Chapter Text
The street was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that screamed trouble.
The warehouse loomed at the end of the block, silhouetted against the dull orange glow of a flickering street lamp. The metal siding was rusted and warped, and graffiti crawled up its sides like ivy. Bakugou and Shouto stood across the street, partially shadowed by a crumbling wall.
“Tch,” Bakugou muttered, crossing his arms as he glared at the structure. “Creepy-ass building. Figures.”
They’d been patrolling the district for hours, their boots echoing against cracked pavement. Most of the area was dead—shuttered businesses, boarded-up homes—but a nervous civilian had flagged them down earlier, muttering something about “weird noises” and “people disappearing” near this warehouse.
Shouto adjusted the collar of his uniform, eyes narrowing. “There’s something off about it.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Bakugou snapped, already stalking forward. “Come on, let’s check it out.”
They approached cautiously, the only sound the distant hum of power lines and the crunch of gravel underfoot. The warehouse door loomed ahead—heavy, dented, locked tight.
Bakugou stopped in front of it and gave Shouto a pointed look. Without a word, he jerked his chin at the door.
Shouto stared back, expression unreadable.
“…What?” he said flatly.
Bakugou scowled, jabbing a thumb toward the door with increasing impatience. “You’ve got legs. Use ‘em. Kick it down.”
“I’m not going to kick a door when I have ice,” Shouto replied, calm and unbothered.
“Oh my god—just do something, I’m not standing here all night.”
Shouto raised one brow, then calmly extended a hand toward the metal door. A wave of frost erupted from his palm, coating the hinges and the lock in thick, jagged ice. The metal groaned in protest, then cracked clean off with a loud pop! as the entire door shattered and fell inward with a heavy clang.
Bakugou rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his head.
“Showoff,” he muttered, stepping over the frozen debris.
“I could say the same to you,” Shouto replied, following behind with quiet steps.
Bakugou looked over his shoulder, shooting him a nasty glare.
Inside, the warehouse was dark and damp, the scent of mold clinging to the air. Moonlight filtered through broken windows in dusty beams. Shadows danced across old crates and discarded machinery. Something scurried across the floor ahead—too fast to see clearly.
Bakugou’s hands crackled with the faint sound of popping sparks. “If this is another goddamn wild animal, I swear—”
Shouto glanced around with sharp eyes, already on edge. “No. That wasn’t an animal.”
A low, metallic creak echoed from deeper inside.
Bakugou smirked, adrenaline starting to simmer in his blood. “Finally. Some action.”
Shouto drew in a quiet breath, readying himself. “Be careful.”
“Pfft. Please. I was born careful.”
“You were born loud,” Shouto deadpanned.
“Say that again and I’ll light your hair on fire.”
“You’ve tried. It doesn’t work.”
Bakugou snarled something under his breath, but the grin on his face said he wasn’t really mad. He stalked deeper into the warehouse, boots crunching over broken glass and fragments of rusted metal. The building stretched on endlessly, shadows spilling across the floor like ink. Overhead, a few dying fluorescents flickered in protest, casting ghostly light on the dusty maze of old equipment and crates.
“Why the fuck is this warehouse so fucking big?” Bakugou snarled under his breath, ducking beneath a low-hanging beam and charging forward like the walls personally offended him.
Shouto trailed a few paces behind, his steps measured, scanning everything with sharp, mismatched eyes. “You think maybe it used to be a factory?” he mused quietly.
“I think whoever built this place had a hard-on for hiding shit,” Bakugou grunted, stepping over a fallen pipe.
Suddenly, Shouto reached out and grabbed his arm, fingers tightening around Bakugou’s bicep.
Bakugou whirled around instantly, sparks already hissing from his palm. “Get off me, Icyhot, before I blow your fucking face off!”
Shouto didn’t even blink. “Bakugou. Look. ”
Bakugou followed his gaze—and froze.
