Rain fell softly over the cemetery, a thin mist that clung to skin and hair like grief itself. Rows of black umbrellas dotted the hillside, but Izuku didn’t hold one. He let the rain soak through his suit, drip down his face, mix with the tears he couldn’t stop.

He stood in the front row—where the family sits.

Because Katsuki had chosen him.

Because Katsuki had loved him.

Because Katsuki wasn’t here to argue about it.

The coffin rested at the center of the gathering, polished black with a faint red sheen that reminded Izuku of sparks—of explosions—of Katsuki’s fire. A Dynamight emblem was engraved on the lid, sharp and proud.

Izuku couldn’t look at it for more than a second without his chest tightening painfully.

All Might stood at the podium, hands trembling as he gripped the edges. His voice was thin, fragile in a way Izuku had never heard.

“Today… we honor a hero who burned brighter than most of us ever dared to. Katsuki Bakugou was fierce, determined, and unyielding. He fought with everything he had… and he loved with that same intensity.”

Izuku’s breath hitched.

Loved.

Past tense.

He wiped at his eyes again, but the tears kept coming.

All Might continued, voice cracking. “He was a student, a friend, a rival… and to some, far more than that. His loss is immeasurable.”

Izuku bowed his head, shoulders shaking.

Kirishima sniffed loudly beside him. Mina held his hand. Even Todoroki’s eyes glistened.

But Izuku felt alone.

Utterly, unbearably alone.

When All Might stepped down, he placed a gentle hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Young Midoriya… he would want you to speak.”

Izuku didn’t trust his voice, but he nodded.

He walked to the podium on unsteady legs. The world blurred around him—faces, umbrellas, the gray sky. All he could see was the coffin.

He took a shaky breath.

“Kacchan…” His voice cracked immediately. He swallowed hard. “Katsuki… was my first friend. My first rival. My first… everything.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but Izuku didn’t care.

“He changed me. He challenged me. He made me better. And he loved harder than anyone ever realized.”

Izuku’s hands trembled as he reached into his coat pocket.

“I brought something for him.”

He pulled out the paper rings—the ones they had made together the night they finally admitted they were in love. They were worn, edges soft from being held too many times.

And then he lifted the bouquet.

Not lilies. Not roses. Not chrysanthemums.

Blue baby dragon’s breath.

Katsuki’s favorite.

Everyone else had gotten it wrong.

Izuku placed the bouquet gently on the table beside the coffin. “These were his favorite. He said they looked like tiny explosions.”

A few people gasped softly.

Izuku’s voice wavered. “I also… I brought this.”

He lifted the big All Might plushie—the one Katsuki had given him for his sixteenth birthday, pretending it was a joke, even though his ears had turned bright red.

Izuku hugged it to his chest for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of caramel and smoke that still clung to it.

“I want him to have it,” he whispered. “So he’s not alone.”

He placed it beside the flowers.

The sight of it nearly broke him.

All Might stepped forward again. “Izuku… would like to sing something.”

Izuku nodded, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “It was his favorite song.”

He took a deep breath and began singing STUCKINMYBRAIN—his voice soft, trembling, cracking on nearly every line. He didn’t sing the whole song, only the parts that mattered most, the parts that Katsuki used to hum under his breath when he thought no one was listening.

He sang about being trapped in your own head.

He sang about wanting someone so badly it hurt.

He sang about love that clung to your ribs and refused to let go.

His voice broke completely halfway through, and he had to stop, pressing a hand over his mouth as sobs shook through him. Mina stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on his back. Kirishima squeezed his shoulder.

Izuku forced himself to finish the last line—barely a whisper.

When he stepped away from the podium, the entire crowd was silent.

Not out of respect.

Out of heartbreak.

After the burial, when the coffin was lowered into the earth, Izuku knelt beside the grave. He placed the plushie gently against the headstone, arranging the blue baby dragon’s breath around it.

The paper rings he set on top, right where Katsuki’s name was carved.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I always will.”

The wind carried the words away.

Izuku stayed there long after everyone else had gone, rain soaking through his clothes, hands pressed to the cold earth.

For the first time since the battle, he let himself say the truth out loud.

“I don’t know how to live without you.”

And the world, quiet and gray, offered no answer.