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It was a problem in itself that they made it a matter of who was to blame rather than immediately searching for a solution.

Katsuki was adamant that it was Todoroki’s fault. He insisted that Todoroki had blown a hole in the hull with his fire, despite the fact that he would have absolutely no reason to do such a thing. It wasn’t even as if their mission had required him to use his fire at any point. In fact, their briefings made it clear that they were to adamantly avoid usage of their quirks.

On the other hand, Todoroki accused Katsuki of losing his temper and creating an explosion that destroyed the hull. While Katsuki had lost his temper numerous times since they exited the atmosphere, the case remained that he wasn’t immature enough to lose control of his quirk in such a dangerous environment. 

As far as Izuku was concerned, it didn’t matter who was to blame. No matter what had happened, they were still on a spacecraft with massive damage done to the oxygen tanks, running out of battery with most of their journey still left to go and no way to fix the modules.

In short, they were screwed.

  T-minus Three Days

The party was still going on long after midnight, but the loud music that was playing earlier had quieted down. Instead of dancing, people were sitting around, talking and laughing. Izuku tried to tidy up what he could, throwing away the empty soda cans and the discarded paper plates, but he gave up within a few minutes. 

Izuku wandered outside, settling on the lounger in their back lawn. When he lay down on it, he could see the moon right above him, a white bulb in the sky. He held his hand up, covering the moon with his thumb. A faint shine of white still radiated out in a halo around his thumb. 

Familiar footsteps made their way across the grass. “Hey, nerd. What are you doing here?”

Izuku turned his head to smile at Katsuki. “Just getting some air.”

“Move, then.”

He shifted aside to make space for Katsuki on the lounger, who squeezed in beside him, putting his arm around Izuku’s back to pull him into his side. There definitely wasn’t enough space for both of them and Katsuki’s body was like a radiator, but it didn’t matter; he liked being this close together. After a few drinks, he was pleasantly tipsy, enough that the world seemed a little softer, bathed in pale light.

“It’s a mess in there,” Katsuki told him. “If you ask me to clean up again, I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“I mean it. Just because you suck at cleaning, doesn’t mean you get to avoid it all the time.”

He laughed. “Let’s just sell the house.”

“Damn right we will.”

Izuku tried to reposition himself to get more comfortable, breathing out a quick apology when he accidentally crushed Katsuki’s arm under his shoulder. In this new position, Katsuki occupied most of the lounger and Izuku was draped over him, one leg tossed over Katsuki’s legs. It was still a tight fit, but there was something cozy about it. Above them, the moon shone on.

“It’s weird to think that we’re going to be there soon,” Izuku commented. “What do you think it’ll feel like?” 

“Don’t know.” With an exhale, he pulled his arm out from under Izuku’s back to slide it through the space behind his neck instead, letting Izuku rest his head on Katsuki’s arm. “We still haven’t talked about who’s stepping on it first.”

“Yeah. You think Todoroki-kun’s disappointed that he won’t get to land at all?” 

“IcyHot’s always liked piloting more anyway. I don’t think he cares.”

“Well, I don’t mind if you walk first. It’s not like we’ll be the first to ever do it, anyway.”

Katsuki fell silent at that. Together, they watched the moon, the air quiet except for the distant sounds of grasshoppers chirping. Soon, their home would be empty, and they would be thousands of kilometers away from everything they knew. 

Katsuki pressed a kiss to Izuku’s temple. “Come on, dumbass. The extras will start wondering where you went and you were the one who wanted this stupid party in the first place.”

He braced his hand on Katsuki’s ribs while he climbed off him, then held his hand out to help him up. Without hesitation, Katsuki took it.

T-plus Three Days

Mission control was in chaos.

Everyone was panicking, frantically trying to figure out what had happened to the spacecraft that was making all their instrumentation go wild, showing countless errors. 

“The computer just went offline,” Midoriya blurted out. It was clear that the mission commander was trying to stay calm, but the panic in his voice betrayed that he was doing a bad job of it. “And there’s another master alarm! We’ve got multiple cautions and warnings—I think we have to reset and restart.”

“I’m going SCS,” Todoroki confirmed.

At the other end of the room, the flight surgeon, Kirishima, turned to Aizawa. “Flight, their heart rates are skyrocketing. They need to calm down.”

Aizawa looked at Kaminari Denki, the EECOM flight controller. It was his job to watch over the  electrical and environmental systems of the command module, Sirius. “EECOM, what does the data say?”

Kaminari just shook his head. “O2 tank two not reading at all, tank one is at 725 psi and falling. Fuel cells one and three are—oh, shit.”

“Language!” Iida interjected. The Procedures manager was tasked with overseeing the application of mission rules, but he usually extended his role to micromanaging everyone’s behavior on Earth as well.

“Sorry! These numbers are… give me a minute, I’ll get back to you.”

“They’re going close to gimbal lock,” the GNC officer, Yaoyorozu, interjected. At the Guidance, Navigation, and Control console, she was in charge of monitoring the hardware components of the spacecraft’s guidance systems, making sure it was headed in the right direction.

Shoji, who held the position of TELMU, cut in next. He was EECOM’s counterpart for the lunar module, Ingenium, watching over its life-support and power systems and overseeing its telemetry. “I keep losing radio signal, their antennae must be flipped around.”

Aizawa held up his hands to halt them, irritated by the onslaught of sound. “One at a time! Kaminari, is this an instrumentation problem or are we looking at real power loss here?” 

“It’s reading a quadruple failure,” Kaminari responded. “That can’t happen. It’s gotta be instrumentation.”

Bakugou’s voice came over the comms. “We have a main bus A undervolt now. It’s reading 25 and a half. Main bus B has completely lost power. There are a lot of vibrations, too.”

As aggressive as Bakugou could be as a person, he was more than competent in his role of lunar module pilot. Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki all had their faults, but Aizawa knew they could be trusted to work competently as a team, especially in such a crucial situation. At least, he thought so. He had a bad feeling that the high-pressure environment might cause them to act out in different ways.

Shinsou spoke into the comms, his voice monotone. As CAPCOM, he was the only one who could communicate with the crew. Any instructions to them had to go through him. “Sirius, we need confirmation, what systems do you have down?” 

“Fuel cell one and three,” Midoriya replied. “We have a main bus B undervolt, cryo pressure, suit compressor. Honestly, pretty much everything is wrong up here. AC bus 1, 2, Command Module computer. I don’t know—how can everything be this messed up?” 

“Obviously Bakugou did something,” Todoroki accused. “Only his explosions could cause such a major failure.”

“Shut up, Half-and-Half bastard! What about your fire, huh? You did this!” 

Aizawa stormed over to speak into Shinsou’s microphone sharply. “That’s enough. Our data shows that one of the tanks exploded when stirring the liquid oxygen. There must have been faulty wiring. Blaming each other is useless.”

“Maybe this is a caution and warning failure,” Midoriya suggested. “It could—wait. Oh, no. We’re venting something out into space. It’s definitely some sort of gas.” 

Shinsou spoke again. “Copy that.” He looked back at the room, where Aizawa was shooting death glares at everyone who wasn’t calm enough. “What kind of things would they be venting?”

While everyone started calling out suggestions, Aizawa returned to his own post to address the room again. “Quiet down, everyone! Don’t make me repeat it again. Anyone who panics in a crisis doesn’t deserve to be in Mission Control.”

Abashed, the room quietened down.

“Good. Procedures, I need another computer in the RTCC. Everyone, alert your support teams. Wake up anybody you need. If anyone starts to lose their composure, I will not hesitate to kick them out. Am I understood?” 

Everyone nodded. Shinsou spoke to the command module again to assure them that Mission Control was working on getting them some answers, while Kaminari continued to inspect his data, sparks of electricity dancing around his fingers, a nervous tic of his.

“Listen up, extras,” Bakugou commanded. “We’re not going to have power for much longer. Everything on this damn ship is malfunctioning. We’re working on it, but you’d better figure something out. Or the whole lot of you are useless.”

The PR officer, Yamada Hizashi, winced. Bakugou was a PR nightmare; while the other astronauts were easy to manage, Bakugou seemed intent on making his life as hard as possible. Almost every interview he gave was filled with so many unsuitable answers that they never ended up being broadcasted.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Kaminari said, glancing at him. “Uh, hear me out. I have an idea, but you might not like it. I think we should shut down the reactant valves of the fuel cells. If that’s where the leak is, we can isolate it and save what’s left in the tanks, then run on the good cell.”

Aizawa paused. “If we close them, we can’t open them again. One fuel cell isn’t enough to land on the moon.”

“They have too much damage to even think about landing on the moon, and it’s not like any of them have quirks that can fix the damage. In fact, we’re talking about three people who have extremely unsuitable quirks for space travel. As far as I’m concerned, this is our last option.”

Aizawa considered it, then sighed. “Shinsou, have them close the valves.”

Shinsou leaned forward. “Midoriya, we want you to close the valves on cells 1 and 3. Do you copy?” 

Midoriya’s voice was uncertain. “Closing down the reactant valves—you mean shutting down the fuel cells? We won’t be able to switch them back on. We can’t land on the moon.” 

“Kaminari thinks it’s the only way to stop the leak.”

“There has to be some other way.”

“Does it look like you can land on the moon with this degree of damage? You’re on a death machine right now. Not to be harsh, but if something else goes wrong, you might be propelled out into space and die. Is that what you want?” 

“That’s way too harsh,” Yaoyorozu reprimanded, looking horrified. “They’ve been preparing for this mission for a long time. It’s understandable that they’re disappointed.”

“It’s not very manly to be so blunt when their lives are in danger,” Kirishima agreed.

“It’s a lost cause. Shut them down,” Shinsou repeated, ignoring the others. Yamada was rapidly scanning the room, making sure nobody heard Shinsou’s outburst; now that was a PR nightmare.

