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Near-death experiences aren't uncommon in their line of work. Heroes are the ones who risk their lives almost daily.
What makes them worse—what makes them unbearable—is living through those terrifying moments while the person you love most is suffering right beside you. And there's nothing you can do to help.
Shoto and Katsuki were both called in today. As top heroes, they are two of the first to be called to the scene.
A group of villains has issued a public threat, one aimed at the city center mall. They claim they've rigged the building with explosives. Hostages have been forced into the industrial freezer units in the basement. The temperatures inside is already dangerously low.
Time is slipping away. Every second is a gamble.
No one knows when—or even if—the building will collapse.
The villains are nowhere to be seen. It’s likely they’ve set up a timed detonation and fled. It’s clean, cruel, and designed to cause maximum damage with minimal risk to themselves.
Shoto is working to stabilize the structure from above, layers of reinforced ice and steel bracing groaning walls. Downstairs, firefighters work in coordination to open the heavy freezer doors.
From inside, they hear crying. Weak and muffled. But thankfully alive.
Katsuki stays with the firefighters, ready to clear people out the second the doors give way. Then, with a deep groan and sharp metallic snap, they finally open.
And just as a breath of relief begins to form—
Static crackles through the mall’s long-silent speaker system.
“Ten.”
The sound slices through the air. Everyone freezes.
Shoto's gaze jerks to Katsuki’s. Their eyes lock.
No.
Katsuki’s voice rips through the paralysis. “EVERYONE GET OUT!! MOVE!!”
Shoto’s already on comms. “Do not come inside!” He shouts. “Evac at the main entrance. We’ll meet you there!”
“Nine.”
The firefighters spring into action, grabbing the children first. A few civilians, though weak from the cold, lift those who can’t walk. Everyone moves.
“Eight.”
There’s no time for strategy. No time to panic. They’re underground—no windows, no shortcuts. The only escape is the stairwell.
Nearly twenty people surge forward, scrambling up the narrow stairs. Every motion feels slow, like running through water. Every footstep echoes like a ticking clock.
“Seven.”
Shoto and Katsuki stay behind, pushing the last of the hostages forward. They won’t leave until everyone’s safe.
“Six.”
They hit the ground floor. The group stumbles forward. Some are crying. Some are silent. All are terrified.
The main doors are visible now. Beyond them—sunlight, sirens, movement. Police, heroes, paramedics—and loved ones.
Shouts ring out: “Keep going!” “Almost there!” “Don’t stop!”
“Five.”
Hands reach forward, pulling people to safety.
Katsuki’s shouting again, urging people to run faster. “GO! Don’t stop, dammit!”
“Four.”
It happens.
A sharp pain tears through Shoto’s shoulder. He stumbles, legs giving out beneath him. Someone fired a shot. His vision spins.
A woman ahead of him sees him fall and grabs the child he was carrying without hesitation. She doesn’t stop running.
Shoto’s dizzy with pain—but deeply grateful for her quick thinking.
“Three.”
His vision spins, his fingers slick with blood. He tries to move. He has to move. His chest heaves. He has to get up. Can’t black out. Can’t—
“Shoto!”
Katsuki’s voice cuts through the haze.
“Two.”
“NO—KATSUKI, GO! RUN!”
But Katsuki is already sprinting back.
He throws himself over Shoto, shielding his body with his own. There’s no time to argue. No time to move.
The last of the civilians break through the entrance.
Thank god.
“One.”
And then the world goes silent.
Then it explodes.
Everything burns.
The air turns to fire and steel. A deafening roar echoes across the city as the mall is torn apart.
Screams rise from outside. Dust clouds the sky. Debris hurtles through the air.
Instinct takes over. Shoto slams his right palm to the ground and creates a dome of thick ice, just before the ceiling collapses. His hand remains pressed to its inner wall, pouring strength into it, willing it to hold.
Tons of concrete and twisted metal rain down above them. It’s deafening. Katsuki holds him close, arms wrapped around Shoto’s head and shoulders, shielding him even now as rubble piles over them.
Minutes pass. The noise dulls to groaning beams and shifting weight.
The dome creaks. The cold bites. Then it's dark.
Deafeningly quiet, except for the groan of twisted metal above and the pounding of Katsuki’s heart against Shoto’s cheek. The breathe in unison, listening for any dangerous shifts above, eyes searching without seeing.
Only then, slowly, Katsuki lowers his head down, cushioning it with his hand so Shoto doesn’t rest on the rocks below. Blood seeps down his husband's forehead. Shoto feels it land on his own face, warm and sticky on his skin.
“Shou,” Katsuki breathes, “you okay?”
