Chapter Text
Katsuki Bakugo doesn't believe in fate. Lately, he finds that it's hard to believe in anything. Every day is dreary, another twenty-four hours that he has to get through before he returns to his empty apartment with nothing but a bottle of whiskey to keep him warm.
It's not like he planned to end up like this: a twenty-something-year-old with no friends, a dead-end job, and a lonely, pitiful existence. Things were fine, and then the shit hit the fan all at once and suddenly he found himself without any prospects and no one to talk to except his reflection in his glass, warping and rippling with the trembling of his hands.
He’s got nothing and no one, and those thoughts are his only companionship as he walks to the bridge. No wallet, no keys. He left the apartment unlocked. Old lady Shuzenji can cuss out his soul if she wants, but he won’t be around to care.
Tokyo should be noisy, but he hears nothing but muted mutterings, sees nothing but faint flashing lights and billboards that don’t excite or intrigue him. He keeps his hands in the pockets of his jacket, bunching the material in his clenched fists. When he breathes, the oxygen whistles through his chest; hollow, empty.
The bridge is nearly deserted when he reaches it. A few pedestrians wander by, arm in arm with their lovers or friends, laughing and smiling. God, it makes him sick. He used to have that, but fuck him, right? Nothing matters.
He waits in the middle of the bridge, staring down at the dark, churning waters below. The wind is cool tonight, just strong enough to create waves, waves that greet him and beckon him closer. He glares at them. He’s already accepted their invitation. There’s no need to be pushy.
He glances up as the last few stragglers head home for the night. Good riddance, he thinks. It’s late. He’s shocked there’s anyone stupid enough to be out at this hour.
Aside from himself.
With the coast clear, he kicks off his shoes and wraps his hands around the railing. With a grunt, he pulls himself up and swings his legs over, settling down on the edge and holding tight. His feet swing before him, toeing the water so far below. It’s not as high as others, but it should do as his watery grave, his place of resting.
Finally.
“Please, don’t.”
Bakugo feels a tingle run up the back of his neck and he shudders, turning around with a glare and biting words ready on his lips. He thought he saw the last bystander go home.
His glare disappears, replaced with confusion. There’s no one on the bridge, no one to witness him except the moon and the bugs flitting around the lampposts. He turns back to the water, at its impatient waving, and squares his shoulders. He’s faced everything in his life with a grin and an attitude and he’ll be damned if he spends his last moments feeling scared.
“Please, Bakugo…stop.”
“Who the fuck is here?!” he shouts, nearly slipping as he again looks over his shoulder.
The voice is right in his ear. There’s got to be someone pulling a trick on him, but who would know his name and who could pull something this elaborate? The old lady? His stick-up-the-ass boss? No way.
No one comes forward. His heart pounds in his ears and when he darts his crimson gaze back to the water, it suddenly looks far more menacing. He shifts, swallowing the lump in his throat, and tries to make his fingers let go. Just release, plummet into the water…
“Stop!”
“SHUT THE HELL UP!”
His shoulders hunch and he grits his teeth. His voice echoes, carrying across the watery darkness below him and the inky darkness above. After another second, he shifts around, still sitting on the railing. He searches the empty bridge, seething.
“SHOW YOURSELF, ASSHOLE!”
There’s silence and then, only a foot or two away from him, the air ripples. Bakugo blinks a few times, but the air moves again and a form slowly takes shape in a shimmer of light. They’re hazy around the edges, but he can make out spiky red hair and concerned red eyes.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” the voice murmurs. Bakugo squints, his heart still pounding, and he bares his teeth. “Just, don’t jump.”
“Who the fuck are you to tell me I can’t jump?” he snaps.
The figure doesn’t say anything for a second, then, “I…it’s complicated. I can’t—”
“Complicated? That’s the bullshittiest excuse in the book.”
“Bakugo—”
“How the fuck do you know my name?”
“I’m trying to—”
The figure moves towards him and Bakugo immediately backs up, chest seizing. He isn’t scared—Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t get scared—but there’s something about this thing, this figure, that sets his teeth on edge. When he moves, he feels compelled to flee.
But he isn’t standing with his back against a railing, and that jolt of movement away from this thing sends him off balance. He falls.
He hears a shout, the wind whistles past his ears, and he sees a flash of light just above him. He closes his eyes, ready for impact. His body flares with pain, screaming out, and he’s flooded with cold. Then, warmth blooms, like a hug, and his world slips into blackness.
No more pain, no more suffering.
He wonders what waits for him on the other side.