𝔸 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕍.𝟚 💥𝔹𝕜𝔻𝕜💥

Chapter 62

A/N: Ok yall I split this last chapter in half, I've been working on the second half but I feel I needed more to edit it over so have the first half 🫡

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A Name He Won't Stop Calling

Katsuki's sprint to the hospital had been a blur of explosions and reckless momentum. The deafening rhythm of his own heart echoed in his ears, drowned only by the rush of wind as he tore through the streets. Shoto glided beside him, silent, composed, effortlessly smooth as his ice carved sleek, frost-lined trails across the pavement. The contrast between them was stark—Katsuki, all raw combustion and reckless momentum; Shoto, a calculated shadow in his wake, ice dispersing in his slipstream.

The moment his boots hit the hospital pavement, he barreled through the front doors like a goddamn missile, Shoto right behind him as he pushed past the stunned civilians and hospital staff without so much as a glance. The automatic doors barely had time to slide open before he was through them. The sharp scent of antiseptic hit him immediately—too familiar, too goddamn much, but he shoved down the memories they brought.

The moment he reached the front desk, the night-shift nurse barely had time to process his approach before he was there, leaning over the counter, voice sharp and immediate.

"Where's Eraserhead?"

The nurse—a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and the kind of no-bullshit attitude that only came from working in hospitals too long—froze for half a second. Her tired eyes blinked up at him, and in that single second, Katsuki knew she recognized him. Of course, she did.

"Dynami— Sir, visiting hours are—"

Katsuki's fingers drummed against the counter, restless, agitated. "Yeah, yeah, I don't give a shit about visiting hours. Where is he?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her grip tightened on the tablet in front of her as she straightened, her expression shifting into full administrative resistance. "It's policy. I can't just give you that information. If you'd like to schedule a visit during appropriate hours—"

Katsuki's jaw feathered, his nerves fraying to their last goddamn thread. "I'm not here for a friendly fucking visit, lady—"

But before the situation could spiral, Shoto stepped forward, sliding his hero license onto the counter. "It's urgent. Room for Shouta Aizawa"

Her eyes flicked between the two of them—between Katsuki, who looked ready to start tearing through walls if she didn't move fast enough, and Shoto, who stood there like this was just another Tuesday. Then, with a tired sigh, she tapped at her tablet. "Room 317. Down the hall, second left."

Before long, the door to Aizawa's room slammed open, crashing against the wall with a resounding thud, causing the glass fixtures to rattle.

Aizawa, wrapped in bandages and propped up against his pillows, barely flinched, though his eyes flickered with the barest hint of surprise before settling into their usual flatness. He exhaled heavily, shifting slightly, and winced.

"Could you knock?" he deadpanned, eyes shifting to Shoto instead. "And you—don't think I didn't see you using your quirk in the hallway."

The last remnants of icy mist dissipated from Shoto's fingertips as he tucked a hand behind his back—a quiet acknowledgment of the scolding.

But Katsuki didn't give a single fuck about any of that.

His eyes were already scanning the room, searching—tracking—looking for any trace of him.