“Copy,” Midoriya said, his voice small. “Kacchan, shut them down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, nerd!” 

-

Aboard the command module, Sirius, Shouto watched as Bakugou switched off the fuel cells. Some part of him felt a rush of disappointment that they wouldn’t be landing on the moon, but that was nothing compared to the terror of being on a ship in space that had extensive damage from an explosion. The force of it had sent the craft tumbling, and they were now off course. Rather than bemoaning the failure of their mission, he had to switch over to thinking about how to get the three of them home safely.

If this didn’t work, they wouldn’t have enough power to get home. 

Inspecting the sensors, his stomach sank. The oxygen in the tank was still falling.

“Kacchan, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said abruptly. “The command module has about fifteen minutes of oxygen left. I think we should quickly get some oxygen into the lunar module and move there—that way, we can power down the Sirius and save the remaining batteries for re-entry.” 

Shouto nodded. “Shinsou, tell them to transfer control data over to the lunar module’s computer before the Sirius dies.”

“We can all hear you—the audio is broadcast through the control center. Be advised, you’re on voice-activated comms.” 

“Noted. The control data?” 

“We’re working on it. Get the guidance program transferred before you run out of power in the Sirius, or you won’t be able to navigate. You only have fifteen minutes.”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya said, glancing over at him with worried eyes. “Can you get it done?” 

“Of course I can, dumbass,” he hissed. “Just shut up and let me concentrate.” 

Bakugou rushed through the steps in the manual while Midoriya and Shouto made their way through the tunnel over to the lunar module, Ingenium. Shouto was certain that Bakugou could get it done in time, but that didn’t mean that a cold flush of anxiety didn’t spread through his body anyway. Shinsou was right. They were on a death machine. 

Bakugou was yelling at Mission Control, spitting words Shouto couldn’t make out. Shouto just closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He created a ball of ice and clutched it in his right hand, trying to ground himself in the sensation. 

“Done!” Bakugou called to them. Midoriya visibly relaxed. 

Of course, because the universe wasn’t kind, the distinctly horror-inducing sound of an explosion where it was not supposed to be came from the command module. 

“Kacchan?” Midoriya yelled, his expression filled with pure terror. “Kacchan!” 

“Bakugou?” Shouto called out.

“Fuck!” was the answer. With the front spikes of his hair singed a pale brown, Bakugou crawled back into the command module. “Nothing got damaged, but I didn’t do that! My quirk went off on its own.”

“That’s never happened before,” Midoriya said, concerned.

“I know, idiot! Stop memorizing everything about me!”

Anxiety coiled in Shouto’s stomach, heavy and sickening. “Maybe it’s your sweat.” 

They both turned to look at him.

“It makes sense, right? Your sweat is similar to nitroglycerin. Maybe the atmospheric content is stable enough on Earth that it doesn’t trigger the explosions without you doing it, but something about the atmosphere here might have a combination of elements that makes your quirk more unstable.”

“I could have said that,” Bakugou said with a scoff.

“So why didn’t you?” 

“I was about to but Deku distracted me!” 

“We’re analyzing the atmosphere to determine the ratio of elements, but we think Todoroki’s theory might be correct,” Shinsou supplied from the comms. “Just in case, you should bring the temperature down so there’s less heat to trigger the explosions.”

Shouto unfurled his right palm, letting a sliver of ice bloom outwards. “I’ve got that covered.”

-

Freezing to death was not fun.

Katsuki had never liked the cold. When he was a child, all the other children had rejoiced at snow days, running outside to build snowmen and hurl snowballs at each other, but he had preferred to remain inside, heading over to Izuku’s house to sip the hot chocolate Auntie Inko made for them. 

Winter made it harder to activate his quirk. That was precisely why Todoroki was currently filling the center of the lunar module with a jagged ice sculpture that would cool it down, but it didn’t mean Katsuki had to like it.

Annoyed, he tugged on the suit of the one person he could always count on to keep him warm. Izuku was the embodiment of sunshine, a characteristic that translated over to his warm body temperature at all times. Whenever Katsuki was cold, he could burrow his face in Izuku’s neck, and even if Izuku yelped that his nose was like a block of ice, he could always count on him not to pull away.

Even if their spacesuits made it much harder to reach that warmth, it would be better than nothing. So, Katsuki pulled a surprised Izuku into his lap and wound his arms around him, shoving his face against the back of Izuku’s neck. 

“What was that sound?” Iida said, his worried voice coming from Shinsou’s comms. Apparently, he had committed a minor mutiny in his fear. “Did Bakugou-kun try to kill Midoriya-kun?”

“Shut up, Four Eyes,” Bakugou said, his breath warm against Izuku’s skin, who relaxed into his embrace. “Why do you think I’m trying to kill him all the time?” 

“Your track record isn’t excellent,” Shinsou pointed out. 

There wasn’t much of an explanation as to why they hadn’t told any of their colleagues about their relationship except for the fact that it was kind of funny to watch them try to smooth out their alleged tension under the misguided assumption that they hated each other. Todoroki was the only one who knew, and that was because they had been friends with him since high school. Even so, it had taken him a long time to catch on; he didn’t realize that they were together until he received an invitation to their wedding. That had been an amusing conversation.

A moment later, Todoroki crawled over to worm his way beside Bakugou, forming a cuddle pile.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bakugou hissed. 

“I thought we were huddling for warmth.”

“Why do you need warmth? It’s your quirk!” 

“I can still get cold,” he pointed out. “In fact, we’re doing this for your benefit. If you get too hot, it’ll negate the whole point of this. You should go sit by yourself.”

“What?”

Izuku turned his face to give him a mischievous grin. “He’s right. You should go sit by yourself, Kacchan.”

So, this was what Katsuki’s life had come to. Freezing his ass off in the corner of a broken command module, watching that Half-and-Half bastard cuddle his husband. When they got back to Earth, he was going to kill that guy.

T-minus Two Days

Katsuki was being more aggressive than usual with his cooking, slicing the chicken up with more force than necessary and dunking the rice under the tap repeatedly as if waterboarding it. Izuku took his eyes off the book he was reading at the dinner table, Silver Age All Might: Ultra Analysis, to watch him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Kacchan, are you okay?” 

“You’re the one who wanted katsudon, damn nerd!” 

“You suggested having it tonight,” he reminded him. “And that doesn’t answer my question.”

He reached for a tea towel and dried his hands off before turning back to Izuku with a frown. The blond spikes of his hair were as messy as ever, even after the attempt at combing them Izuku made earlier this afternoon. “You might not be up for this, Deku.”

It was his turn to frown. “You say that before every mission.”

“It’s a risky job.”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, as long as we’re together.”

He looked away. “Don’t be so sappy.”

When the katsudon was ready, Katsuki set the two bowls on the table and took his seat across Izuku, his golden ring catching the light as he reached over for a pair of chopsticks. His cooking was always delicious, but his katsudon was extraordinary as far as Izuku was concerned; his bowl was finished within a few minutes, with not even a grain of rice left on the porcelain. They always saved these dishes for the night before a mission, like a lucky charm.

“Don’t eat so fast, dumbass,” Katsuki reprimanded him, with no real malice behind the words. 

“I can’t help it, Kacchan. Your cooking’s the best.”

“Tch. Of course it is.”

“Should I do the dishes tonight?”

“Don’t you dare. You can get them tomor—next time we eat.”

“The day after the mission,” he said lightly.

“Right.” He grabbed their empty bowls and set them in the sink, turning the tap on. With expert hands, he began rinsing the bowls while Izuku sat at the table, content to keep him company. Abruptly, he spoke up. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Izuku glanced up from his book. “Hm?” 

“You heard me.” Katsuki’s back was turned to him, his voice a mutter as he kept washing the dishes, now scrubbing at them with a soapy sponge. The scent of clinical lemon filled the air. “It feels… off.”

“The mission?” 

“What else, idiot?” 

“Did you notice something in the briefings?” 

“No. I told you, it’s just a feeling. I don’t usually feel this way before missions, but I don’t know what’s different about this one.”

Izuku pondered over it. It was rare for Katsuki to voice such a thing, so even if there was no apparent reason for it, he didn’t want to disregard it completely. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if there was anything they could do about it. The mission checks had already been completed. All that was left was to finish the job. “I guess we’ll have to be extra careful then.”

Katsuki threw the sponge down at that and turned around, his hands still covered in suds that dripped on the mat in front of the sink. His eyes were deathly serious. “Maybe you should call in sick.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Say you got an illness and call in a substitute.”

“I can’t skip a mission as important as landing on the moon without any evidence that something is actually wrong. If your gut instinct is right, then it would be wrong to send an innocent person to a suicide mission. I have more experience—I’d be more likely to solve whatever problem crops up.”

Katsuki’s mouth twisted in a scowl, but he didn’t protest, turning back to the sink and calmly picking up the sponge again. They didn’t talk, the room silent except for the grating sound of the sponge scrubbing against the bowls. A minute later, a loud clink came as Katsuki set the bowls on the drying rack to dry, tossing the sponge back in the sink and drying his hands on the towel.

“Thanks for the meal,” Izuku said, looking up from his book.

“It’s nothing.”

“Kacchan, don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” he snapped. “I’m just worried.”

Izuku’s face softened. He set his book on the table, moving the receipt he had been using as a bookmark to his latest page, before striding over to put his arms around Katsuki. Katsuki buried his face in Izuku’s hair as he drew quiet, uneven breaths, curling his arms around him to keep him close.

“I’ll be fine,” Izuku said against Katsuki’s shoulder, his voice quiet.

“I know,” he mumbled. 

“I love you.”

“Yeah. I know.” He pressed a kiss into green curls, then ruffled Izuku’s hair. “Let’s go to sleep, nerd. Can’t be tired tomorrow.”

