It's not like Katsuki has never not responded to a phone call before. In fact, Katsuki has a nasty habit of waiting hours after Izuku's called him following a gig, and calling just two minutes after Izuku's resigned himself to bed.

But it's not like Katsuki to not respond for a whole day.

Izuku calls him shortly after he and Shouto return to Izuku's apartment, after the engagement. They're shrugging off their winter wear and Izuku is shaking snowflakes out of his hair from the walk up, and he's a little surprised when the phone rings and rings and ultimately goes to Katsuki's voicemail (which, on brand, just says "Fuck off" and is followed by the tone to leave a message). He and Shouto exchange confused looks, but Izuku shrugs it off. They enjoy dinner – a pizza ordered from the only place that's still delivering this late – under a throw blanket, draping on the sectional and getting comfortable with a laptop between them. They watch comedy reels of Baka Broadcasting's latest interviews with Momo and Jirou, and from there they spiral until they're watching a clip titled "Todoroki Shouto Smiling for Two Minutes Straight".

It's nearing midnight when Shouto excuses himself, reluctant, for the evening. He presses a kiss to Izuku's forehead before he goes, and Izuku offers his bedroom for the night – then, a stammering, blushing mess, nearly exclaims that if Shouto doesn't want to share a bed Izuku can take the couch – and Shouto laughs, and his smile is so much better than any of those in the stupid compilation video. He gives a gentle "Maybe next time", says he has morning patrol, and leaves (begrudgingly) after a few more shared kisses.

Izuku's nerves return without Shouto to distract him from them, but he assumes that Katsuki has just decided to go straight to bed after patrol. He's done that before, probably. Izuku just can't remember him doing that.

What worries him the most, he thinks, is when he wakes up to no new notifications in the morning.

Izuku's phone is cradled in his hand loosely when he awakens, drawn close to his chest like he's been waiting for it to ring – because if he's honest with himself, he sort of has. Katsuki has become like a brother to Izuku, has kept him safe during his years as Loverman, and Izuku wishes he had a Quirk to return the favor with. But now he's stuck, dormant on his stupidly large couch, with no idea how Katsuki is doing or if he's even still alive. He debates calling Eijirou, but he gets the feeling that if he calls Eijirou about Katsuki being okay, Katsuki will be upset with him for "assuming something is there". Or whatever, he'd find something to be angry at.

Izuku eats his lunch alone; Shouto's set to be on patrol until three or so in the afternoon. He sits at his small island and fiddles with his phone, scrolls through every social media app he has on his phone, sees a flood of posts from Ochaco and Tenya about their engagement. Some hero news website Izuku's subscribed to posts a short article about Shouto stopping a petty theft of a corner store on patrol – along with a short, forty-five second clip of the event. Izuku watches it several times, smile stretched across his face seeing Shouto so gentle with the sixteen-year-old committing the crime. He watches the way Shouto sticks his forearm out and holds back the press, coming to interview him about the event.

"…Pro hero Shouto says the thief, a sixteen-year-old playing hooky from school, was just looking for a place to warm up and get something to eat. The child's name remains undisclosed…"

Izuku's not sure, but he thinks that he sees Shouto take the child back into the store at the end of the clip. Izuku presumes to get the kid a proper meal, and it warms his heart.

He sits himself at the piano shortly after lunch, strums aimlessly with his phone set to record his musical thoughts as he does. He normally finds himself zoning out at times like these, but today's he's painfully alert; he's waiting so, so impatiently for his stupid phone to ring. It's been nearly eighteen hours, now, and it's so worrying. Katsuki may be a dick sometimes, but this is a whole new level, even for him. Izuku exhales, splays his fingers as wide as they will go on the keyboard in front of him. And he strums something melancholy, fast, in a minor key. A riff that stutters off his fingers a bit at first, but as he continues to wear it into his muscle memory it comes easier, until his fingers don't trip when he tucks his thumb under the rest of his hand to move along the keys.

