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Shouto stands at the edge of the riverbank, watching the water lap at the shore. The chatter of the crowd in the park behind him blends with the cacophony of cicadas singing their summer refrain. It's the last day of obon and the park is filled with festival-goers in brightly colored yukata eagerly awaiting nightfall, when hundreds of floating lanterns will be released into the river to guide the spirits of their loved ones back to the other world until they return again next year.
He didn’t attend any festivals as a child and the first time he experienced obon with his classmates in high school, he was struck with the contrast between the festive atmosphere and the solemnity of remembrance. Over the years, he’s come to understand it a bit more—the way these traditions are meant to keep the memories of the dead from fading, and how joy and grief are so closely intertwined for those who remain.
The wind whistles through the pine trees, ruffling his hair and bringing with it the tantalizing scent of takoyaki and other fried food. It’s mid-August, the height of summer, but the air here is cool, thanks to the strategically placed ice structures he created for the event. He’ll need to check on them later to make sure they’re holding up but for now, he has fulfilled his hero duties and is free to wait here, away from the crowds. It’s been six years since the end of the war and people have started to accept him as his own person, separate from his family’s legacy, so he no longer feels the need to hide, but he’s glad for this secluded area where he won’t have to explain what happens next.
He doesn’t have to wait long before there’s a subtle shift in the air and a familiar presence appears beside him. He counts to five before he turns; a small part of him is always afraid that he’s imagining things and that reality will eventually catch up with him but today the illusion, if that’s what it is, remains intact.
Where a minute ago there was only a family of ducks, Touya now stands, wearing a white yukata and a look of practiced indifference. It’s strange seeing him out here in the daylight, dressed in traditional attire instead of his usual dark blue coat. If he were still alive, being out in such a public place would be impossible. But in death, it seems that Touya is free to wander as he pleases, invisible to everyone except Shouto. Still, it’s unusual for him to appear outside of Shouto’s apartment and somehow this makes his presence feel even more real.
When Touya appeared during the first obon season after his death, Shouto thought his brain was playing tricks on him. He’d been exhausted from working overtime but agreed to help light the mukaebi fires at the start of the festival that would welcome the spirits home to their families for obon. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that the legend was meant to be taken literally, but when he stumbled back to his tiny apartment around midnight and found Touya waiting for him, he didn’t question it. The next morning, he assumed it had been a dream, brought on by a combination of sleep deprivation and unprocessed grief, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Touya returned the following day, and the next, popping into existence at seemingly random times for the next few days until the obon holiday ended.
Four years later, it’s become a familiar routine. On the first morning of obon, Shouto lights a stick of incense and sets out bowls filled with rice, soba, and wagashi in front of the small altar with Touya’s memorial tablet. When he returns after his shift, his brother is there, lounging on his lopsided couch, ready to mock him for the cat-shaped candies, the sorry state of his houseplants, or the fact that he once bought a zucchini instead of a cucumber for the shōryō uma offering.
“Welcome back, Touya-nii,” Shouto says.
Touya rolls his eyes. “It’s only been a few hours. You didn’t really expect me to stick around while you were having a meet and greet with your bratty little fans, did you?”
Shouto can’t help but smile. He’s not sure why, but kids in particular seem to like him. When he stopped to chat with Yaoyorozu, who was handing out lanterns for people to decorate, a little girl came over and gave him a drawing of a red and blue kakigori with the words, ‘Thank you, Aircon Hero’. He shows it to Touya, who lets out a snort of laughter.
“Is that what you’re going by now? ‘AirCon Hero’?”
“Maybe. People started calling me that during the heat wave last summer and I guess it caught on.”
Touya glances down at the page again. His eyes trace the childish handwriting and his gaze lingers on the drawing. The ducks waddle past him toward the water, oblivious to his presence.
“Why the hell does this kakigori have a face?”
“I think it’s supposed to be me,” Shouto says.
When he first started receiving fanart from his young fans, he’d been confused by some of their rather creative portrayals, but he’s used to it by now. One of his recent favorites, which is hanging on his fridge at home, is of him as a red and white cat wearing a strawberry-shaped hat.
“I can see the resemblance,” Touya says dryly.
He reaches out a hand as though to ruffle Shouto’s hair, but stops before he makes contact and lowers his hand to adjust his obi instead. His yukata is wrapped right over left—a detail Shouto overlooked earlier, and it’s a sudden reminder of their reality. Touya’s spirit, or whatever this iteration of him is, can interact with his surroundings to a certain extent. He can, to Shouto’s annoyance, control the lights in his apartment and turn the television on at 3:00 a.m. without the remote, but he can’t actually touch anything. They’d found that out the hard way during Touya’s first visit when Shouto tried to give him a cup of tea, then spent the next half hour trying to remove the stain from his couch.
