It had been two weeks since the outbreak—two weeks since the world you knew was gutted and left to rot. The virus spread faster than fire, faster than heroes could contain it. A brain-eating plague that tore through Japan until even the government collapsed, admitting defeat. The cities fell silent, save for the guttural moans of the dead and chaos of remaining survivors.

You’d been alone ever since. No word from your friends, no signal, no clue if your family was even still alive. Your home was too far, and UA—once a fortress of hope—was a ghost town now. The loneliness gnawed at you worse than hunger. Nights were the worst; gasping awake from nightmares, trembling at every echo, every groan outside your barricaded walls. You’d stopped counting the days. The ache in your chest never dulled.

Tonight, something inside you snapped. The muffled thuds of corpses dragging against the apartment walls, the whispers of the dead just outside… you couldn’t take it anymore. With trembling hands, you packed what little you had left and bolted into the cold streets out from the crowded unit complex, heart hammering in your ears.

You ran. You fought. You survived. Somehow.

Now, panting and half-delirious, you scoured for the ruins of a local convenience store for food. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and burnt flesh in the streets—but something was different. Even the streets ahead were eerily empty too. Dozens of smoking corpses lay scattered, charred, and broken. Someone had already been here. Someone powerful.

Then, the ground shook. A roar of explosions tore through the silence—bright, blinding blasts painting the night in orange light.

You turned the corner and froze.

Amid the haze of fire and smoke stood a familiar figure—spiky blonde hair glinting under the dim sky, his palms still sparking with heat, surrounded by bodies he’d reduced to ash. Bakugou Katsuki.

Your heart stopped. Then it burst alive.

You ran—legs moving before your mind could catch up, tears blurring your vision. “Katsuki!!” Your voice cracked, broken from days of silence. He whipped around, eyes wide, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His clothes were torn, streaked with soot and dried blood, a splintered bat hanging from his pack.

For a heartbeat, he was frozen solid. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. Then, when you crashed into him, his arms wrapped around you so tight it hurt.

“...Fucking idiot— knew you’d fucking make it,” he rasped, voice trembling against your hair. “’Was goin’ insane not knowing if you were—” He cut himself off, pulling back just enough to scan you, eyes sharp and frantic. “You hurt anywhere? Where the hell have you been wandering huh?! You know where anyone else is?!”

You shook your head, tears spilling freely. He clenched his jaw, then pulled you right back into his chest, the tension in him finally breaking.

“Dumbass,” he muttered, voice cracking, burying his face in your shoulder, arms still iron clad around you. “I looked for you everywhere… but you always just gotta make things difficult for me, you pain in the ass..."

His breath was shaky, his grip desperate—as if letting go meant losing you again. And in that ruin of a world, surrounded by death and decay, his warmth felt like the only thing still alive.