with himself. 

“Yeah, pretty fucking sure.” 

Not-Death sets his mug down and comes to stand in front of Katsuki, pressing a hand against his chest. His palm is ice cold and it seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, raising goosebumps on his skin.

Not-Death cocks his head, eyes meeting Katsuki’s and he gets lost in them for a moment. They’re not just purple, they’re infinite swirls of magenta and aqua and black, spiraling in on themselves forever. Somewhere in their depths he thinks he sees suns burning bright, the spin of planets rotating around those suns. It makes him dizzy to look at and he drops his gaze, shifting down to Not-Death’s shirt instead. It doesn’t help because the fabric is so black it looks like he’s wearing nothingness. An abyss in the shape of a T-shirt.

“Who are you?” Katsuki whispers, shifting to stare at his hands because looking at the man in front of him is starting to hurt. He thinks he should be afraid and he isn’t, and that scares him.

“I already told you that,” Not-Death says, tone glacially patient.

“What do I call you?” Katsuki clarifies, “because it’s weird to keep thinking ‘Not Death’.”

Weird to think at all really, he decides as the room does an odd little tilting slide again. His stomach lurches and Not-Death runs a finger down the wall and it stops moving.

“I have many names.” 

“Well, pick one,” Katsuki snaps, irritation flaring, heat flushing in his chest except for where Many-Names’ hand is still pressed against him, sapping away his body heat.

Many-Names opens his mouth and an overwhelmingly beautiful sound comes out, like rainwater on bells in a summer storm.

“What?” Katsuki blinks. 

“A name,” Rain-Water-on-Bells says, “You can call me that.”

“I have no idea how to make that sound.” Katsuki frowns, feeling very stupid. It seems like something he’s expected to be able to do, and he’s pretty sure he can’t. That’s not a thing he can do, right? Should he be able to?

“Sorry. I always forget what humans can pronounce.” Rain-Water-on-Bells pauses, removing his hand from Katsuki’s chest and Katsuki rubs the spot unconsciously, trying to bring the warmth back.

“Would you like to name me?” he asks and Katsuki pauses, briefly meeting his eyes before he has to avert his gaze again.

“Why would I name you?”

“I think I’d like to have one from you,” he replies, leaning back against the counter across from Katsuki. “You’ve always been good at giving people names.”

“I—what?” Has he? Does he give people names? It’s hard to remember. He’s not even sure he knows people, but this stranger with many names—or is it no name?—seems to think so.

“I’m not sure what to pick,” he admits, already feeling like he’s failed some sort of test.

“That’s alright,” No-Name says, “just go with whatever comes to mind. I’m sure it will be perfect.”

That makes Katsuki feel better and he opens his mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Shinsou.”

“I like it.” Shinsou smiles, standing a little straighter. “Shinsou. It’s a good name. Thank you, that’s a lovely gift.”

“Yeah, sure,” Katsuki mutters, hand drifting back to his chest, rubbing the cold spot in embarrassment. He freezes, hand pressed hard over his heart and his gaze snaps back up to Shinsou.

“You understand now, don’t you?” Shinsou asks, and his expression, though still neutral, seems almost apologetic.

“I—I don’t have a heartbeat,” Katsuki mutters in shock, fingers flying up to his neck to check his pulse. “Why don’t I have a pulse?”

“I already told you that,” Shinsou repeats, still as patient as ever as he watches Katsuki.

“I’m dead.”

“And you’re also not.” Shinsou nods and turns back to pick up his coffee mug again. “Would you like more coffee?”

“What? No, I don’t want more coffee. What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Shinsou says, pouring himself more and then filling Katsuki’s mug even though he doesn’t want any. “You’re dead, and also, you’re not.”

“So I’m dying,” Katsuki says, glancing around his apartment like it will tell him what the hell is going on. “I’m in my apartment and I’m dying.”

“No,” Shinsou replies and Katsuki feels that headache start to claw its way back into his mind, thin tendrils of pain wiggling their way into the cracks. “You’re both, and you’re not there. Well, here. You’re not in this place.”

Shinsou’s expression finally morphs into a complete emotion—frustration, Katsuki thinks—as he frowns at his coffee. 