“Did you visit anyone else?” Shouto asks.
“You never asked them?”
Shouto shakes his head. He sees his mom and Fuyumi at least twice a month, and even exchanges texts with Natsuo fairly regularly now, but he still hasn’t figured out how to bring it up.
“What, are you afraid they’ll think you’re going crazy if you tell them you’re seeing ghosts?” Touya asks, “Or are you scared that I really am just a figment of your imagination?”
Shouto shrugs. “Even if I can’t prove this is real, my therapist said it’s fine if I believe that you’re here. No living person really knows how the afterlife works. And there are a lot of things in this world that can’t be explained by logic.”
Touya rolls his eyes. “Aliens aren’t real, Shouto.”
“How would you know?”
Touya gives an exaggerated sigh of frustration and stomps away to stand by the river. Shouto laughs in spite of himself. He wonders if this is how things could have been all the time if they’d had a normal childhood.
They stand there for a while, watching the sun slip lower toward the water. Time is fleeting and there’s so much more to say. And yet, the silence is something to be savored as well. Being able to just exist in each other’s presence was a luxury they never had before.
Soon though, there’s a rustling behind them and a crunch of boots on gravel. Shouto turns reluctantly, searching his brain for some excuse that might give him a few more moments away from the prying eyes of the public, but he relaxes when Bakugou steps through the gap in the trees.
“Fuckin’ finally. Been looking all over this damn place for you.”
“Why?” Shouto asks, genuinely confused.
Instead of answering, Bakugou shoves a paper lantern into his hands.
“What’s this for?”
“What do you think, genius?”
Bakugou jerks his head in the general direction of where Touya is standing. He can’t see him, of course, but he’s one of the few people who know about Touya’s visits. Something in Shouto’s chest flutters at the thought that Bakugou went through the trouble of bringing this to him. Still, he hesitates to accept it. There’s a reason he’s never done this before—the public may have accepted Shouto as a hero but he doubts the media would look kindly on him for publicly paying his respects to someone they consider a villain.
“Remembering the people we lost is the whole point of this,” Bakugou says. “That includes you too. Fuck what anyone else thinks. He’s still your brother, yeah?”
Shouto nods and glances toward Touya, who is watching them through narrowed eyes. He feels suddenly self-conscious when Bakugou grabs his wrist and leads him back to the water’s edge. A crowd is gathered upstream, where the lanterns will be released. Volunteers in purple happi coats with the temple’s emblem printed on the back light the candles and direct people toward where Asui is standing waist-deep in a slow-moving section of the river. The water there is shallow but she keeps watch as people carrying lanterns for their loved ones approach the riverbank in groups of twos and threes.
Soon, there’s a small flotilla of lanterns drifting slowly downstream. The flickering candles cast a soft glow on the water, illuminating the gentle waves as they make their way toward the sea. Occasionally, Shouto catches a glimpse of writing—a name or a wish for safe travels, as the lights lead the spirits onward.
“Hey,” Bakugou runs a hand up his arm, bringing him back to the present. “You good?”
Shouto glances toward Touya, who is gazing out at the lanterns. The lights cast subtle shadows across his face. He’s still firmly present in the world of the living, though not for much longer. Shouto wishes he could stop time to delay Touya’s departure but he knows that’s not how this works.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says, turning back to Bakugou, “I’ll come find you after.”
Bakugou gives him a searching look, then nods. “Don’t forget and wander off this time, Shouto.”
“I won’t,” Shouto promises.
He knows that he’ll need time to process, to sort through the new memories and store them safely in his heart. Still, it’s comforting to know he doesn’t need to be alone while he finds his footing again. Bakugou gives his hand a reassuring squeeze then goes back through the trees, leaving Shouto alone with Touya again.
“So…” Touya says, sliding into the empty space Bakugou left behind, “When did that happen?”
“What are you talking about?”
“‘Don’t wander off, Shouto’ ,” Touya repeats Bakugou’s words with a smirk, “Last time I was here, you were still ‘Half ‘n’ Half’. Should I expect a save-the-date card next year?”
“It’s my hero name. A lot of people call me Shouto.”
“Do those other people also hold your hand and look at you like they wanna take you home and—”
“Shut up, Touya-nii.”
Touya snickers and Shouto hopes the flush on his face isn’t obvious in the dim light. Truth be told, he’s not sure what this thing is between him and Bakugou. The reassuring touches and quiet moments of comfort crept in slowly over the course of their friendship but Touya isn’t wrong that things have changed since last year. Lately, it feels like they’re on the precipice of something new but with everything else going on, they haven’t talked about what any of it means yet.