He loses himself in it soon enough, as he does all his music. His tensions melt from him, dance on the strings of his baby grand in such a beautiful representation of the stress he feels. Every trill of keys, every low note that reverberates through him, tickles his nerves as it travels from his fingertips all the way up his arms and to his heart, beats through him there, and he feels more and more free. And his fingers slam the keys harder as he goes, forcibly placing his stresses on them, on the piano, distancing them from himself.

This is how he's composed most of his works, he thinks later that evening, while he listens through the recording with one earbud in while he cooks an early dinner. Most of his strumming is stress relief, random chords thrown together and indeterminate threads of notes that might be called a riff if rearranged into something more audibly pleasing. But then, he always picks a few gems from the rough – a few of these riffs that haven't gone sideways, that can be polished with the help of a backing chord or a new key, a new combination of keys to place to a new rhythm. He interrupts his cooking several times to jot these notes into his composing notebook, which he stations just across from the stove at the island counter.

While Izuku makes dinner, he keeps an eye on the clock. He has a gig later this evening, again at Midnight's, and Shouto is picking him up just before seven; now it's barely past five, and Izuku has sufficiently used up every single activity that can captivate his brain enough to draw it away from the fact that Katsuki isn't answering his goddamn phone. When he sits down at his dining room table, sets his bowl of homemade ramen in front of him, his eyes drift subconsciously to the cell phone charging in the kitchen.

Maybe I should just call Eijirou, Izuku thinks, and while he's managed thus far to reason with himself that it isn't necessary, he finds that his voice of reason is becoming increasingly harder to hear under the panic in the forefront of his mind.

So, he rushes back to the kitchen to grab for his phone, and resettles at the table with his ramen in front of him. He manages enough reason to not call Eijirou – he settles for three text messages instead.

To: Eijirou!

Izuku [17:12]: Hey, Ei!

[17:12]: Haven't heard from Kacchan since yesterday…

[17:13]: You guys busy with hero stuff? Or is he just ignoring me? XD

Izuku tries so hard to choke down his food. But when ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty then forty minutes pass without a text message back – from Eijirou, who damn near always has his head buried in his phone – Izuku feels too sick to attempt to eat the ramen in front of him. He exhales, shaky, rakes a hand through his hair. He's sure Shouto wouldn't mind coming over earlier, if only just to quell Izuku's nerves with his usual heroes work weird hours speech that likely would only make him feel better because it would be Shouto giving it. But as Izuku's finger hovers over the button to call Shouto, there's a knock at his door.

His head shoots up. The door is deadbolted, its chain lock in place; he's not expecting company, after all. Not until later, until after Shouto is showered and has eaten. His heart speeds up just a bit, and he curses himself for this incessant fear he can't seem to shake. But, then, he thinks maybe he has a perfectly good reason to be afraid of a stray knock on the door, considering both his line of business and his history with women literally breaking into his apartment. Izuku vows to take his time, tries to steady his shaking hands on his way to the door. Katsuki's pocketknife sits on the end table against the wall there, just next to Izuku's house key and a picture frame with a photo of his graduation day.

The knock comes again, louder now.

Izuku jumps, skips the last few steps to the door as quietly as possible. And he's – well, first he's shocked, then he's pissed that Katsuki would scare him like this. Katsuki, outside of his apartment door. Katsuki, for once not peering in the peephole like a freaking weirdo. Katsuki, who is perfectly safe aside from the scratch across his forehead.

His fingers hiccup as he stumbles to undo the deadbolt, to put the chain back into place. When he opens the door, Katsuki straightens a bit; Izuku thinks, vaguely, this may be the first time he's ever been able to gauge Katsuki's full height with all the slouching he does. Izuku has to look up at him a few inches, enough to be slightly uncomfortable. And that forehead – it isn't creased with Katsuki's usual resting frown. No, it's wrinkle-free, and aside from the unsightly cut across his forehead that's angry and red and probably infected, he looks…good.

"Izuku," he says, his voice gruff, somewhere between sleepy and just-got-done-yelling. Izuku has no doubts that at least one of those has happened within the last thirty minutes.