“Your language is very limiting,” Shinsou complains.

“Sorry,” Katsuki says, feeling like he needs to apologize for the first time in his whole goddamn life.

“Don’t worry about it, just means explaining this is a little… complicated,” Shinsou says, taking another sip from his mug before setting it on the counter. Context snaps into existence around it and Katsuki realizes it’s one Mina gave him for a birthday ages ago. Big black letters splashed across it saying ‘I’m not angry this is just my face’.

Wait, who’s Mina?

The name seems right in relation to the mug but he’s not sure why. He blinks and then the name is gone too, leaving only a vague hole in the shape of it behind. Beside him the walls of the kitchen start to shift to a sickly green, getting oddly shiny. Shinsou steps quickly away from the corruption, taking Katsuki’s hand.

“Let’s walk.” He plucks Katsuki’s still full mug out of his other hand. “It’s getting difficult to maintain this space when you’re so confused.”

“Yeah, sure,” Katsuki agrees because he still can’t find it in him to sum up any sort of strong emotion. It’s soothing and disconcerting in equal parts. He’s so used to being angry. To being wound tight and tense all the time, ready to burst at a moment’s notice. Now he just feels... adrift, unspeakably calm, and a little freaked out by it. Freaked-but-not-freaked, he thinks wryly, the theme of the fucking day-not-day.

They take a couple of steps toward the living room and then they’re in a street market. The smell of spiced meats and baked goods tickling his nose. Katsuki didn’t blink, the room didn’t morph, they were just in his apartment and now they’re not. Shinsou’s hand settles on his elbow as they walk and a new place flickers into existence.

First, it’s a tropical rain forest—the humid air filled with the sounds of exotic animals. Katsuki looks around in awe. He’s never been to any place like this and it’s beautiful. He’s never smelled the color green before, but this place is heavy with the scent, water dripping down from the canopy above, coating them in a cool mist. It makes Shinsou’s hair glisten like he’s wearing a crown made of sparkling amethyst.

Hundreds of vines slide down out of the trees, the thin tips that reach out are a green so dark it’s nearly black. Katsuki watches in fascination as they curl toward him and he hears someone speak his name in the distance. He blinks and the sound is gone as Shinsou pulls him away. When he turns they’re in a shopping mall, the signs all around them in a language Katsuki doesn’t recognize.

“Can you go anywhere?” Katsuki asks, curiosity overpowering confusion.

“That’s kind of the point,” Shinsou says with amusement as someone walks through him, hurrying on their way through the crowd. Katsuki reaches out a tentative hand and it passes straight through the man standing next to him, talking on a cell phone.

“I mean anywhere,” Katsuki says, pausing in the middle of the atrium to blink up at Shinsou, “in the universe.”

“I’m already everywhere,” Shinsou says with an amused smile like he knows what Katsuki’s getting at and is being intentionally difficult. “I don’t have to go anywhere.”

The press of people around them begins to increase, more and more bodies passing through the both of them as they stand stationary and Katsuki shifts uncomfortably, chest tightening at the claustrophobic sensation, like he might drown in a sea of bodies. Somewhere in the crowd, a shopper stops, turning to look directly at them, and Shinsou steps into Katsuki line of sight before he can really register the person beyond the passing thought of ‘green’.

“Let’s go somewhere less crowded,” Shinsou says, and then everything shifts again and they’re standing in a library. The ceiling arches so high that it can barely be seen in the gloomy dark above. The smell of ancient paper and dust settles heavily on his tongue as they pause in the echoing room, shelves towering over them both filled with books. It’s stunning and a little overwhelming.

“Where are we?” he asks and Shinsou shrugs.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” He runs a finger across the spine of a crumbling book then pulls back, worried it might disintegrate just from his touch. “Why are you taking me to these places?”

“Why not?” Shinsou asks and Katsuki gives him an annoyed look.

“You’re not making any of this very fucking easy to wrap my head around,” He complains, fists clenching by his sides. “I don’t like not understanding.”

