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Karasuma Tadaomi has always been afraid of water, a very rational fear that has stemmed from watching tsunami movies when he was younger. He is terrified of water. Obviously the man can bathe and drink water he isn’t disgusting but he will avoid going in large open bodies of water.
He doesn't go to beaches, avoids lakes, and if he ever has to step near a riverbank, he stays exactly four feet from the edge. It’s irrational, he knows that. But fear rarely cares about logic.
…So when Nagisa mentions offhandedly that Karma has been hanging around the river lately, alone, Karasuma brushes it off with a grunt—but it settles in his gut like lead. Something doesn’t feel right. Something feels off, the red head always avoids swimming when the class go to their pool he always avoids doing anything related to water, maybe somewhere Karasuma had though deep down that Karma was the same as him. Scared, afraid, terrified. But he must have been wrong.
Karasuma was happy to just leave karma to it going to the river alone… but something felt wrong. Something feels horribly wrong.
And now he’s here.
Standing frozen.
Because Karma is in the river, the raging rapid river, deeper than he should be, his head barely above water. Not swimming. Not moving.
Just sinking.
“Karma!” He screams.
No answer. Just the gentle current pulling the boy farther away. His bright red hair is slicked down, clinging to his face, and his eyes - Karasuma’s breath catches.
Karma’s eyes are open, but he’s not looking. Not at the shore. Not at him. Just…through everything. Like he’s already gone. Like he has already given up.
The water’s pulling him under now.
Karasuma’s legs lock. His chest tightens. Every instinct screams at him to stay on land. Don’t go in. Don't go near it. You’ll drown too. Fear a sharp fearful voice reminding him of what happens to those who enter water, of what will happen to him when he goes in to save him.
But another voice—small, but sharper—cuts through the static, “If you don’t move now, he dies. Karma will die.”
Karasuma’s boots splash against the water. Cold. Icy. His body wants to recoil, panic rising to his throat like bile. But he pushes forward, teeth clenched, arms cutting through the current as he fights toward the sinking figure of the boy who once laughed in the face of danger.
The water is at his chest now. It’s dragging him down, clawing at his clothes. His lungs are burning and he hasn’t even gone under yet. He isn’t used to swimming for obvious reasons but he is still pumped full of adrenaline and is strong enough to push through most of the currents.
Karma disappears right before his eyes. Dipping straight under the thrashing waves.
"No—dammit—Karma!" Karasuma screams and dives underneath without thinking.
Everything is soundless. Blurred.
His arms flail until he grabs something—an arm or a sleeve, cold and limp. He yanks hard and surfaces, gasping, dragging Karma up with him.
The boy is unconscious.
His weight is dead.
He is dead
Karasuma doesn’t think. He swims. He fights. He kicks and thrashes and curses the river and himself and every single stupid tsunami movie that ever made him fear this.
By the time he gets Karma to the shore, he’s shaking violently. He collapses to his knees and hauls the boy up onto the grass, heart in his throat.
"Karma. Karma, breathe."
No response.
He starts CPR. Chest compressions. Mouth-to-mouth. His hands won’t stop shaking. He can't lose him, not like this, not to this. He beats harder and harder, harder and harder. Ribs crack. He keeps going.
Then…
A choking sound. A cough. Then a violent retch as Karma spits up river water and gasps for air, eyes fluttering open in confusion and pain.
Karasuma exhales, a sound caught between relief and a sob.
“You stupid, stupid kid,” he mutters, voice raw. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
Karma coughs again, barely able to speak, his eyes open up wide and he seems frantic. But his lips twitch in something like a smile.
“Didn’t know… you could swim.”
Karasuma doesn’t answer. He just wraps both his arms around Karma’s shaking frame, holding him close, grounding them both.
The fear is still there. The river is still cold. But the boy is breathing.
And that’s all that matters.
…
Karasuma’s apartment is silent, save for the ticking of a wall clock and the low hum of a kettle on the stove. Both are consciously ignoring the heavy scared breathing from the older of the two.
Karma sits on the edge of the couch, wrapped in a dry towel that Karasuma had placed before him gently without a word. His hair is still damp, dripping water into the puddle below him. His eyes are dull and sad.
Karasuma doesn’t speak right away. He moves around the kitchen like a soldier on auto-pilot, set the cups, pour the tea, and ignore the weight in your chest. Just keep moving. It's easier that way.
He places a cup on the table in front of Karma, then sits in the armchair opposite, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Minutes pass.
Then-
“Do you want to tell me what the hell that was?”
Karma doesn’t look up.
Karasuma’s voice is level, but sharp. “Were you trying to kill yourself?”
There’s a pause so long it starts to ache.
Karma lifts his cup, stares into it like it might give him the answer. “…No.”
Karasuma narrows his eyes. “That’s not convincing.”
“I didn’t go in there thinking I was going to die,” Karma says, finally looking up. His voice is flat. “I just… didn’t care if I did.”
Karasuma closes his eyes, exhales slowly through his nose. The silence that follows is heavier than the water that tried to drown them both.
“You scared the hell out of me, Karma.”
A dry, humorless laugh slips out of Karma’s throat. “Didn’t think anything scared you.”
“I’m terrified of water,” Karasuma says, blunt. “And I jumped into a river for you.”
Karma goes quiet.
Then, softly, “Why?”
Karasuma doesn’t answer right away. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“Because you're still a kid,” he says, voice low. “Because you're supposed to live past fourteen. Because I’m not training you to survive assassins just to watch you give up on yourself.”
Karma looks away.
Karasuma stands up. Paces once. Then stops, turns to face him.
“You could’ve called someone,” he says. “Nagisa. Kanzaki. Hell, even me.”
Karma’s eyes flicker. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.”
“You think them burying you would’ve been less of a bother?”
The words hit hard. Karma flinches like it was a slap. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Karasuma sighs, softer this time. “I know you think no one cares. But that’s not true. I’m standing here, aren’t I?”
Karma’s throat works like he’s trying to swallow something sharp.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he says, and for the first time, his voice cracks. “After Korosensei died… after everything ended… I thought I could just go back to normal. But I feel like I’m stuck underwater. Like I’ve been holding my breath for months, and no one notices.”
Karasuma walks over, kneels beside the couch.
“You don’t have to hold your breath anymore,” he says. “You’re not alone, Karma. You never were.”
There’s a long pause. Karma’s eyes are red. Not from crying—he hasn’t gotten there yet—but close.
“Thanks,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “For coming after me.”
Karasuma doesn’t say you’re welcome. Doesn’t say it’s my job.
He just says, “Next time, ask for help before you go under.”
Karma nods.
The kettle whistles in the background, but neither of them moves.