Fuselage

☆~☆ Chapter 7 ☆~☆

"Disgusting." Katsuki hissed over tea three days later, catching the silhouettes of Ochako and Izuku against the setting sun.

"Young love is a source of vitality." Yagi smiled, keys twisting in the lock with a click. "I haven't felt this rejuvenated in years, and those two get along like-"

"Yeah, yeah." Katsuki waved the mush off. "Like shit and stink, I get it." Eyes moved to weathered, shaking hands. "When's my part gunna get here, Geezer?"

Yagi sat on the worn bench, looking out over the lake. "Come, sit."

A heavy sigh leaked out as a hiss. Katsuki sat anyway, he knew arguing would be pointless. He'd tried. He'd failed. Countless times.

"It's serene." Yagi's voice was melodic but...

Red eyes shot to the side sharply. "It is a sight." The agreement was hesitant.

"Look, Young Bakugou." A shaking hand waved outward, encompassing the view. "Look at it."

Wrenching his gaze away, anxiety rising he obeyed.

It was more than beautiful. It was old, magical. Katsuki could feel it. Everything around the lake just felt... different somehow; colors, food, weather. The hues of purple and red and orange echoed in the ripples of the water. Despite being so late it was warm. There was something about it, about the hint of green on the trees, the brave early cicadas singing, the hint of summer sweetness on the wind. As though it was a place just beyond time and the hands of reality. If Katsuki had allowed himself he would sit here well past darkness to watch the stirrings of fish eating the bugs, the play of stars reflecting off the water's mirror surface. Hell, even the spring rains and storms would be breathtaking and relaxing under the eaves of the shop with a warm, strong drink in hand and another person to enjoy it with.

But he'd never admit that. Not out loud. That wasn't... that wasn't something he could allow himself to wish out loud.

"Summer is-" Yagi coughed, tried again, coughed harder. And longer.

That worry gripped Katsuki's chest, chasing all the lingering daydream away. "Should I get someone? Should I-?"

"Mm. No." Yagi gasped. "No, not yet." He slouched back, wiping the blood from his hand to his shirt though some lingered on his lips. "The lake, they say it's where the King and Dragon died. Their watery grave. One right after the other."

"You want to postpone medical care for this?" Katsuki stood, "that's sweet and all but-"

"Dragons are immortal, Young Bakugou." A hand reached out, gripped Katsuki's shirt, "You need to-" Yagi swallowed, face turning red from fighting his cough back. "You need to-"

The old man fell over himself as his body collapsed in a fit. Panicked Katsuki looked for those familiar silhouettes.

Gone.

Gritting his teeth, ignoring the way his body was consumed in goosebumps, his hands shaking, the sweat gathering. He pulled Yagi back up to the bench.

He didn't see freckled skin in place of withered flesh.

"I'm flying you down." He pinned Yagi back, arms trembling with the force of every cough that wracked through the feeble frame.

"Where?" Eyes shut too long, struggled to open. Laboured lungs rattled with each shuddering inhale.

Katsuki didn't feel twisted bone and broken muscles. He didn't smell rotting flesh and putrid waste.

"My plane." Katsuki stood, swinging the ailing man over his shoulders and started jogging. "It's faster."