As frustration rushes through him he gets a flash of a memory. An argument with someone, papers pinned to the walls around them that seem important but nonsensical. A web they’re still trying to untangle. The moment is gone before Katsuki can place the face surrounded by startlingly bright red hair. Beside him, one of the books pulls itself out of the shelf and wanders away.

“You should stop doing that,” Shinsou says, one finger poking Katsuki in the forehead.

“Doing what?” he demands angrily, “thinking?!”

“I told you not to freak out,” Shinsou says as he nudges another wandering book out of their path with the toe of his beat-up sneaker, “you’re drawing attention.”

Katsuki glances around the library, trying to determine whose attention he might be drawing but they’re alone. Shinsou holds out his hand, gesturing for Katsuki to follow him and they step out from between the towering shelves and come face-to-face with the ocean, waves crashing nearby. The sky is overcast and it’s cool out, the light breeze heavy with salt and the smell of fish—it’s a shit day to be at the beach. His feet sink into the sand, cold and damp and he scowls. Right, he’s still barefoot. Because he was home. 

He stares around them, looking for familiar landmarks but there’s nothing but sand, water, and a wall of fog. Like some video game with the render distance turned all the way down. He looks behind them, sees footprints stretching out down the beach, and recognizes the symbolism.

He glares at Shinsou who’s watching him calmly, hands stuffed in his pockets. His feet are bare too, pants cuffed, and he’s standing close enough to the water that the waves lap at his feet, slowly devouring the sand from under them.

“If you’re going to tell me that any time my footprints are alone it’s because you were carrying me, I’m gonna clock you.”

Shinsou grins, a wide vicious smile that slices across his face, and the hair on the back of Katsuki’s neck stands up.

“I see you’re starting to feel better. Somewhere familiar was probably a bad choice on my part.” Shinsou glances at the footprints and suddenly they were never there to begin with. “It can be disconcerting if I don’t get it just right.”

“You did a good job,” Katsuki finds himself saying, not wanting Shinsou to feel bad about it. “I just notice little things. Can’t help it.”

“I know.” Shinsou smirks and that odd familiarity dances in the back of Katsuki’s mind again. Like how he knew what Shinsou’s name should be, it seems reasonable that Shinsou knows these things about him.

They walk in silence for a while, Shinsou still ankle-deep in the water, Katsuki a solid distance away, fighting the pull that makes him want to walk by Shinsou’s side. He feels too far away from Shinsou up on the dry sand, too close to the fog.

“Is something wrong?” Shinsou asks eventually, crouching to pluck a shell out of the sand. He rinses it in the water before standing again and offering it to Katsuki.

“I don’t like beaches,” Katsuki grunts and he takes the offered shell automatically, slipping it in a pocket without even looking at it.

“Would you prefer to be somewhere else?”

Reality, Katsuki thinks, but he’s pretty sure that’s a non-option.

“I prefer mountains,” He concedes finally, and then they’re standing at the peak of a mountain, knee-deep in freezing cold snow. Dark gray rock stretches down for ages until it hits forest and shifts to a warmer green. Katsuki wraps bare arms around himself, shivering in the Arctic wind that whips around them. It tears at his clothes, threatening to pull him over the edge they stand at, though next to him it doesn’t even shift Shinsou’s hair.

“Not the top of mountains!” He shouts angrily over the deafening roar.

The scene changes again and they’re standing in the forest, still on the slope of the mountain but at a more reasonable height. Katsuki knocks the snow off his shirt and decides he’s going to need to be very specific about his requests from here on out. He hates that thought because it feels a hell of a lot like asking for help, but Shinsou seems lethally oblivious. If he asked to be back at the ocean again he might end up at the bottom of it.

Except he’s dead.

Or dead not dead?

Both?

Neither?

It makes his head hurt, and he’s still not sure he’s ready to process exactly what’s going on here. Instead, he looks down at his bare feet and then back at Shinsou.

“Can I have shoes?”

Shoes manifest on his feet, sturdy hiking boots, and he breathes a sigh of relief, feeling a little more in his element. He resists the urge to press a hand to his chest to check for a heartbeat, knowing he won’t find one. Instead, he turns on his heel and starts to walk, Shinsou trailing silently behind him.

