Three years had passed since Katsuki’s funeral.

Three years of learning how to breathe again.
Three years of visiting the grave every week.
Three years of letting the sharp edges of grief soften into something gentler, something he could carry without breaking.

Izuku Midoriya had finally reached a place where the memories didn’t crush him. They warmed him. Guided him. Reminded him that love didn’t disappear just because a heartbeat did.

He wasn’t alone.

Not really.

Katsuki had been with him every step of the way.

It was nearly midnight when Izuku unlocked the door to his apartment after a long patrol. The place was quiet—peaceful, even. He hung up his hero jacket, kicked off his boots, and padded into the kitchen with the kind of exhaustion that settled deep in his bones.

He made ramen the way Katsuki used to like it:

Rich, mayo, yolk and chilli sauce based broth

• Soft, runny yolk boiled eggs
• 
  
• Panfried, golden chashu pork
• 
  
• Green, crunchy nori
• 
  
• A deep red drizzle of chili oil.
• 
  
• He ate slowly, savoring the warmth. The steam fogged his glasses. The silence wrapped around him like a blanket. He’d gotten used to this life.

Not empty.

Just… different.

He set his chopsticks down for a moment, rubbing his eyes.

That was when the light appeared.

A blinding, pure white glow filled the kitchen, so bright Izuku flinched. His hand jerked, and the chopsticks slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the table.

The air hummed.

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.

And then—

The light softened.

And someone stepped out of it.

Someone familiar.

Someone impossible.

Katsuki Bakugou stood in the center of the kitchen, glowing faintly with a halo of light around his head and small, delicate wings at his back. His hair was the same messy blond. His eyes were the same fierce red.

But his expression—

Soft.

Warm.

Peaceful.

Izuku’s heart stopped.

“K… Kacchan?” he whispered, voice trembling.

Katsuki smiled. “Hey, nerd.”

Tears spilled down Izuku’s cheeks instantly. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand, choking on a sob.

“After all this time, Kacchan?”

Katsuki stepped closer, the glow around him pulsing gently. “After all this time, Izuku.”

Izuku stood so fast his chair scraped against the floor. He crossed the room in two stumbling steps and threw his arms around Katsuki, burying his face in his shoulder.

Katsuki’s arms wrapped around him—warm, solid, real.

Izuku sobbed, the sound raw and full of years of longing. “I missed you—Kacchan, I missed you so much—”

“I know,” Katsuki murmured, holding him tighter. “I watched you. Every day. You kept going. You kept living. You’re so damn strong, Izuku.”

Izuku shook his head, tears soaking into Katsuki’s shirt. “I only made it because you were with me. I felt you. I always felt you.”

Katsuki pulled back just enough to cup Izuku’s face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears.

“You weren’t alone,” he said softly. “Not once.”

Izuku leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Are you… really here?”

“For tonight,” Katsuki whispered. “Heaven’s rules are strict, but… I earned a visit.”

Izuku laughed through his tears. “Of course you did.”

Katsuki smirked. “Damn right.”

Izuku rested his forehead against Katsuki’s, breathing him in. Warmth seeped into him—comforting, familiar, healing.

“I’m proud of you,” Katsuki said. “For surviving. For living. For becoming the hero you always wanted to be.”

Izuku’s voice cracked. “I wish you could stay.”

Katsuki’s expression softened. “I’m always with you. Just… not always like this.”

Izuku nodded, even though it hurt. “I know.”

Katsuki brushed a hand through Izuku’s curls. “You did good, Deku.”

Izuku closed his eyes, letting the warmth settle into his bones.

For the first time in years, he felt whole.