It was eight thirty-two p.m. There was something comforting in how reliable Katsuki’s routine was. 

 T-plus Three Days

Damn, Shouto was cold.

When he saw how irritated Katsuki was that he had been excluded from the cuddle pile, he was forced to make the lunar module even colder to compensate for the fact that Katsuki was about to start sweating from his anger. It had been getting colder and colder over the past two hours.

Ice covered every available surface that wasn’t dotted with switches. Icicles hung from the ceiling, sharp and uneven, while stalagmites grew up from the ground. It took him a few minutes of concentration to achieve the precise job, making sure not to let the ice touch anywhere it would interfere with the module’s wiring, but now that it was done, he almost wished he hadn’t gone to the trouble because it was freezing. 

It seemed vaguely unfair that he and Midoriya had to freeze as well because of an issue with Bakugou’s quirk, but he didn’t want to voice it aloud and make him feel bad for it—or, worse, start an argument. All he could do was squeeze in beside Midoriya and hope that the proximity to him would help warm him.

“I told you,” Bakugou muttered after a long silence, glancing over at Midoriya. “If you just stayed at home—”

“Don’t start,” Midoriya replied flatly. “I couldn’t stay back because of a gut feeling.”

“A correct one.”

“Still. Since I’m here, I can help fix this.”

Shinsou interjected at that point. “Bakugou, stop trying to kick Midoriya off the mission. You promised you would try to get along.”

Though Bakugou and Midoriya were childhood friends, they were notorious for their constant arguments, mostly provoked by Bakugou. It seemed like it was impossible for the two of them to get along whenever they were assigned a joint mission. Given that, Shouto was pretty sure no one at Mission Control knew that they were married, despite the fact that it must have been on official records. Well, except for their closest friends.

Ignoring him, Bakugou said, “It could have been someone else here. It didn’t have to be you.”

“Don’t start arguments now, Bakugou,” Shinsou cut in. “Implying that Midoriya isn’t good enough won’t help anyone. You need to work together.” 

Shouto knew that he wasn’t exactly the most socially aware person, but even he had to stifle a laugh at whatever signals had crossed to create this misunderstanding.

“There’s no way I would subject anyone else to this,” Midoriya said.

“Yeah, just me.”

“Kacchan.” His voice was harder. “Don’t. You know I would never want you to—” 

“I know.” To Shouto’s utter surprise, he mumbled out, “Sorry.”

This time, Kaminari interjected from the speakers. It looked like the mission controllers were playing hard and loose with the rule that only CAPCOM could speak to the crew. Shinsou must have been pushed out of the way at least three times by now. “Are we hearing things right? Did Bakugou just say sorry?” 

“Shut up, extras!” 

They fell quiet again. It took another hour of this silent torture before Midoriya couldn’t bear it any longer. “Kacchan, come here. It’s cold enough that even hugging us won’t make you sweat.”

Bakugou’s teeth were chattering, since Shouto had concentrated most of the ice around him. “N-no. Don’t want to blow anything up.”

“You won’t.”

“Deku, shut up.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Well, don’t!”

“Then what do you want me to do?” he said, starting to get frustrated. “You keep looking at us like you’re angry.”

“Stop cuddling IcyHot!”

“I’m freezing to death here! Do you want me to die? Like, for real? I’m just using him for heat.”

Shouto raised a hand, caught in the middle of this strange argument. “I agree. I’m just using Midoriya, too.”

“Stop being stubborn and get over here, Kacchan,” Midoriya commanded. Bakugou frowned but reluctantly shifted over to Shouto’s other side. He paused as if trying to overcome his pride before he drew closer to Shouto, gingerly setting a hand on his shoulder. “Isn’t that better?” 

“Not really,” Bakugou muttered. Shouto was inclined to agree. He had a feeling that at any moment, Bakugou’s pride would take over and he would attempt to blow him up.

“Then get closer.”

“Gonna kill you later,” Bakugou promised Shouto before he finally let his body weight drop against his side, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “This is just so I don’t freeze to death and leave my kids alone.”

Shouto froze, in more ways than one. “You have kids?”

“My plants,” he said at the same time as Midoriya wearily said, “His plants.”

“What are their names?” 

“One is All Might. Well, technically that one’s Deku’s, but I take care of it.”

If they were trying to hide their relationship, they weren’t doing a particularly good job of it. It might have taken Shouto a long time to catch on to it, but now that he knew, it was impossible to miss the signals. Even the casual, intimate way they spoke to each other should have been enough to indicate that they were closer than people initially thought. 

Shinsou’s voice came from the comms. “Midoriya has a plant at your house?” 

“Hey, butt out!” Bakugou yelled. “We don’t have any privacy up here!” 

“Like I said, you’re on voice-activated comms. It’s safer not to switch them off.” 

“Stay out of our private conversations!” 

“Roger that, Ingenium. Sorry.”

“You managed to scare Mission Control,” Shouto said with a hint of dry humor. “Good job.”

“Whatever,” he said. “Anyway, All Might is a zinnia. I won an award for that one.”

“Really? I didn’t know there were awards for that kind of stuff.”

“Of course there are, dumbass! I have a prizewinning snapdragon named DynaMight. Then there’s my rose bush, Red Riot.”

“Its thorns are almost more impressive than its roses,” Midoriya supplied. “Once, Kacchan asked me to water the bush and I accidentally fell into it. We had to go to the emergency room. After that, he never let me water it again.” 

Bakugou sniffed. “Damn right. You’d just kill yourself and my bush.”

Midoriya brushed past the remark with a good-natured smile. “As I was saying, the thorns are huge and really sharp. It’s like it has a protective layer. Even the leaves are hard.”

“That bush is like a suit of armor,” Bakugou agreed. “Then there’s my Venus flytrap, Suneater.” 

“That’s an interesting name,” Shouto commented, rather interested in the array of plants Bakugou seemed to own. He had never pitted him to be a good gardener, but now that the topic was brought up, he could see it. After all, Bakugou always committed one hundred percent to everything he did.

“Well, it’ll eat anything. Once, it ate a small frog.”

“Is that unusual?” 

“Are you some kind of idiot? Most Venus flytraps won’t eat anything that big. This thing’s like a death machine.”

“Your plants sound… aggressive.”

“Kacchan takes great care of them,” Midoriya announced proudly. “He never forgets to water them, even though all of them have to be watered at different times and intervals.” 

“That’s impressive,” Shouto agreed.

Plowing ahead, he added, “He’s really good at cooking, too. He can cook better than professional chefs, and he always makes me my favorite dishes, even when I don’t ask.”

“Well, I don’t want you to starve,” Bakugou muttered. 

Shinsou’s voice was confused. “Bakugou cooks for you?”

“Hey, privacy!” 

“Right.”

“Kacchan’s also great at housework,” Midoriya went on. “He’s so tidy and organized. He even reminds me to take my supplements.” His eyes softened. “I bet he’d make a great father.”

To Shouto’s amusement, Bakugou’s cheeks went red. “They’re just some vitamins.”

“Midoriya,” Shouto said jokingly. “Are you… best friends?” 

“…Huh?” 

“I thought you just tolerated each other, but are you actually real friends?” 

Bakugou stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter, plastering his hands over his mouth to hold it back. Since there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment up here, it was all Shouto could do to mess with Mission Control, who were badly misinterpreting what was going on between Midoriya and Bakugou. All the same, it was somewhat understandable; the two of them still bickered like rivals every day, especially when they were on a mission.

“We are,” Midoriya agreed, playing along, while Bakugou kept holding back his laughter. “I’ve been keeping it a secret, but it's time to admit it. He’s my best friend. Other than you. And Uraraka-san.”

“Pick a best friend, nerd!” 

Shouto was taken aback to hear that Midoriya considered him one of his best friends. He had always seen Midoriya as his best friend, but given how the man was universally beloved by everyone who met him, he always figured Midoriya just saw Shouto as another one of his numerous acquaintances.

“I’m one of your best friends?” Shouto asked, just to confirm.

“Of course. I thought that was obvious.”

He cracked a little smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

-

Katsuki’s voice shivered as he said, “Todoroki.”

Todoroki glanced up. Trails of ice had sunken into his skin, creeping up the right side of his face and his arm. “Hm?” 

“Use your fire. I know you two have been dealing with this ice just to make me feel better, but I don’t care. I’m sick of seeing Deku shivering so much.”

“Kacchan, it’s okay,” Deku said softly. His eyes were half-lidded, lips turning blue, but he still managed a small smile. “I don’t mind.”

“No,” Katsuki said flatly. He looked back at Todoroki. “Melt all the ice in the module and create a layer of ice around me, then warm yourselves up with your fire.”

Todoroki nodded. Slowly, he shuffled forward and pressed his hand to the ice sculpture in the center of the module, forming a glowing imprint in the shape of his palm. Once it melted, he moved on to melting the rest of the ice, careful not to do it too suddenly. Within a few minutes, all the ice was melted, so he held his hand out to create a thick wall of ice around Katsuki’s body, concentrating it on the areas where he would sweat the most.

“You alright?” he asked. Katsuki gritted his teeth and nodded. Todoroki moved back to his original position and sparked a fire in his left hand, letting it melt the ice on his face. Carefully, he held the flame out towards Deku, letting him warm up, too.

“You’re just glad I don’t have to hug Todoroki-kun anymore, right?” Deku joked. Katsuki glared at him. “Aw, Kacchan, are you going to keep acting like that? You know I want to hug you the most.”

“Midoriya, don’t make fun of him. We don’t want Bakugou to get riled up and cause an explosion.”