At the far end of the warehouse, barely lit by a flickering ceiling light, an old man hunched over a cluttered metal table. He looked like he’d been dragged through a thrift store clearance bin: two mismatched shoes, a coat covered in oil stains, and uneven facial hair like he’d shaved with a butter knife. He muttered to himself as he tinkered with a collection of bizarre-looking gadgets, hands twitching with erratic energy.
Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is that lunatic doing—”
Before he could finish, the man suddenly whipped around. His bloodshot eyes locked onto them with manic glee, and a wide, teeth-baring grin spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that screamed: this guy flunked out of a support course and now lives in his mom’s basement making death traps out of microwaves.
“Great,” Bakugou muttered. “We found the fucking goblin.”
Shouto was already reacting, stepping forward with one hand raised. Ice bloomed around his fingertips, a shimmering wall of frost materializing between them and the deranged old man.
But the man didn’t attack. He just smiled wider—eerily calm—and lifted a strange device from the table. It pulsed with an unnatural green glow.
“Let’s see if you two get along,” the man whispered, voice cracked like dry leaves.
POP!
There was a blinding flash of light. Shouto barely had time to register the sound before he felt something yank behind his ribs, like his organs were being twisted by an invisible hook. His vision swam, his equilibrium shattered—and suddenly—
WHAM!
Bakugou slammed into his chest with the force of a wrecking ball, letting out a large shout of “ OW—WHAT THE— ”
They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, Bakugou grunting as his spine met concrete. Shouto groaned into his collarbone, half-draped over him like some tragic K-drama love interest in mid-fall.
“…Can you get off me!?” Bakugou snapped, his voice somewhere between a snarl and a scream.
Shouto didn’t move for a second. Then: “I think we’ve been… compromised.”
Bakugou shoved him off, face bright red and fists clenched. “ You think!? ”
Behind them, the villain cackled—a high-pitched, unhinged laugh that echoed off the metal walls like nails on glass. He bolted through a back exit, waving the still-glowing device in the air like he’d just won the lottery.
“Goddamn it!” Bakugou yelled, scrambling to his feet.
Shouto stood as well, brushing himself off. “He said something about us ‘getting along.’ That’s concerning.”
“No,” Bakugou growled, eyes twitching, “ what’s concerning is I don’t know what that thing did, and you landed on me like some kind of princess in a soap opera!”
Shouto blinked. “You caught me. That was very heroic of you.”
“ I WILL END YOU. ”
Bakugou snarled, storm clouds practically brewing behind his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me, Ice Princess.”
Shouto blinked, completely unbothered. “That’s gendered and inaccurate,” he said flatly, taking a single, slow step back. “But fine. I’ll stand over here if it helps you regulate your emotions.”
Bakugou looked like he might combust on the spot. “My emotions are perfectly—” He snapped his mouth shut, hissed through gritted teeth, and whipped around. “Whatever. We’re calling Aizawa. That gremlin could’ve dropped a goddamn curse on us.”
“Agreed,” Shouto said, already pulling out his communicator. “That device had some kind of activation trigger. And the internal tugging sensation—probably spatial or gravity manipulation. We should get scanned at—”
“Don’t care,” Bakugou interrupted, stomping toward the warehouse exit like a grenade with legs. “Let Aizawa deal with it. I’m not about to spend another second in this hellhole of a tetanus farm.”
He didn’t make it three steps.
Suddenly, with no warning, Shouto felt that pull again—that same strange, sharp wrench inside his gut like an invisible hook had just sunk into his spine and yanked. His breath hitched.
WHUMP!
He was flung forward like a ragdoll, crashing shoulder-first into Bakugou’s back. Bakugou barely had time to grunt before they both went stumbling to the floor, colliding in a graceless tangle of limbs and rage.
“WHAT THE FUCK! ” Bakugou roared, rolling over and shoving Shouto off like he was on fire. “ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?!”