“Not that I care about your stupid love life,” Touya says, “but if you have something you want to tell someone, you should just say it. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”
The scars on his jaw pull taut as he frowns and there’s something in his voice that Shouto can’t quite place. He follows Touya’s gaze to the river again and they watch as a lantern decorated with a beautifully drawn chrysanthemum floats past. There was a brief window of time, after the initial treatments, when Touya was well enough for extended visits and Shouto spent every moment he could there, trying to connect with his brother. At first, their conversations were halting and uncertain, and sometimes Shouto just listened while Touya ran through a litany of apologies and regrets.
“You weren’t too late,” Shouto says quietly, “I just…wish we had more time.”
It’s hard to admit this out loud because he knows that even the brief amount of time they had together in the end was nothing short of a miracle. He wants to be grateful for it. He is grateful, and yet…
The wind ruffles his hair and Touya gives a huff of impatience.
“We’ve got time now. You should know that, seeing as you’re the one who brought me home.”
Shouto isn’t sure if Touya is referring to his actions during the war, or the mukaebi fires he lights every year at the start of obon. Perhaps there’s some truth to the legend about firelight guiding the spirits home. He turns the paper lantern over in his hands. There’s a quote about remembrance printed on one side but the other three have ample space to write a message for Touya to read on his journey back.
“You really are prepared for everything, aren’t you?” Touya teases when Shouto extracts a ballpoint pen from one of the supply canisters on his utility belt. “What else have you got in there? Candy for your adoring fans?”
Shouto glares at him. Having something to write with has proven useful in many situations from suspect interrogations to emergency triage. Touya rolls his eyes when he points this out then chuckles at the trail of pawprints that Shouto doodles after he finishes writing.
“Will you read it when you get there?” Shouto asks.
“You’ll have to wait ‘til next year to find out.”
Shouto nods. As much as he wishes Touya didn’t have to leave, he knows it’s unavoidable. He holds onto the promise of ‘next year’ as he lights the candle and gently lowers the lantern into the water. It bobs in front of them for a few seconds before the current carries it into the middle of the river to join the others.
“Do you like cats?” Shouto asks.
“What?”
“I’m thinking of getting one. I just figured I’d mention it so you're not surprised next year.”
“Good, maybe it’ll knock over that terrible coffee mug I keep telling you to throw out.”
“It was a gift.”
“From someone who hates you?”
“No, Midoriya gave it to me when I moved in.”
Touya huffs a laugh and the conversation drifts to other topics. They’ve already talked about a lot of things over the past few days so there’s no pressure to make any grand statements, but for Shouto even the good-natured bickering and seemingly inconsequential comments are worth remembering. There’s a comfortable familiarity tinged with the bittersweet taste of impermanence as they stand side by side, watching the lanterns continue their journey downstream.
Eventually the first group of lanterns reaches the bay and there’s a collective gasp from the nearby crowd as the lights rise from the water and float skyward to drift slowly among the stars. Even though Shouto knows it’s just Uraraka rendering them weightless with her quirk, the effect is mesmerizing, as if the lanterns really are creating a path to the heavens. He tries to guess which one is Touya’s but it’s impossible. At this distance, all the flickering flames are indistinguishable from one another, each a small part of the tableau lighting the night sky.
There’s probably a metaphor there about how everyone is equal in death, part of a greater whole. Whether or not it’s true, it’s a comforting thought and Shouto tries to hold onto it as the minutes slip closer to the moment that he will once again need to say goodbye. They’re both quiet now but a mutual understanding fills the space between them. Despite all the odds being stacked against them, their paths converged and even now, they continue to overlap, if only for these brief moments in time.
Shouto closes his eyes to hold onto the feeling of Touya’s presence for as long as he can. If he concentrates hard enough, he can sense the genuine fondness that Touya likes to bury under sarcastic comments and teasing words. There’s a quiet serenity radiating from him now and Shouto hopes that wherever he goes between these visits, he is truly at peace.
It happens slowly then all at once. There’s a gradual stillness, a subtle ripple in the air beside him, and when he opens his eyes, Touya is gone. The familiar feeling of loss tugs at him and for once, he gives in and lets the tears fall. He’s learned over the years that every season is different. Sometimes the grief is softer around the edges and he is grateful for these extra days they’re able to share. Other times when Touya leaves, he feels the weight of his loss all over again. Tonight is somewhere in between so he allows himself to sit with his feelings before going to find his friends. The steady sound of the water lapping at the shore anchors him and after a while, the ache in his heart is accompanied by a small flicker of warmth as he watches the lights fade in the distance.
“See you next year, Touya-nii.”
There’s no answer, but a soft breeze ruffles Shouto’s hair and he knows that wherever Touya is now, he will find his way home.