“I’m not—” Deku cut himself off with a sigh. He looked much better now, his lips pink again and a healthy flush across his cheeks. It made Katsuki’s heart ache to see him here, knowing the danger they were in. More than anything, he wished Deku had listened to him, had stayed behind so he could be sleeping in their warm bed now, far away from anything that could hurt him.

Deku breathed into his hands to warm them up, then crawled over to the other side of the lunar module, closer to Katsuki. Todoroki opened his mouth as if to question him, but Deku was already cuddling up to Katsuki’s side, resting his head on Katsuki’s shoulder. 

Katsuki nudged him away. “Get off, nerd. What are you doing?” 

“I’d rather be cold with you,” he said, blinking up at Katsuki with innocent eyes, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Midoriya, Kirishima is reminding you to prioritize your own health. You getting cold won’t be of any use.”

Deku huffed. “Shinsou-kun, can you stop butting into every little thing?” 

“It’s our job to make sure you’re healthy.”

“You said it yourself. We’re on a death machine, so give us a break, okay? You don’t need to comment on everything we say.” He paused. “Respectfully.”

Shinsou gave a light laugh. “Fine. Whatever. Dialing down the comments.”

Pleased, Deku burrowed in closer to Katsuki’s side, even though there was still a layer of ice separating them. Slowly, Katsuki reached out to set his hand on Deku’s head, idly stroking his hair. They always cut down on physical affection during their joint missions, but this was different. This wasn’t a normal mission anymore. It had deteriorated into a desperate attempt to get home, so Katsuki supposed it was fine if he let himself play with Deku’s hair, who looked more content now that he was by his side.

However, Deku soon started shivering again, so Katsuki pushed his shoulder. “Go.”

“No.” 

“Deku.”

He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Katsuki’s lips, effectively shutting him up. “We’re going to make it out of this. All three of us.”

“Yeah, thanks for remembering that I’m here,” Todoroki said dryly. Quiet enough that the comms wouldn’t pick it up, he added, “You’re making me feel very single.”

“Then ask out Ponytail, idiot.”

“Hey, say that louder, why don’t you?”

Katsuki cupped his hands around his mouth, but before he could yell anything, Deku slammed a hand over his mouth with a warning glare. Well, if Deku wanted to deny him of the pleasure of messing with Todoroki (possibly for the last time, his brain unhelpfully provided), Katsuki would go along with it.

T-minus Two Days

The mapo tofu looked as delicious as ever, the golden tofu pieces set in a pool of scarlet sauce. It made his tongue burn from the spiciness as he ate it, but he had gotten used to it over the years. Reaching for his chopsticks, he dug into the meal.

“It’s amazing,” Shouto said, glancing up at his sister. “Thank you.”

Fuyumi beamed at him. Beside her, Natsuo was eating his tofu with too much vigor to pay any attention to the exchange. “I’m glad you like it. You need some real food before you go up. How long is the mission?” 

“Around five, six days.”

“Long enough to miss food.”

Shouto looked down into his tofu, trying to muster up the courage to say something more meaningful than your cooking’s good . He glanced up at Fuyumi’s face, so bright and proud, like she was happy just to have him here. She was always trying so hard to be the glue that held their family together, but was never appreciated enough for it. Not by him nor their disappointment of a father. 

“I’m going to miss you,” Shouto said finally. “Both of you.”

Fuyumi gave him another warm smile. “I’ll miss you, too. Come back quickly.”

Natsuo swallowed a mouthful of tofu. “Don’t get yourself blown up there. I’m just starting to get to know you.”

“I won’t,” Shouto promised him. 

After dinner, it was Fuyumi who suggested watching a film together. While Shouto and Natsuo debated over which movie to choose, comparing their favorites, Fuyumi went to the kitchen to prepare genmaicha tea for the three of them. Once they chose a movie, Shouto joined his sister in the kitchen, taking the tray from her to carry it to the living room. Carefully, he set it down on the kotatsu, Fuyumi and Natsuo huddling up beside him. Natsuo grabbed the remote and started the film.

He still wasn’t used to being able to spend time with his siblings like this. After his father isolated him from them for years, stating that his quirk was special and he couldn’t waste his time with his inferior siblings, Shouto barely knew who they were. However, he was older now, and he couldn’t be kept away from his siblings anymore. Besides, his father had got it in his head that he wanted to reconcile with his family, so he was milder nowadays. It didn’t make up for the past, but it was something.

Fuyumi and Natsuo had always been closer to each other than they were to him. It was only natural, considering that they had grown up playing together while Shouto was always kept separate, catching glimpses of them from afar. He saw it in the way they teased each other, sharing inside jokes. However, tonight, he didn’t feel so distant. At funny scenes, they casually leaned against him as they laughed, poking him to get his attention whenever he zoned out. It felt like they were a normal family.

He would cling to this. He didn’t know what would become of them in the future, but he knew that he wanted to be a real part of the little family they had here. When he returned from the mission, Shouto would have to reach out to them to schedule another outing; maybe a picnic, or a tour of the spaceport. Something fun. They might not have had many happy memories together, but there was still time. 

T-plus Four Days

Aizawa dropped a pile of stapled papers on a table, turning to address the crowded room. “All of you, forget the flight plan. In a situation like this, you need to be able to improvise.”

“You’re talking like it’s a lecture, Sensei,” Kaminari complained. “Those guys are really stuck up there.”

“Then we should get to work without you interrupting with snarky comments.” Grabbing a piece of chalk, Aizawa drew a circle on the blackboard, then a smaller one to represent the spacecraft. “We can’t direct abort.” 

The flight dynamics officer, Uraraka, spoke up, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. At the FDO console, she had to monitor the vehicle’s trajectory during all stages of the mission. “No, you’re right, we can’t do that. We should get them on a free return trajectory.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” Yaoyorozu said with a nod. “We use the moon's gravity to slingshot them around.” 

“But the lunar module won’t support three guys for that long,” the RETRO officer, Asui, stated. RETRO was in charge of abort operations and plans. “It barely holds two. Still, we can’t do a direct abort. Ribbit.”

“Exactly,” Uraraka agreed. “We don’t even know if the Odyssey’s engines are working. There’s serious damage, and the spacecraft’s too delicate in this condition for them to use Bakugou-kun’s explosions to blast themselves back.”

“What about Todoroki-san’s quirk?” Yaoyorozu asked. “Maybe he could create a path of ice to push them back.”

“Like I said, the ship is too unstable. Besides, who knows how his quirk will react in space? There’s a reason we told them to avoid using them. Look what happened with Bakugou-kun's explosions! They’re going off by themselves. We need to avoid something like that.”

“You’re talking about quirks, but they’re on a damaged spacecraft,” Asui pointed out. “There are more important things. Like time.” 

Aizawa glanced back at the board. “The only engine we have with enough power for a direct abort is the Service Propulsion System on the Service Module, right? And Midoriya said it was damaged.”

“It might work,” Kaminari suggested.

“We can’t base plans on hypothetical miracles. If we power up a damaged engine, it can blow the whole thing up. Too risky. The command module is only good for re-entry, so we only have the lunar module.” 

“That means a free return trajectory,” Uraraka finished, satisfied. “Once they go around the Moon, we’ll fire up the lunar module’s engine and get them home with a long burn. The momentum should do it.”

“Kaminari?” 

“I don’t know,” Kaminari said doubtfully. “It was designed to land on the Moon, not to be used for course correction.”

“We’re not landing on the Moon,” Aizawa said, his tone rough. “I don’t care what it was designed to do. I care what it can do.”

 -

Izuku prepared himself to launch another burn. After this, they would lose signal for a short while, but as long as the ship remained on course, they would be fine.

They were close enough to the Moon now that it loomed in their windows, each crater and mountain clearly visible. Izuku watched it in wonder. The landscape was a barren grey, but something about it seemed like a different type of life, an entirely different world than his own. 

A block of wet ice pressed against his side, making him shudder, but then Katsuki’s hand was on his own. It was cold, but Izuku squeezed it anyway, interlinking their fingers. 

Izuku turned to grin at him. “You’re secretly a romantic, aren’t you?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”

Todoroki piped up from behind them. “Can I come over there or are you guys having a moment?” 

“Stay in your corner!” Katsuki snapped at him, then turned back to protectively put an arm around Izuku, turning his face to press it into Izuku’s messy curls. “You know all those shitty songs and poems about taking someone to the moon? Well, take this, suckers.”

Izuku gave a small laugh. “Since I’m the commander of this mission, technically I took you to the moon.”

A long-suffering Todoroki interjected. “I’m the command module pilot. I brought you idiots here.”

“Let's not get pedantic,” Izuku said. With a grin, he added, “Besides, I piloted the module during launch and trans-lunar coast, so I still win.”

It felt strange to be arguing about such a petty topic when the Moon was right in front of him, so close that it took up his entire field of vision in the windows. The sight was more majestic than anything else he had seen. 

With a sigh, Katsuki lifted his face out of Izuku’s hair to glance at Todoroki. “Just come here. You look so pathetic alone that you’re making me feel bad for you.”

“You really are a softie,” Todoroki said with a soft smile, coming over to sit on Katsuki’s other side. “It must take a lot of energy to pretend that you’re a bad friend, huh?” 

“Shut up.” Katsuki lightly shoved Todoroki’s shoulder, then decided to ditch annoying him in favor of kissing the top of Izuku’s head again. Izuku huddled in closer to him, enjoying the feeling of Katsuki’s arms around him, even if they were coated in ice.

Todoroki glanced over at them again. Noticing how Izuku was trembling from the cold, Todoroki huffed a deep sigh, then pressed his left hand to Katsuki’s shoulder, melting the ice.

“You’ve been frozen for long enough that your sweat glands probably froze and died,” Todoroki said, deadpan. Izuku hoped he was joking. “You looked pretty pathetic like that. I felt bad for you, too.”