“I wasn’t moving toward you,” Shouto said, dazed. “I was standing still. You walked away.”
“Then why the hell did you tackle me!?”
“I didn’t. Something pulled me.”
Bakugou scrambled to his feet, face red with fury and something dangerously close to panic. “Pulled you?! What does that mean?! Did that crusty little villain stick a goddamn tractor beam on us?!”
Shouto calmly stood, brushing dust off his pants. “I think we’re… tethered.”
Bakugou’s eye twitched. “Tethered?”
Shouto nodded slowly. “Like magnets. When you moved more than… I’d say two feet? Something pulled me toward you with enough force to knock us both down.”
Bakugou stared at him, stunned. Then: “No.”
“Seems like yes.”
“Fuck no. Nope. Not happening.” He turned and stomped toward the warehouse doors again. “We are not playing Quirked-up Tug of War—”
YANK.
Bakugou was violently snapped backward like a fish on a line, slamming full-body into Shouto this time.
“ SON OF A—! ”
The two of them hit the floor again , this time with Shouto ending up half-under him, one arm trapped awkwardly beneath Bakugou’s side.
“I was testing the distance,” Shouto said, completely calm despite his awkward position.
Bakugou screamed into the void.
“I’m going to murder that old man,” he snarled, sparks popping from his palms. “I don’t care how weird his shoes are. He’s dead. ”
Shouto exhaled slowly. “We should really contact Aizawa.”
“Oh really, Ice-for-brains?! You think?!” Bakugou dragged himself to his feet for the third time in two minutes. “Next time I see that bastard, I’m turning him into a firework.”
Shouto stood again, staying deliberately close this time. “You might want to save your energy. I think we’re going to be stuck like this for a while.”
Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “How stuck.”
Shouto tilted his head, genuinely thoughtful. “Hard to say. Maybe hours. Maybe days.”
Bakugou made a strangled sound of pure existential rage.
“I’m going to set something on fire,” he growled.
“Preferably not me.”
“No promises.”
Bakugou ran his hands through his hair and screamed into the echoing void of the warehouse like it personally wronged him.
“HOW THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET ANYWHERE LIKE THIS?!”
His voice ricocheted off the steel walls, sending a flock of pigeons scattering from the rafters above in a flurry of feathers and offended cooing. Sparks flared dangerously from his palms, dancing across his fingers like tiny suns looking for something to destroy.
Shouto, standing precisely eighteen inches to Bakugou’s left, looked over with the flat, tired expression of a man who had long since accepted that logic was pointless in the face of rage.
“We could walk close together,” he offered, voice completely calm.
Bakugou turned so fast his boots squeaked on the concrete. His eyes blazed like they wanted to incinerate everything within a five-mile radius.
“No shit, fucking Sherlock! It was rhetorical! ”
Shouto blinked slowly, clearly regretting every life decision that brought him to this moment. He exhaled through his nose.
He is so insufferable, Shouto thought, deadpan. This must be what Sisyphus felt like.
“Then why did you ask it?” he asked aloud, genuinely puzzled.
Bakugou let out an unholy screech of frustration, grabbed a nearby piece of rusted metal, and hurled it across the room. It clanged against a far wall with a satisfying BANG, followed by the sound of something collapsing off a shelf.
“ SHUT THE FUCK UP, ICYHOT! ”
Shouto raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t rhetorical, was it.”
Bakugou exploded into more incoherent yelling, stomping around in a tiny, angry circle—careful not to go too far lest the invisible quirk-yank slingshot Shouto into his spine again.
Shouto stood still, his hands tucked calmly into his pockets like they weren’t stuck in the world’s most inconvenient team-building exercise. His eyes tracked the warehouse doors—too far to walk without triggering another Snap Back-induced body slam.
“Bakugou,” he said evenly, “if you just let me hold you, I can use my ice to transport us out of here. Fast, clean, efficient.”