Katsuki plows through the forest like he might get answers if he only walks fast enough but the scene never changes. It’s just trees, trees, and more stupid trees. Shinsou keeps pace with him easily, letting him lead. After an hour of stomping through the foliage in silence, Shinsou finally speaks, fingers fiddling with a small branch full of iridescent green leaves.

“You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

“I’m processing,” Katsuki snaps, speeding up. Shinsou just lengthens his stride to match.

“Is that what this emotion is called?”

“What do you want from me?!” Katsuki demands, rounding on Shinsou. He throws up his hands in frustration. “You want me to drown you in questions? Demand answers? Beg for my life??” The last question comes out as more of a choked sob and Katsuki storms off so he doesn’t have to see Shinsou’s reaction. As he rages on the branches bend out of the way, making room for him, snapping back in behind him. Shinsou simply walks through the offended foliage.

“Begging wouldn’t help,” he says and Katsuki just rolls his eyes. Of course that’s the question Shinsou answers. “Everything has already been decided by the time I arrive.”

“Except me apparently.”

“Well…” Shinsou trails off at that Katsuki resists the sudden mad urge to laugh. The conversation is pointless. Shinsou’s answers are vague at best and non-existent at worst. He resigns himself to sullenly stomping through the forest instead and Shinsou trails along silently, not bothering to carry the conversation.

As the trees continue, his speed slowly decreases from a near jog to a speed walk, to finally a more sedate stroll. Still, it remains the same. The trees are all different, individually unique, and non-repeating—at least he’s pretty sure of that—yet he gets the sense that he could keep walking in any direction and still be standing dead center in the forest. 

After another hour of testing this theory, he comes to a halt, dropping down to sit on a fallen trunk. Shinsou slips up next to him, sinking into a green velvet chair that looks completely out of place and yet appears to have grown naturally out of the ground where it stands. Katsuki feels a little queasy looking at it, so he doesn’t.

“Feeling better?” he asks and Katsuki presses his face into his hands.

“No.” 

They sit like that for a few minutes, Shinsou humming a tune both unfamiliar and incredibly nostalgic as Katsuki focuses on steading his breathing and not thinking about whether he even needs to be doing that right now. When he feels a little more grounded he risks a glance at Shinsou and his stomach doesn’t do that awful rolling thing.

“You said… there’s a problem.” 

Shinsou’s eyes slide back down from the leaves above and they settle on Katsuki like a physical weight, pressing him into the ground.

“Yes,” Shinsou agrees, though he doesn’t expand on the statement. Is Katsuki supposed to guess?

“A problem with me being dead and… not dead?”

“Not quite.” Shinsou props his head on a hand. “That part is me, keeping the problem from being a problem for a bit.”

“A problem-not-problem,” Katsuki says with a roll of his eyes.

“You know, you’re joking, but you really are catching on rather quickly.”

Katsuki feels a rush of pride at that like he’s performed beyond expectations and pleased Shinsou. He tries not to show it by frowning at the pink scrunchie he can still see in Shinsou’s hair. His brain latches onto it immediately, just for something else to think about.

“That thing in your hair looks stupid,” he blurts out and Shinsou just cocks an eyebrow at him.

“It was a gift.” 

“From who?”

“Moon,” Shinsou says and Katsuki just stares at him. Shinsou’s fingers brush against the pink fabric before returning to the now blue satin armrest.

“She likes pink, and I like her. She’s still so young, you know how children are.”

“The moon. Is young,” Katsuki says blandly.

“Relatively speaking,” Shinsou agrees.

“Alright.”

Katsuki tries to decide which weird thing he wants to address first. Eventually, he settles on just starting from the beginning and working his way through it in order.

“Your name’s not Death,” he says and Shinsou hums agreeably, “so you are Death.”  

“Yes.”

Katsuki feels a small surge of satisfaction at settling one thing, though it opens up about six dozen other questions. He picks one at random.

“Aren’t you a little busy to be sitting here in a forest with me? Don’t you have… other… people to… kill?”