“I’m the only one who can call people pathetic,” Katsuki said, thankfully keeping his voice low enough that it didn’t burst Izuku’s eardrums.

“Enjoy it, because I’m going to freeze you again as soon as we regain signal.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot that we lost signal,” Izuku said. Jokingly, he added, “We should do any mature stuff while we can before they start hearing us again.”

“Um. We just regained signal.”

Izuku groaned, feeling his face heat up. “Why does the universe hate me?” 

“Tough luck. We’re picking you up at a velocity of 2153 meters per second at a distance from the Moon of 56 nautical miles. Stand by for your PC+2 burn data, but it’s looking good.” 

“We still have stuff to do up here,” Katsuki spoke up. “Deku, you’re the commander. Command.”

Izuku couldn’t help but smile. Once upon a time, Katsuki would have fought him for control. “Alright. Todoroki-kun, please check on the water. If it’s frozen, you might need to melt it. Kacchan, I’ll check on the food, so you have a look at the instrumentation and see if there are any new errors.”

“Ingenium, we have the burn data.”

Katsuki pressed another kiss to Izuku’s temple, then went off to inspect the controls while Todoroki retreated to the command module to check on their bags of water. They would make this work. 

 -

Aizawa frowned, his knuckles turning white around the piece of chalk. “We can only give them forty-five hours? That’s not acceptable. We need them in there for around eighty. Work something out.”

“We need to talk about power,” Shoji told them, glancing around and flexing his numerous limbs. With this new mission plan, his role of monitoring the power and life support systems in the lunar module had taken a boost in importance. They can’t even correct their trajectory.” 

“So?” 

“We have to turn everything off. Right now.”

Kaminari whipped around to stare at him. “Everything?” 

“With everything on, the lunar module gets sixty amps. That's way too much. We have to get them down to twelve amps.” 

Chaos broke out; Kaminari was yelling that he could produce more than twelve amps in a single fingernail while Yaoyorozu was frantically explaining something, raising her voice to be heard over Shoji, who was trying to explain himself. As the argument went on, Kaminari rushed to his computer, his fingers flying across the keys as he worked on the data.

“Listen,” Shoji said loudly. “Like I said, we have to turn off the radars, cabin heater, instrument displays, the guidance computer, everything.”

“That’s insanity,” Aizawa said. Even his monotone demeanor had taken a hit, surprise painted across his face. “Without the guidance computer, they won’t know which way they’re pointed.”

Kaminari grimaced, a spark of electricity dancing across his fingertips. “I hate to say it, but I think he’s right, Sensei. I had a look at the data and it makes sense.”

Aizawa was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, “Fine. But in a few days, we’ll have to power the command module up using nothing but re-entry batteries.”

“We’ve never even simulated that,” Iida said, stunned. Evidently, this breach in protocol was too much for him to deal with; someone had brought a damp rag and placed it on his forehead because the stress was getting to him. 

“Then get people in the simulators to work on re-entry scenarios. Bring Ashido in. In the meanwhile, find the engineers who designed all the hardware up there and figure out how to get as many amps as we can out of those machines.”

While Shinsou conveyed the objective of powering down the lunar module to the astronauts, Kaminari interjected again. “We have another problem.”

“How surprising,” Aizawa said flatly.

“There’s an issue with the carbon dioxide. There’s only five filters on the lunar module, and those were meant for two guys for about a day and a half.” 

“They’re already up to eight on the gauges,” Kirishima said, concerned. “Anything over fifteen and you get impaired judgment, blackouts—and that’s the least of it. We need to get this fixed.”

“The scrubbers on the command module?” Aizawa asked.

“They take square cartridges,” Kaminari said, sounding abashed. “The ones on the lunar module are round.”

“Are you kidding me?” 

“That’s just how it is, Sensei. They never thought something like this would happen.”

“Guys, those CO2 levels are toxic,” Kirishima said, raising his voice to be heard. “Seriously. Needs to be fixed. Now.”

Aizawa was losing his temper. “Then find a way to put a square peg in a round hole. You aren’t students in a college class anymore. This is your job. Do it.”

As everyone got to work again, rushing off to find more engineers and available personnel to work on the simulators, as well as materials that could be used to fashion a solution for the carbon dioxide issue, Yamada strode over to Aizawa to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll get them back,” Yamada said, his voice unusually quiet. “No one’s died on your watch.”

“Shirakumo...”

“That was an incident no one could anticipate. You’re going to save these guys, Shouta.” He reached over to grab Aizawa’s hand, squeezing it, who didn’t push him away for once. Usually, he didn’t like showing affection at the workplace, but everything was different today.

“Thanks,” Aizawa said, something in his tone a little less empty. “We’re gonna bring them back.”

“Hell yeah, we are.”

  T-plus Five Days

Something about Bakugou looked different.

Shouto hadn’t noticed it until now because the wall of ice surrounding him blocked a fair bit of him from view, but it was becoming apparent that Bakugou didn’t look too good. His eyes were reddened, the undersides swollen, and they were glazed over, drifting out of focus. He hadn’t been as aggressive as usual, something Shouto attributed to the life-or-death situation, but he should have known that even this wouldn’t be enough to bring down Bakugou’s temper under normal circumstances.

“You feeling okay?” Shouto asked.

Bakugou looked up. “Huh? Of course.”

No yelling. Something was definitely wrong. “You don’t look good.”

Midoriya spoke up, eyes filled with concern. “I thought I might have been overreacting, but I noticed that, too.”

Shouto’s voice was hollow. “Could be hypothermia.”

“I’m fine,” Bakugou protested. Now that the topic had been brought up, it was clear to see how lethargic he was. Encased in ice, his head lolled back against the wall of the spacecraft, arms limp by his sides. “I just don’t like the cold.”

This wasn’t good. Logically, Shouto knew that he needed to melt the ice again and warm Bakugou up, but they would run the risk of Bakugou sweating and triggering another explosion. Was that risk more dangerous than the risk of Bakugou developing hypothermia? He would have asked Midoriya, but it was pretty obvious that he wouldn’t be objective about it. Still, Midoriya was the mission commander.

“Should we melt the ice?” Shouto asked.

"I think we should,” Midoriya said, clasping a hand over Bakugou’s mouth when he tried to speak up. “He’s been in the ice for long enough that he won’t start sweating any time soon. Besides, since we switched off the power, it’s getting really cold in here. It’ll be fine even without the ice—” he snatched his hand away. “Kacchan! You bit me!” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Bakugou demanded, unbothered, while Midoriya wiped his hand on Bakugou’s sleeve. “I’m not gonna let my explosions go off. This time. But if this is just because you think I have hypothermia, forget it! I’m not weak enough to let some stupid ice make me sick.” 

Ignoring the rant, Shouto leaned forward to touch the ice with his left hand, letting the heat slowly melt the ice away. It dripped in a large puddle on the ground, so once it was all gone, he held his hand above the puddle, just high enough that it would boil the water away without making the floor too hot.

“I’m going to heat you up now,” Shouto told Bakugou. “Don’t move, or I’ll burn you.”

“Don’t put that fire near me,” Bakugou said instantly, ignoring the threat. He really wasn’t himself. “I’ll start sweating if you do.” 

“I thought you said you could control your quirk.”

“I can, idiot! But things can go wrong. It’s better to stay like this.” 

Midoriya looked at Shouto, the two of them exchanging silent, warning glances. Shouto knew what it meant; if he poked at Bakugou’s ego too much, it would just get him riled up, which was never a good thing. For the mission’s sake, they all needed to remain calm. 

“Ingenium,” Shinsou said. “What’s the situation with your CO2 gauge?” 

“The measurement’s much higher now. It’s gone up four notches.”

“We have a procedure for you, but it’s kind of weird. One of Kaminari’s creative ideas.”

“It feels like all of these are Kaminari’s creative ideas,” Midoriya pointed out. “Is he doing all the work down there?” 

“He’s just good with a lot of stuff. Anyway, get the flight plan and rip off the cover.”

“Like... symbolically?” 

“No! Literally. You're going to use it. Also, you need two lithium hydroxide canisters, two of the Liquid-Cooled Garment bags, and duct tape.”

“I would be surprised if it didn’t use duct tape.”

“Cut the tape to... you don’t have a ruler, right? Cut it to about the length of Todoroki’s arm.”

Shouto shuffled over to help Midoriya with the procedure, listening in on Shinsou’s instructions. He couldn’t help but think how ridiculous it was that they had to come up with something makeshift like this just because the carbon dioxide filters didn’t fit, with no official contingency plan in sight, but it wasn’t like they had any other option.

To make sure that the parts stuck together firmly, Midoriya activated One For All, green light glowing in his hands and his arms, dancing across his skin with jerky movements every time he pushed something into a slot or taped it together.

There was a sharp tearing sound, then they were staring down at a ripped bag.

“I’m so sorry,” Midoriya blurted out, mortified. “I was just stressed and I think I used too much strength.” 

“Control your quirk,” Shinsou said, his tone rather sharp. “What are you guys, five? Spontaneous explosions, ice everywhere instead of just around Bakugou, ripping bags— get a hold of yourselves.” 

There was static in the comms, like they were being jostled around, then Iida’s voice replaced Shinsou’s. “Forget what Shinsou-kun said! He’s getting scolded now. It makes sense that your quirks aren’t reacting as expected in these unanticipated circumstances.”

Another rustle, then Shinsou was back. “I’m sorry. There should be another bag. Also, you need a sock.”

Shouto blinked. “A... sock?” 

“Yes.”

Well, he was beyond questioning it. If this procedure required a sock, a sock it would get.

 -

Once the filters were in place, Katsuki checked the gauge. It took a few seconds, but the CO2 levels slowly started dropping. He never would have admitted it, but when Shinsou started rattling off the steps, Katsuki had a feeling that it wouldn’t work; after all, what sort of carbon dioxide filter used duct tape and a sock? However, it looked like it was working after all. They could breathe freely.