Bakugou turned slowly, narrowing his eyes like Shouto had just suggested they cuddle in a heart-shaped hot tub.
“ Fuck no, dumbass,” he barked, shoulders tensing like the mere idea had physically offended him. “I’m not letting you hold me like I’m some kind of princess. ”
He huffed and dragged a hand down his face, already dreading what he was about to say. “I guess I’ll just carry you, then.”
Shouto blinked, unmoved. “Does that make me the princess?”
Bakugou froze mid-step. His brain visibly short-circuited, eye twitching as he processed the mental image.
“…”
Shouto tilted his head. “Well? Does it? ”
Bakugou looked like he aged five years in five seconds.
“Fuck off, you two-toned hoe,” he snapped, stomping past him with all the dignity of a man who just realized he’d have to bridal-carry his coworker to safety like a scene from a low-budget romance anime.
Shouto nodded solemnly, following closely to avoid another magnetic tug. “I’m flattered, though.”
“I SWEAR TO GOD—”
***
Bakugou grunted, adjusting his grip as they hovered just outside the warehouse. His arms were locked firmly around Shouto’s waist—muscles tense, jaw tighter. Shouto, for his part, was just standing there like this was a perfectly normal Tuesday.
“Bakugou,” Shouto said flatly, glancing down. “Your hands are around my waist.”
Bakugou didn’t even blink. “Oi, shut up, Halfie. Did you want me to carry you bridal style instead?”
There was a beat.
“…You considered it,” Shouto said, voice low and deadly serious.
“THE HELL I DID—”
Bakugou’s hands tensed. His palms were warm even through the layers of Shouto’s hero costume, and for a split second, it felt less like an escape plan and more like an awkward slow dance from hell.
“There has to be a better way than this,” Shouto muttered, clearly trying not to sigh again. “Like maybe a cart. Or a rope. Or separate teleportation.”
“Oh yeah?” Bakugou snapped. “You got a teleporter in your back pocket, Icyhot ?”
“No. But I do have dignity.”
“Not anymore, princess. ”
Shouto stared blankly at a point just above Bakugou’s head. “You know, I once imagined dying with a little honor.”
Bakugou growled, sparks crackling dangerously at his temples. “Keep talking and I’ll drop you in the goddamn sewer.”
“That would still technically be transportation.”
“I’M GONNA KILL YOU.”
Shouto, still stoically enduring the fact that Bakugou’s arms were cinched firmly around his waist, tilted his head ever so slightly, brows pinched in quiet concern.
“Bakugou,” he asked politely, “how are you going to take off if your hands are around my waist?”
Bakugou stared at him. His eye twitched once. There was a pause long enough to hear the creak of the warehouse settling, like even the building was bracing itself.
“…Get on my back, Icyhot,” he said finally, voice low and strained, like it physically hurt to say the words.
Shouto blinked. “I see.”
Another pause.
Bakugou’s eye twitched again. “ JUST GET ON MY GODDAMN BACK BEFORE I KILL YOU! ”
“Okay.” Shouto stepped behind him calmly and placed his hands on Bakugou’s shoulders like they were preparing for a three-legged race. “Should I wrap my arms around your neck?”
“ DO NOT say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like we’re on a honeymoon hike through the fucking mountains!”
Shouto exhaled in the world’s slowest, deepest sigh and muttered under his breath, “This must be why Endeavor never hugged me.”
Bakugou growled. “That’s it. I’m launching us into a brick wall. ”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Shouto said calmly, now fully settled onto Bakugou’s back like this was completely normal and not a waking nightmare. “I bruise easily.”
“Good.”
“Do you need a countdown?”
“DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED A COUNTDOWN?!”
“…Three… two—”
“ I SWEAR TO GOD— ”
And then Bakugou exploded upward with a blast, dragging them both into the air—one screaming in pure rage, the other dead silent, mildly wind-blown, and vaguely disappointed in the universe.