“I don’t kill anyone,” Shinsou says, looking mildly offended as dead leaves begin to drift down around them, settling on the ground like sunset snow. “I just come to collect what’s mine.”

Mine.

That sends a chill down Katsuki’s spine. He doesn’t like the idea of being owned by anyone or anything, even Death.

“Fine. Aren’t you a little busy collecting to be sitting here?”

“I’m here, and I’m also not,” Shinsou says as if that makes complete sense.

Katsuki groans. He feels a little like he’s having a conversation with Denki when he’s stoned out of his mind, and it’s just as exhausting. Denki, who’s a frie—nope, it’s gone again. Fluttering away like the burnt red leaves raining down on him. He ruffles his hair, sending the leaves scattering in the wind.

“Kind of like how I’m dead and not dead?” he asks, half sarcastically, but Shinsou nods.

“See? I told you, you’re getting it.”

“Not really,” Katsuki sighs and Shinsou shrugs like it doesn’t really matter if Katsuki understands. Maybe it doesn’t. Though that leaves him confused as to why Shinsou is even here talking to him and hasn’t just… taken him… wherever. 

What does he do with the people he collects? Put them in little jars and display them on shelves? Keep them as pets? The way Shinsou talks don’t make it sound like he’s about to take Katsuki somewhere else and just leave him there, yet Shinsou is clearly alone.

“I’m in many places, in many forms,” Shinsou continues, crossing one long leg over the other. “Everyone sees me differently. This,” his hand waves at himself, “is simply how I appear on your planet, or maybe just to you, it’s hard to tell from my perspective. Besides, it would be a little weird if I showed up on for someone looking like this, you know?”

“Sorry, where?”

“Oh right, humans haven’t gone there yet. Never mind.” Shinsou waves his hand and Katsuki feels that thought slipping away from him, the name already half-forgotten.

“Why am I not just dead-dead?” he asks, deciding to face the issue head-on. He doesn’t like this infinite forest, or the symbolic beach, or his stupid not-apartment-apartment. He wants an actual concrete answer for once.

“Well, that’s the problem,” Shinsou replies and he leans forward in his seat, arms braced on his knees. “You did a stupid human thing and died, but I don’t want to collect you.”

“Excuse me?!” Despite feeling annoyed by Shinsou considering him as something to be owned, he’s equally insulted to be rejected. By Death of all people. Creatures? Beings? Whatever.

“You’re too much trouble,” Shinsou says and his eyes shift to the forest around them. A breeze blows through and the trees sway in the wrong direction.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Chaos is too fond of you,” Shinsou says, attention returning to Katsuki. “You’re covered in it, and it’s causing problems.”

Katsuki glances down like he can see what Shinsou’s talking about but all he sees is his shirt and jeans, looking perfectly normal and not covered in... chaos?

“What?” he croaks.

“You haven’t noticed?” Shinsou looks surprised at that. Around them, the tree trunks shift to an odd mauve color and the rocks begin to bloom. He stands up, gesturing to Katsuki. “Let’s keep walking.”

“Noticed what?” Katsuki asks as he rises and they’re suddenly standing in a field full of flowers. Shinsou plucks a yellow chrysanthemum, spinning the blossom idly in his fingers. 

“Noticed Chaos following you.” Shinsou smirks, tucking the flower into the lapel of the abyss black suit he’s suddenly wearing or has always been wearing. Katsuki isn’t sure, he can’t remember. “They really like you.”

“Well they can fuck right off,” he says automatically. Shinsou doesn’t answer, his gaze focused on the edges of the forest nearby, filled with a drifting haze.

As they walk, Katsuki tries to sort out what exactly it means to have Chaos following him. His life doesn’t feel chaotic. At least, not any more than anyone probably feels like it is. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s worked hard to have structure in his life. A solid dependable work schedule, a home routine, steady friends. His life is predictable and consistent and he likes that. 

At least he thinks he does.

“The eye of the storm rarely realizes what it is,” Shinsou replies as if Katsuki had said all of that out loud.

Maybe he did?

The fog is starting to creep into the edges of the flowers now, and somehow he knows that’s what’s making his head fuzzy. Even though Shinsou is leading them away from it, small wispy tendrils reach out, beckoning Katsuki toward it. He wonders what would happen if he walked into the mist.