That was good, because he had been starting to feel sick from the carbon dioxide, his head swimming. Though the gas was beginning to subside, Katsuki still didn’t feel good. Every part of his body ached; he hadn’t wanted Deku or Todoroki to notice, but when Todoroki melted the ice away, the sudden rise in temperature and flow of blood in his veins made it feel as if Katsuki’s body had been set on fire.

His limbs were still burning now, the blood moving around again after being slowed by the wall of ice, and he felt oddly dazed, like his head was full of fog. Maybe he really did have hypothermia.

“You three haven’t slept at all the last two nights. Kirishima says you should get some sleep.” 

“Kirishima, you’re a dumbass,” Katsuki responded, eyes half-shut. 

“He says it’s not manly to act like a baby and insult your friends. Now, I— what now? He says you still owe him an arm-wrestling match. But seriously. Your readings aren’t good.”

Now pissed off, Katsuki reached for his bio-medical sensor and ripped it off. “I’m sick of you shitty extras telling me what to do! As if I want everyone in Japan to know my medical readings!” 

“Kirishima’s calling you an angry chihuahua. Kaminari can’t stop laughing.”

“Die!” 

Deku cracked a smile, stroking his hand up and down Katsuki’s arm to comfort him. “Why don’t you close your eyes, Kacchan? Todoroki-kun and I will take care of things. Don’t get yourself so worked up.”

“I’ll get worked up if I want, nerd,” he said, but it was more disgruntled than angry. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been genuinely angry at Deku. “I’ll close my eyes, but only because you’re so worried.” 

“Okay.” He leaned over to kiss Katsuki’s cheek. Even after all these years, Katsuki had to work hard to hold back a blush, though he was certain that he was unsuccessful. “Thank you.”

Though he shut his eyes, sleep wouldn’t come to him easily, and not just because he was swatting it away with a mental baseball bat. It was stupid of Kirishima to expect him to be able to fall asleep on this carcass of a spacecraft. At any moment, if they missed an error or did something wrong, the whole thing could blow up. They could be sucked out into the vacuum of space. If the re-entry calculations were incorrect, they would die a fiery death burning up in the atmosphere.

Katsuki just wanted to be home again. Their quiet, warm home, where he could slip into a clean bed and hold Deku in his arms as they fell asleep. Home, watching All Might movies together in the living room with sunlight streaming in through the windows and their plants surrounding them. It was becoming more apparent that something so simple might be something Katsuki would never get to have again.

Trying to get more comfortable, Katsuki lay down, resting his head in Deku’s lap. A soft touch pressed between his eyebrows, smoothing out the creases in his forehead. “Don’t look so angry, Kacchan. Rest.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow exhale. “Good enough for you?”

He could hear the smile in Deku's voice. “Yeah. More than enough.”

A heavy load of exhaustion seemed to fall on him all at once. With his eyes still closed, Katsuki felt around for Deku’s wrist, giving it a gentle tug so he could nuzzle his face against Deku’s palm. Though his nose still felt cold, Deku’s hand was warm, his scars tracing a rough pattern over his skin. Katsuki had memorized them all, down to the detail of how they felt when Deku’s hand was in his own. 

Gently, Deku slid his free hand into Katsuki’s hair, stroking his hair in smooth motions. It messed up the blond spikes, but Katsuki couldn’t care less. He just wanted more of this. More of how Deku took care of him, so kind all the time. Katsuki wanted to keep taking care of him, too. He wanted them both to make it out of this so they could live out the rest of their lives together like they had promised.

There was still so much to come. More missions to fly together, more places to visit. Parties where they spent hours drinking and laughing with their friends until their sides ached, and movie nights cuddled up with popcorn, Kaminari and Kirishima throwing popcorn at each other while Uraraka levitated her bowl away from them so they couldn’t reach it. It seemed weird now that the rest of their friends in Mission Control still didn’t know that they were married when Katsuki had almost a lifetime’s worth of memories with Deku. It still wasn’t enough. He wanted another lifetime of it.

He didn’t know what was causing these thoughts. It could have been the situation, or it could have been the hypothermia he could feel spreading through his body. Even if there was no more ice, powering down the lunar module made it freezing, and Todoroki couldn’t heat it up to prevent Katsuki from sweating. And Katsuki had been freezing for longer than either of them. 

Some part of him was beginning to wonder if he would make it out of this.

“Deku,” he murmured, his eyes flickering open. “Thank you.”

Deku smiled down at him. “No problem.” 

He thought about never getting to see that smile again and a lump formed in his throat. Never making katsudon for Deku again while he sat on the counter, swinging his legs as he watched Katsuki, chattering on happily about whatever excited him that day. Never preparing breakfast for Deku in the mornings before he woke up, taking a moment to watch him while he was sleeping. He always looked so peaceful.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, but it was like something had lodged itself in his chest. Wordlessly, he grabbed Deku’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, hiding his face in Deku’s hair so he wouldn’t see him break down.

Todoroki’s worried eyes met his. “Are you okay?” 

Katsuki cleared his throat, but it was no use. His voice came out clogged. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Do you need...” He hesitated. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Minutely, Katsuki jerked his head to gesture for Todoroki to come over as well. As much as he would have liked hugging his husband alone, when he thought of what Todoroki was going through, it didn’t seem right to leave him alone. The three of them had known each other since high school, stuck with each other through everything that happened in the years since then. 

As much as he hated to admit it, the bastard was one of his best friends. “Todoroki...”

“Yeah.” Todoroki gritted his jaw, but it still trembled slightly. “I know.”

“You guys need to cheer up,” Deku mumbled, pulling away from Katsuki to look up to meet their gazes. “We’re going to live.”

“Deku.” Katsuki swallowed. “If something goes wrong...”

“Don’t start talking like that. I take back what I said before—please be angry again.”

“I agree,” Todoroki added. “Do I need to do something to piss you off or is existing enough?” 

Katsuki laughed at that, the weight in his chest just a little lighter. “You dumbasses are so annoying. If Kirishima was on board with me, he wouldn’t pull this shit.”

“Imagine being stuck here with Kirishima and Kaminari,” Deku suggested. “Wouldn’t that drive you crazy?” 

“Kirishima and Kaminari say thank you for that.” 

“I was just kidding!” Deku said, cheeks flushing, even as Katsuki started laughing again. 

“Well, they may be idiots, but at least they’d do what I say,” Katsuki told him. “They wouldn’t keep starting arguments like Todoroki does. And they’re not stubborn shits like you.”

“Forget that. Come on, let’s play cards,” Deku said, stretching his arms out and tilting his head to the side to stretch his neck. “I brought a pack.”

Todoroki and Katsuki exchanged amused glances. They called a temporary truce to tease Deku for wanting to play cards at a time like this, but all the same, no one protested.

 T-plus Six Days

After squabbling for a while, the trio on the spacecraft finally fell asleep; Kirishima looked far too pleased about that, raising a triumphant fist in the air as if the mission had already ended, though the hardest part was yet to come. 

“It’s not the velocity, it’s the angle,” Yaoyorozu said with a frown, staring at her screen. “Look. They're still venting something and that’s throwing off the trajectory. At this rate, they’ll bounce off the Earth’s atmosphere.” 

“And disappear into space,” Shinsou finished, his voice hollow.

“Don’t be so morbid, Shinsou-san! But yes.” 

“Then we need another burn to get them in the entry corridor,” Asui suggested. “Fire the engines and get them on course.” 

Shinsou nodded, ready to convey the information to the astronauts. “Ingenium, we have another course correction.”

“Copy, but it’ll take me and Todoroki-kun a while to power up the computer for the alignment platform.”

“They’re not gonna believe this shit,” Shinsou muttered to himself. Louder, he said, “Negative. We can’t spare power for the computer.” 

Bakugou interjected. “What the hell do you mean? Have you extras lost your minds? We’re supposed to do this blind?” 

“There has to be something we can give them for orientation,” Kaminari said, desperately glancing around. “Uraraka? Yao-momo? Maybe a reference?” 

“There’s a lot of debris, but no references,” Yaoyorozu said, shaking her head.

“Are we sure their quirks can’t be used?” Kirishima spoke up. 

“Yes,” Aizawa said, like it was obvious. “Only Todoroki’s quirk has come in somewhat useful, but ice is too unstable to use to mend anything or build a reference point. Needless to say, Bakugou’s quirk is a curse in this situation, and Deku can’t fix anything by punching it.”

“Hey, idiots! I’m talking to you! Don’t ignore me!” 

“Looks like he’s back to himself,” Kirishima said with a grin. “Great! I was worried.”

“Stand by,” Shinsou said into the comms. “We’re working on it.”

“If you don’t come up with something, I’ll blast us there!” 

Midoriya’s voice came a moment later, his tone much more logical. “I have an idea. To hold altitude, we just need one fixed point, right? Well, what about the Earth?” 

Shinsou blinked. “Huh?” 

“We can keep the Earth in the window and fly manually with the crosshairs right on its terminator. All we have to know is how long to burn the engine.”

“Copy that,” Shinsou said. He turned to Aizawa. “Could that work?” 

Aizawa glanced at Yaoyorozu, who had a pensive look on her face. “It’s risky, but if they can fly manually and shut it down on time without the computer, it could work.”

“Let me get this straight,” Kaminari said, rubbing his temples. “They have to aim for a corridor just two and a half degrees wide. If they're too steep, they’ll incinerate, but if they're too shallow, they'll ricochet off the atmosphere like a rock skipping off a pond. And they’re aiming by looking at the window.” 