He forces himself to breathe. “I think so. Head’s swimming. Back hurts like hell. Bullet missed anything vital, I think.” He exhales sharply. “Did you see who—”
“I saw him. Bastard ran right after. Hope someone nails his ass.”
Shoto’s lips twitch in a faint smile. “Can you check the dome?”
Katsuki reaches out, fingers brushing the icy walls.
“Only a few centimeters above me. No sitting up. If we lie on our sides, maybe… Yeah. Ends where our feet are. It’s... basically a couple-sized coffin.”
They check their gear. No signal. No comms. No phones. One’s smashed, the other probably lost in the blast.
No light.
Katsuki can’t treat Shoto’s wound in the dark, and the cold has already numbed their hands by now.
Lying on their sides isn’t an option—not with Shoto’s ruined shoulder. Not when he needs to keep his good hand ready to press on the dome to stop it from cracking under the pressure.
Still, they manage to switch positions, Katsuki lying below him now. Shoto wraps his good arm around him, trying to share what little warmth he has left.
They hear distant voices.
Someone saw where they were buried. There’s hope.
They speak in soft whispers. Reassurances. Small things. Shoto’s face is buried in Katsuki’s neck. Katsuki’s arms never loosen around him.
“How long have we been down here?” Shoto murmurs after a while, lips brushing his husband's skin.
Katsuki shivers at the warm breath. “Maybe an hour. I read once that a coffin runs out of oxygen after about five. We’ve got time.”
Shoto lets out a short, painful laugh. “Why the hell do you know that?”
“I don’t know,” his husband whispers, brushing his fingers along Shoto’s spine. “Morbid curiosity?”
Almost three hours now. Maybe more.
Staying awake is harder now. Blood loss. Cold. Shock.
Shoto’s head lolls forward at times. Katsuki taps his cheek to wake him.
“Hey. Stay with me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.”
It’s getting harder and harder. Katsuki might have a bad concussion. Shoto’s lost too much blood. The bullet missed anything vital, but the damage is real.
The voices are closer now. Closer—but still too far.
“Hey, Kats...” Shoto whispers.
Katsuki turns his head slightly. They’re nose to nose, breath fogging the tiny space between them.
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
Katsuki exhales, long and shaky. “Me too.”
Shoto brushes his cold fingers against his love’s cheek, and Katsuki leans into the touch instantly.
Another hour passes.
They’re still pressed together, still whispering “I love you” every few minutes. Just to hear it. Just to make sure.
They share some kisses, soft and without passionate intent. It's more desperation.
Everything hurts—body, lungs, bones. Then, they begin coughing.
They're getting warmer. That dangerous, unnatural kind of warmth. The one that tells you it's almost over.
Not a good sign.
They’ve stopped hearing the world.
Until—light.
A soft glow filters through the ice above. They didn’t notice the shouting this time. Didn’t realize rescue had arrived. Too wrapped up in each other. Too focused on staying awake.
They smile into each other’s faces. Tears track silently down frozen cheeks.
Katsuki shifts against him. “They’re here.”
Shoto smiles into him, but it fades quickly. He lifts his hand to melt a hole—nothing. His shoulder won’t move.
“I can’t,” he gasps. “It hurts—”
Katsuki takes his hand gently, lifting both their arms together. Shoto groans in pain.
“I’m sorry, baby,” his love whispers, his voice breaking a little. “I’m so sorry.” Katsuki murmurs, kissing his temple. “Just a little more.”
Shoto knows Katsuki would give anything to be able to use his own quirk instead right now.
Then—movement above them. More debris is cleared away.
Shoto focuses, melts a hole through the dome.
And air rushes in. Finally!
They both gasp, gulping it down greedily. Foreheads pressing together, more tears streaming.
Voices shout from above. Someone yells for paramedics.
It’s okay now.
They’re okay.
When the rescue team finally breaks through the rest of the ice, they find two heroes clinging to each other in the wreckage.
Medics swarm them the moment they're cleared from the dome. Blankets. Oxygen masks. Barked commands and frantic assessments.
Shoto can’t stop shaking. The heat packs don’t help much. Neither does the oxygen. His body’s numb, but his brain is racing. Too many thoughts.
Katsuki won’t let go of him. Even as they try to load him onto a different stretcher, his grip stays locked around Shoto’s wrist like a lifeline.
“I'm fine!” he snarls, voice hoarse and cracking. “I’m not leavin’ him—back off!”
A medic tries to reason with him—protocol, safety, head trauma—but it’s useless. Shoto reaches for him anyway, catching his fingers.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, trying to smile through the trembling. “We’re okay.”
Katsuki softens at that, just barely. “Like hell you are.”
Still, he climbs onto the stretcher with him, wedging himself in beside Shoto like a second blanket, one arm draped protectively across his chest as they roll toward the ambulances.