The fog thickens where he’s looking at it, bubbling out to tumble in his direction, like his attention is encouraging it. He rips his gaze away and hurries to catch up with Shinsou. It feels like that’s where he’s supposed to be, not in the fog, by Shinsou’s side. Except...

“You don’t want me,” Katsuki spits out, still feeling weirdly hurt by the idea, “because Chaos wants me.”

Shinsou stops at that, turning to face Katsuki, a cool hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. This time, instead of uncomfortably cold it feels calming against the angry heat in his cheeks, soothing the burn of rejection. 

“Collecting you now would cause problems,” Shinsou says, smiling down at Katsuki, “it’s the problems I don’t want, not you. I very much want you.”

“Oh.”

Katsuki’s not beating heart swells and he feels suddenly better, wanted. Shinsou wants him. The tendrils of mist are finally catching up and one slips around Katsuki’s wrist, tugging gently as it solidifies into a thin black thread. He holds up his arm to examine it and Shinsou sighs.

“What’s happening?” 

Shinsou’s hand hovers over the thread and it releases, drifting towards him before he pulls back out of reach and makes a shooing motion, sending it drifting back towards the fog, a muted gray again.

“I’ve kept you here too long, they’re trying to bring you back.”

“To not dead,” Katsuki says, and suddenly he realizes he doesn’t want that. He wants to stay here, with Shinsou. This is nice. He likes this. Likes Shinsou.

“To not dead,” Shinsou agrees. 

“Is it Chaos? Is that who wants me back?”

“Yes,” Shinsou says, turning and starting to walk again and so Katsuki follows, flowers brushing gently against his bare arms as they go, leaving streaks of golden orange pollen in their wake.

“What if I don’t want to go back?”

Katsuki can’t even remember what ‘back’ means, but he doesn’t think he likes it. The idea of doing it again makes his stomach tighten uncomfortably and he resists the urge to reach out and cling to Shinsou. He’s not a child for god's sake.

“Chaos is very persistent.” Shinsou smirks and Katsuki realizes they have nowhere left to go because they’re now surrounded by looming walls of fog.

“You’ve been keeping them away,” Katsuki says, suddenly understanding the wobbles in his reality, the shift in locations as Shinsou kept them moving, keeping Chaos at bay. Staying two steps ahead.

“Yes,” Shinsou says, straightening the cuffs of his suit as he frowns at the fog. Katsuki gets the distinct impression the fog frowns back.

When Shinsou turns to face him he feels a small surge of panic at the idea of leaving him behind.

“Will I—” Katsuki swallows the lump in his throat and ignores the burning in his eyes. He feels stupid. Stupid to ask, stupid to want it. “Will you collect me, eventually?”

“Of course I will,” Shinsou says, turning to clasp both of Katsuki’s hands in his. “I always come for what’s mine.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Shinsou says, giving Katsuki’s hands a reassuring squeeze.

He leans in to press his forehead to Katsuki’s and Katsuki tumbles into his gaze, loses himself among the stars and planets. It feels like home, but it also feels wrong. No, not wrong… or right… it feels… not ready. He feels unfinished. Like he can’t belong there yet.

“You’re starting to understand,” Shinsou states, and Katsuki sighs, shutting his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Good.” 

“I—I should go back, shouldn’t I?” he asks reluctantly and Shinsou presses cool lips to his forehead.

“Chaos will be quite distraught if you don’t.”

“And that would cause problems for you.”

“Yes,” Shinsou chuckles. “But it’s okay. I’m very patient, I can wait for you.”

“I can be quick!” Katsuki promises and Shinsou slides hands up to his shoulders, pressing him back to meet his gaze again.

“Don’t.”

Katsuki frowns, why wouldn’t he? Why would he want to be anywhere else but here? There is nowhere else but here.

“I’ll always be here. Enjoy Chaos. They can be quite fun, you know. You’ll like them if you give them a chance.”

“I suppose.”

“Try being nice to them,” Shinsou suggests and Katsuki glares at him.

