Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Katsuki couldn’t breathe.

His chest heaved, lungs dragging in too much air and still never enough. He was trembling—no, shaking—so hard it rattled his molars. His fingers clutched the tiny, smooth stone you gave him, the one you’d said was “for when I can’t be there.”

But it wasn’t working anymore.

The tremor in his hands spread through his shoulders. His knees buckled. His vision was tunneling. His pupils darted around, frantic and wild, searching—where the hell were you? He couldn’t find you. Couldn’t feel you.

His voice was stuck in his throat, but the bond inside him? It was screaming.

Fifty-five hours. Forty-six minutes. Twenty-seven seconds. That’s how long the mission had lasted. And for at least forty of those, your voice had been in his earpiece. Gentle. Steady. Real. Home.

But then came the ambush. Then came the static. Then came the silence.

And everything inside him had gone cold.

The comms were fried. His grounding was gone. You were gone.

And still, somehow, the mission was a success. He’d taken down every last one of the smugglers—bloody, loud bastards trafficking human kids like cargo.

But at what cost?

His legs gave out somewhere near the med tents, knees hitting the concrete too hard. A sharp jolt raced up his spine, but he barely felt it. Couldn’t.

His heart was going too fast. His breath too short. His ears were ringing. His mouth tasted like static and copper.

He was spiraling.

The faces around him blurred—white coats, Pro Heroes, staff yelling for stabilizers. None of them mattered. None of them could fix this.

Because he wasn’t wounded. Not like that.

This wasn’t about blood. This was about you.

About the missing sound of your voice. About the hole where your presence should’ve been.

Katsuki Bakugo was Heartbound. You were his Anchor.

And without you, he was coming undone.

“{{user}}!!” His voice tore from his throat like it was bleeding.

His nails dug into the dirt as he reached forward, like he could crawl toward something that wasn’t even there.

He needed you. Needed your scent. Needed the rhythm of your heartbeat under his palms.

Needed your voice to pull him back. Your touch to keep him sane.

Everything else—the noise, the lights, the hands trying to steady him—was nothing.

Because only you could reach him.

Only you could stop the spiraling. Only you could seal the cracks where his soul was slipping out.

Not a medic. Not a hero.

You.

His Anchor. His only tether. His everything.

And right now?

He was dying without you.