“How narrow is that corridor?” Yamada asked, eyebrows furrowed. Without a scientific degree, he was a little out of the loop, and Aizawa just waved him away like a pest whenever he tried to question him when he was deep in thought. 

“It’s like...” Kaminari held up two fists. “Okay, my fists are the earth and moon. If they were placed about four meters apart, the guys have to hit a target about the thickness of a piece of paper.”

Yamada whistled, his eyes widening. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s the only option we have left,” Aizawa said. Beside him, Yamada cringed, shooting a glance at the media reporters hovering outside the glass doors marking the entrance to Mission Control. “We’re out of time.”

 -

Izuku took a deep breath. "Let’s do this. Kacchan, you handle the pitch. We’re going to burn at ten percent thrust for exactly thirty-nine seconds. Todoroki-kun, you time us.”

Todoroki nodded. “Got it. If something goes wrong?” 

“There’s not much we can do. Neither of you can use your quirks through the wall, so we can’t adjust the trajectory with that.” He glanced out of the window. “Start counting ten seconds before the time starts. Kacchan, you ready?” 

“Don’t even ask, nerd! I was ready before you were!” 

Izuku laughed. “Okay, okay. Shinsou, we’re standing by.”

“Go ahead.”

Todoroki started counting down from ten. Once he reached zero, Izuku whispered, “Ignition.”

The burst from the engines made the spacecraft rumble, sending them tumbling off in another direction. Izuku glanced at the helium regulator to make sure it was on, then confirmed that the thrust was at ten percent.

“It’s dragging,” Katsuki said, wrenching the controls around and gritting his teeth. “I can’t get it stable.”

“Ten seconds,” Todoroki said.

Izuku looked out of the window, checking their position. Panic rose up in his chest as the spacecraft hurtled forward, not in the correct alignment. “Come to the right. Just a little bit.”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“It’s drifting!” Katsuki blurted out. “We’re losing altitude.” 

“Kacchan, go back! Back!” 

“I’m losing it!” 

“You’re not losing it! Get a grip on it and bring it up a little.”

“You’re doing well,” Todoroki said quickly, creating a ball of ice in his hand when he noticed that Katsuki had started to sweat from the stress. He held the block of ice close to Katsuki, enough to cool him down but not enough to jolt him out of his concentration. “Forward, Bakugou.”

The Earth dipped out of view. Katsuki tugged at the controls. “Shit, shit! I lost it!” 

Izuku ran to the window, scanning the surroundings until he saw the Earth again. “Bring it down, Kacchan. Yeah, just like that.”

“Thirty seconds,” Todoroki reminded them.

“It’s coming in,” Katsuki said. “Just a bit more— yeah, I got it.” 

“Hold it steady,” Izuku said, practically bouncing up and down in his worry. “Hold it. We’re almost there.”

“And that’s thirty-nine,” Todoroki confirmed. Immediately, Katsuki shut the engine down, locking them in the right trajectory, then collapsed backwards, staring at the roof of the spacecraft. Izuku released the breath he was holding, his heart hammering in his chest with so much aggression that it almost hurt.

“We have shutdown,” Katsuki said, his voice weak. For once, he didn’t seem to be concerned with acting tough, too exhausted to put up the act. 

He could hear Shinsou exhale over the comms. “Great work.”

 -

Ashido climbed out of the simulator, wiping her sweaty hair away from her forehead. She was one of the reserve astronauts for this mission, but since the original crew were all able to go ahead, she had been working in the simulator for the past few hours, trying to come up with potential sequences for re-entry. 

She looked over at Tokoyami, who held the position of CONTROL. It was Guidance Control’s counterpart for the lunar module, so he was in charge of the hardware portions of the lunar module guidance systems. For now, he was helping her in the simulators.

“I think this one works,” she said. “I mean, it looks pretty good. I’m not dead, so...” She cracked a guilty smile. “Bad joke?” 

Tokoyami’s expression was always grave. This was probably the first time it was appropriate for the situation. “We’re over budget on the amperage.”

“By how much?” 

“Four amps.” 

She paused to consider it. “Four amps. We can find four amps somewhere.”

Tokoyami looked like he was deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed. Knowing him, he was probably running through all the equipment the lunar module had left in his mind, trying to work out what they could do with what they had.

Iida, who had been standing silently with a thin sheen of sweat shimmering on his skin and his glasses hanging askew, let out a gasp. Ashido couldn't remember ever seeing him so unraveled. His role had essentially been rendered useless, considering that Aizawa told them to disregard all the existing procedures. He had been helping Ashido with the simulators, but now it looked like he had a realization.

“I’ve got it! I was thinking about all the poor equipment we misused in this mission—”

“This isn’t the time for that!” 

“That’s not the point! I realized that they still have power left in the lunar module batteries.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Will you let me talk?” he said, frustrated. “Tokoyami-kun, they have a cord that provides power from the command module to the lunar module, right?” 

Tokoyami nodded. “They do indeed.”

“What if they reverse the flow? That way, they could draw power from the lunar module—you only need four more amps, right? Of course, they’ll lose some power, but they should be able to get four amps out.”

Ashido let out a gasp, too, jumping in the air with excitement and pumping her fist. “You’re amazing, Iida! We’ll have enough power! I’ll try it out right away.”

She climbed back into the simulator, checking the notes she made to remind herself of the exact steps of this procedure. There was no margin for error. It had to be identical to the procedure the crew would follow. This time, she accounted for Iida’s suggestion, reversing the flow to send power from the lunar module to the command module. 

“How does it look so far?” she asked. 

“You’re under the limit,” Tokoyami responded from the control panel outside. “Keep going.”

“I’m bringing up the guidance now... alright. Computer’s on.”

“Your computer’s on?”

“Yes. Am I under the limit?” 

For once, Tokoyami's voice was tinted with elation. “It works. We’ve got it.”

Immediately, Ashido climbed out of the simulator with her notes. Without waiting to discuss it further, she released a stream of acid on the ground, sliding along to get to the Mission Control room as fast as possible. She flew through the doors, out of breath, and stumbled up to Aizawa.

“Sensei, we came up with a re-entry procedure that works,” she said, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice. She held up the booklet. “Here’s the steps.”

“Good job,” Aizawa said with a nod. It was rare that he praised them, but he was obviously relieved to have a procedure on hand. “Shinsou, if you mind control them remotely, will it make it less likely that they'll make a mistake?” 

“Not really,” Shinsou said after a moment’s thought. “If I tell them to do something, they’ll do what they believe it to be. Anyway, you want them alert, don’t you? They know their stuff—they won’t make a mistake. Just tell me the procedure and I’ll read it out to them.”

“Can I tell them?” Ashido asked. “I’ll make sure the steps are correct as I go.”

Shinsou shrugged, leaning back in his seat and crackling his knuckles. “If you want. Come over here.”

 -

Shouto rubbed his eyes. It was hard to make out the readings on the instrumentation, his mind still addled with exhaustion and the residual effects of inhaling too much carbon dioxide for too long.

At least they had a re-entry plan now.

For a while, he had begun to suspect that Mission Control had made a series of mistakes that made it impossible to come up with an effective re-entry procedure; if they had, they probably wouldn't have told the crew. Easier to let them die without fearing their deaths beforehand. It came as a massive relief when Ashido took over Shinsou’s comms to tell them that she figured out a procedure.

When he got back, Shouto owed everyone in Mission Control a drink. Each of them had contributed to this mission, saving his, Midoriya’s, and Bakugou’s lives over and over. Maybe he could throw a party. Better yet, he could convince Midoriya and Bakugou to host it at their house so Shouto wouldn’t have to deal with the clean-up. Maybe he would finally ask Yaoyorozu on a date; take her to a fancy tea place where they could taste tea together. That would probably make her happy, make her eyes sparkle like they did whenever they went out together as friends.

He could introduce his siblings to his colleagues. Fuyumi must have been in a state of panic for the past few days, considering that national television was broadcasting live updates of the mission. He felt a pang of guilt at putting her through this. Natsuo, too. When he saw them again, he would muster up the courage to hug them. Growing up in an unaffectionate household, he wasn’t used to hugging his siblings, but for them, he would make the effort.

That was all for later. For now, he had to focus on re-entry.

“Find the main bus breakers on panel 11,” Ashido said.

Shouto looked over at the panel. “Yeah. Got it.”

“Close main bus B.”

He squinted, reaching out to flip the switch to close main bus B. “There’s a lot of condensation on these panels because we kept heating and cooling down the place. They might short out.”

Nervousness spilled into Ashido’s voice. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. You guys are dealing with enough. The universe has got to feel bad for you by now.”

“You’d think,” Bakugou said, dripping with sarcasm. He was sitting against the wall, head tipped to the side to fall onto his shoulder. His eyes were even more bloodshot, lips pale blue. He would have to go to the hospital the moment they got off the spacecraft. Midoriya had torn himself away from Bakugou to fulfill his duties regarding the re-entry procedure, but his worried gaze kept slipping back to him.

“Can you ask Midoriya and Bakugou to transfer some ballast over to the command module? When you jettison the lunar module, you’ll need to keep the command module balanced.”

“I’ll do it,” Midoriya said instantly, glancing over at Bakugou. “Don’t even try, Kacchan. Ballast is nothing for One For All.”

Bakugou was too feeble to protest. Shouto was concerned that he would pass out any moment now.

“I’ll keep this simple. Panel seven, B magazine number two, power to warm up.”

Shouto flipped the switch. “Done.”

“Sequential logic one and two on.”

“On.”

“CM RCS pressure on.”

“On.”

After a few more steps, Ashido gave a satisfied hum. “Let’s see if the computer will accept uplink of the re-entry data now.”

Shouto breathed out a sigh of relief when the instrumentation displayed that the uplink was completed. The computer was up and running again. “Uplink completed. You all did a great job with this procedure.”