“I don’t do nice.”

“You’ve been very nice to me.”

“Ah—I—" His cheeks get warm and he stares down at the poppies brushing against his legs, brilliant violet petals against the green grass. “You’re different.”

“Probably.” Shinsou hooks a finger under Katsuki’s chin, drawing his gaze back up. “Try anyway, for me?”

“Okay,” Katsuki breathes. He’d agree to anything Shinsou asks of him, his voice sinking into his skin, into his bones, wrapping around his heart like a sturdy hug.

The tendrils are back, slipping gently around Katsuki’s legs. Black vines that twist and swirl. They don’t pull yet, but Katsuki gets the feeling that’s only because Shinsou is still touching him, still keeping them at bay, though just barely.

“I’ll see you soon, Katsuki,” Shinsou says and Katsuki smiles up at him. Hearing his name on Shinsou’s lips makes his heart thud in his chest. O—oh. His heart. Shinsou smiles as Katsuki’s eyes widen at the sensation, feeling his heart restart.

“Soon?”

Maybe Shinsou knows something he doesn’t. He is Death after all. Maybe he knows exactly when they’ll see each other.

“Relatively speaking.”

Shinsou leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Katsuki’s lips. It’s over almost as soon as it starts, leaving Katsuki aching for more and half believing it never happened to begin with. Then Shinsou winks at him and lets go.

The moment he does the vines explode. Multiplying a hundredfold and engulfing him, ripping him backward out of the field and away from Shinsou in an explosion of petals.

It hurts.

He feels like a toy being fought over by two children, ripped out of one set of hands until he’s squeezed against the chest of another.

Air slams into his lungs and he gasps, back-arching, though a set of arms are locked around him, holding him in place. A face is pressed into the crook of his neck, tears hot on his skin though he’s sure they aren’t his. 

All around them are the ruined remains of a building and it starts to come back to him. A building. He’d been chasing a villain through a building. They’d brushed a hand against a wall and the entire structure had collapsed, dragging him down with it. Layer after layer of concrete and steel tumbling down on top of him. How is he even alive?

He blinks, vision clearing, and realizes he can see the sky—he isn’t buried. It’s night and the stars shine above them, twinkling, and they look familiar. Like someone’s eyes, he thinks, though he can’t quite remember who. A name on the tip of his tongue that won’t manifest.

“K—Kacchan?” A voice chokes out near his ear as he sucks in another breath and even the feeling of the name is gone. It’s just stupid stars above him and everything hurts.

“Deku? Ugh, fuck. What happened?”

“The building collapsed,” Deku says, sniffling against his skin, and Katsuki shifts uncomfortably in the tight grip. 

“I know that,” he snaps, “I was here when it happened. How am I not dead?”

Dead not dead? His brain whispers but then it’s gone. Slipping between his fingers before he can grab the thought and examine it.

“I grabbed you, right before it collapsed. Black whip. I—I think it grabbed you too hard, broke some bones, maybe a concussion. But it stopped the building from falling on us.”

Katsuki shifts again, struggling to sit up despite the pain spiking through his body. Deku helps him, moving him so he can lean against a partially collapsed wall.

“You’re not supposed to even be here. You fucking follow me?” He feels angry, but it’s a distant sort of emotion, more of a habit than an actual feeling and he drops his head back on the concrete with a sigh.

“Of course I did,” Deku says, head cocked to the side as he smiles, eyes shining bright with tears. They’re more green than Katsuki ever realized, a swirling tumble of hues, like every forest rolled into one, a chaotic mix of leaves and plants. “I’ve always followed you.”

Try being nice, for me, a voice murmurs in Katsuki’s head and he’s reaching out before he can even process the motion. Deku takes it immediately, threading their fingers together and squeezing. It grounds him, a stable calm in the center of a raging storm.

“Keep following me, Izuku,” he mutters, eyelids getting heavy. God, he feels like he could sleep for an eternity.

“Of course,” Deku says, his other hand slipping up to clasp their joined ones. In the distance, Katsuki hears sirens approaching. “I’ll follow you till the end, Katsuki.”

Stunning art by the amazing Sammachu