"Of course we did! We’ve got to get you guys back. You owe me a lot of beers, by the way.”

He smiled. “Promise.”

“Now— ” her voice tapered out slightly, as if she was looking away. “Huh? Typhoon warning? In the recovery zone? You’ve got to be kidding me. What kind of terrible luck is this? I swear, Bakugou’s accumulated a crazy amount of bad karma.” 

Bakugou raised his voice, but it was still weaker than his usual talking voice. "Shut up, Raccoon Eyes.”

“Don’t talk like that to the person who’s saving your life,” Shouto said wearily.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” The words were sharp, but there was no energy behind them. Bakugou was getting more lethargic by the minute, his breaths coming in a slow, uneven rhythm, accompanied by the slight rattle of his blocked nose.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya said, coming back into the lunar module at just the right moment. “Don’t work yourself up. Just take it easy.”

“You’re making it sound like we’re on vacation!” 

“I’ll take you on a vacation when we get back, okay?” he said softly, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the module as he gazed down at Bakugou. “Somewhere nice. Just you and me.”

“Deku.” He tilted his head back against the wall, staring at Deku through half-open eyes, like it was a struggle to open them at all. “Thank you for everything.”

“Kacchan, don’t you dare say goodbye.”

His eyes slid shut, then flickered open again. “What if re-entry goes wrong?” 

“It won’t. Look at me.” Midoriya clasped Bakugou’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. It was so intimate that Shouto felt the urge to look away. “Just think of home, okay? Think of the All Might movie marathon we’ll have. We’ll get blankets, hot chocolate, snacks... it’s going to be a lot of fun.” 

“Okay,” he mumbled. “I think I’m going to lose some fingers.”

“You’re not! You’re going to return with all fingers intact, and you’re going to yell at me when I mess up breakfast because I was trying to surprise you.”

“Not going to yell at you. Just want to take care of you, Deku.” 

Meanwhile, Shouto could hear stunned silence over the comms as the entirety of Mission Control stopped in the middle of their very important tasks to process this.

Bakugou released a slow breath. “I was thinking about kids.”

“Kacchan...”

“Wish we could have adopted some.”

“We can,” Midoriya said at once, tearing up. He sniffed, trying to hold back his tears. “We’ll have time.” 

“You’d probably want some quirkless orphans, right? Make sure no one hurt them... not like I hurt you.” He was blinking a little too much, too, his eyes damp. “I would have liked seeing you as a dad.”

“You’ll see it. You’ll be a great dad.” Midoriya sniffed again, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “We’re not gonna die. We’ll make it back and adopt a truckload of kids and teach them all to be mission commanders.”

“You think they’ll be as mean to me as I was to my mom?” 

He gave a watery laugh. “To be fair, your mom wasn’t very nice to you. Just think of her as a grandmother. She’ll love those kids to death. So will you.” He brushed Bakugou’s hair away from his face, kissing his forehead. “I love you.”

“Izuku... I love you, too.” He reached up to grip Izuku’s wrist, looking straight in his eyes with an almost hopeless desperation. “Don’t die.”

A speechless Ashido finally managed to reply. “What the fuck.” 

Shouto winced at the onslaught of sound in his comms. 

“You fuckers are married? Do you have any idea how many seminars we’ve had to attend about convincing you guys to get along? How many missions accounted for your arguments? And you had the nerve to let us believe that you hated each other for years?” 

“In our defense, it was very funny,” Midoriya said, now wearing a guilty smile.

Bakugou looked a little cheerier, too. Ashido’s outburst had cleared the tension. “Why would we tell you extras?” 

“Unbelievable! Just unbelievable. I’ve been asking for gossip for years and no one bothered to tell me! Well, when you get back, you’d better have another wedding and invite all of us.”

“Alright,” Midoriya promised. “We will.”

“I let you have your moment, but let’s get back to the procedure. Go ahead with the service module jettison.”

Shouto looked at the others. “Ready?” 

They both nodded. 

When the service module was jettisoned, they all went to the windows to see the extent of the damage it had suffered. Shouto had known that the module was badly damaged, but how precarious the situation had been didn’t really sink in until he was staring at the evidence.

“One whole side of the spacecraft is missing,” Midoriya said, relaying the information to Mission Control. “Right by the high gain antenna, the whole panel is blown out. Right up to the heat shield.” 

“It even got the engine bell,” Bakugou pointed out, though he didn’t have the energy to lift a hand to gesture at it. “What a piece of crap.” 

Next, they had to get out of the lunar module so they could jettison it, too. Shouto took one last look around the craft that had been a refuge for them for the last few days. An odd sense of nostalgia washed over him, even though he wouldn’t miss it. Maybe it was the idea of being in space that he would miss. However, after having death looming over them for the entirety of this catastrophic mission, Shouto was ready to go home. He wouldn’t look back.

Once they returned to the command module, they closed the hatch and strapped themselves to their seats. It was freezing in here, too, but Shouto didn’t want to heat it up and cause any more condensation that could interfere with the controls. They could take the cold for a little longer. Soon, this would all be over. Once he jettisoned the lunar module, Shouto stared out of the window to watch it drift away into space.

“It was a good ship,” Midoriya said, watching it as well.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Don’t cry over a damn lunar module, nerd.”

“You weren’t so perky a minute ago!” 

“That was before Raccoon Eyes had a very entertaining meltdown.”

“A justified one!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

 -

Yamada tugged at Aizawa’s sleeve. “When will we know if they‘re back safely?” 

“The loss of signal will last for three minutes,” Aizawa told him, too tired to tell him to tone down his clinginess. “If they’re not back in four, they’re gone.”

“They’re a bit shallow on re-entry,” Asui said, glancing up from her monitor. “At this point, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Then don’t tell them,” Aizawa said shortly. Shinsou nodded in acknowledgement.

With that, there was a loss of radio contact. Everyone looked at their clocks to count down three minutes, anticipating whether it was a successful re-entry or not. It all depended on the heat shield.

Kaminari wondered what the guys in the spacecraft were saying to each other now. Final goodbyes? Teasing each other one last time? Dignified nods or clasped hands? With every cell in his body, he hoped they would make it back to be able to answer the question. He didn’t want to think about the other possibility. They had to make it back.

On the large screen covering one wall of Mission Control, he could see the recovery and rescue helicopters circling around the area, where the typhoon thankfully hadn’t hit, waiting for radar contact. There was one minute and thirty seconds left until the end of the blackout. 

“That’s three minutes,” Iida said, his voice hollow. 

Shinsou leaned forward to speak into the comms. “Sirius, do you read me? I repeat, Sirius, do you read?” 

Everyone held their breath. The initial explosion had damaged the heat shield, so they were about to learn whether or not it withstood the heat of re-entry. 

“Sirius, do you read?” Shinsou repeated. “Midoriya.” 

“That’s three minutes, thirty seconds.”

Shinsou continued speaking to them, asking for a response, but Kaminari’s heart had already plummeted to his stomach. They couldn't be dead. Just a few days ago, they had all been laughing at a party, playing charades and drinking until Kaminari couldn’t stand anymore, falling asleep on Midoriya and Bakugou’s sofa. When he woke up, Bakugou already had breakfast ready for him, as well as a hangover cure. He got a lecture with it, of course, but it was half-hearted. 

“Four minutes,” Iida said.

Another torturous silence.

Then, a crackle of static.

Midoriya’s voice was filled with joy. “We read you. It’s good to see you again.”

The room erupted into uproar, everyone yelling and hugging each other, too happy to hold it back. Uraraka came running up and threw her arms around Kaminari, hugging him tightly, and Kirishima joined the group hug, yelling something about how manly and passionate everyone was.

When Kirishima and Uraraka ran off to ambush Iida with a hug, Kaminari grabbed Shinsou, who was sitting right next to him, and flung his arms around him, jumping up and down in his exhilaration. Before pulling away, he pressed a hard kiss to Shinsou’s cheek, who instantly went bright pink. A crowd was forming around Aizawa, everyone cheering, “Sensei, sensei!”, and even his face was lit up in a reluctant smile, his hand clasped in Yamada’s, displaying the gold ring on his finger.

“Great job, everyone,” Aizawa said with a proud nod.

“Iida!” Kaminari yelled, catching sight of a thrilled Iida. “Come here, you bureaucratic bastard! We did it!” 

Iida grabbed his hand and shook it, waving it up and down like a rollercoaster ride. “We did it!” 

Yaoyorozu was crying, babbling out something Kaminari couldn’t make out, while Kirishima squeezed her shoulder, crying along with her. It would have been a hilarious scene if Kaminari didn’t have such a strong urge to cry as well.

They made it.

 -

As they lay in the stretchers, about to be carted off to the hospital, Katsuki tilted his head to the side to look at Deku and Todoroki.

“You guys weren’t bad,” he said, mustering up a grin.

Todoroki tried to prop himself up with his elbows, just high enough to make it clear that he was shooting Bakugou an amused look. “That won’t work on me. You got too mushy up there to hide anything ever again.”

“Shut up, Half-and-Half bastard!” 

Deku laughed, holding a hand up to his head. “I can’t believe we survived and you guys are still bickering.” 

“Don’t make me argue with you, too, Deku!” He cleared his throat. “But, um, thanks. Todoroki. For bringing us in safely.”

“It was all of us,” Todoroki assured him. 

“Whatever insane party we throw to celebrate this,” Katsuki said, looking back at Deku. “If you make me tidy up after it, I’ll kill you.”

Deku let out another laugh, spilling over with enthusiasm. “We’ll sell the house.”

“Damn right we will.”

The hint of a smile still on his face, Katsuki gazed at the expanse of sky around him that he feared he would never see again. The shine of messy green curls against bright blue — After days of the dark vacuum of space, it looked like paradise.