"Ka—" Izuku manages, before Katsuki's arms wind around him, in a hug that is so tight, warm, unexpected that Izuku chokes on his friend's name. Katsuki draws back a moment later, quick, like he's hurt Izuku, and Izuku scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, sorry, you startled me—why didn't you answer your phone?!"

The anger rushes back to Izuku and while he plasters on a frown that's anything but familiar on his face, he can't fight the discomfort at the way Katsuki still doesn't frown when Izuku raises his voice. "Broke my phone," Katsuki grunts with a short shrug, one-shouldered and a bit cold. And, yeah, this feels more like Katsuki. "Can I come in?"

Izuku nods, steps aside and grants his friend access to the apartment. The front door steps into a small entryway just before the dining room, with the kitchen veering to the right, and Izuku catches sight of his bowl of ramen on the table. Katsuki must see it, too, because he says a quiet, "Oh, fuck, were you eating?"

"I mean, it's dinnertime," Izuku replies with a shrug, crosses the room and grabs for the bowl. "I wasn't really able to eat, though. Too busy worrying about where the hell you've been."

And Katsuki stops, halfway between the dining space and the living room, to turn and give Izuku a look that's nothing short of incredulous. "I'm fine," he says, gestures to his body as if it's all the proof Izuku needs. "Nothing to worry about, see?"

Izuku purses his lips. Something about this doesn't feel right; he has some unsatisfying feeling clawing at him. He swats it away, reminds himself that Katsuki is alright, he's standing in Izuku's dining room right now.

Katsuki looks around for a moment, between the living space and the dining room and the kitchen. Izuku almost wants to laugh at the way his face looks – like he's trying to absorb everything he's seeing, for when he has to leave again. "Trying to get it all in your head so you remember what it looks like?" Izuku asks, casual, the opposite of expectant of the terror that shrouds Katsuki's face.

The look the blond gives him is short, but telling. It's desperate for something, for something Izuku can't understand. Perhaps, given enough time, he'd be able to decipher the expression, but Katsuki's face mellows again into that unfrowning neutral state that looks, to put it mildly, horrendous on him.

"I'm kidding," Izuku says, soft, and with a dismissing wave. "When are you leaving again? Or are you here for good, now?"

He migrates towards the sectional as he speaks, then decides against the sectional at the last moment and plops down backwards onto his baby grand's bench. Katsuki flops unceremoniously into the sectional, across from Izuku, with enough distance between them that Izuku can run if—

Why does Izuku feel the need to run?

Katsuki is unsettling, with the way his eyes hold none of their usual malice. Izuku is sure this is the longest he's seen his friend not squinting, not with his eyebrows casting shadows over his eyes. For once, he looks like his inner dialogue isn't just a slue of "I'll kill you" on repeat, over and over. And somehow, the fact that Izuku doesn't fear for his life makes him fear for his life.

"I'm not sure," Katsuki waves vaguely, in response to Izuku's earlier question. "Hero business, you know."

"Are you still working with All Might?" Izuku presses. Katsuki sputters, like he's not expecting the drill of questions.

"I—I mean, why wouldn't I be?" Katsuki says, with a hesitation that is slowly seeping into Izuku's core, filling him with dreaded thoughts that this man is not Katsuki. Katsuki never hesitates in speaking. He knows everything, he has no reason to hesitate. And about something like this?

Izuku plasters a smile on his face, forces a laugh that doesn't sound so choked. "I guess you're right," he says, up-plays the normality, downplays his growing fears. He's not afraid of Katsuki.

But, well, things keep falling further and further out of place.

Izuku notices it first when Katsuki refers to Tenya as "Iida" – after Izuku mentions the engagement. "Oh yeah, Eijirou follows Iida on Instagram," he says, casual, again without the undertone of a frown. The underlying anger. And again when Katsuki asks why Izuku doesn't have a television, and Izuku has to remind Katsuki that he's the one who suggested he get rid of it, since he never used it for more than background noise. And once more when Katsuki asks how Izuku's latest gig went, with the small villain attack, and Izuku says they spoke on the phone the morning after.

It's with every one of these mental check marks that Izuku feels heavier, his limbs slowly filling with liquid lead in his place, and all he can do is let it happen. He feels sluggish, like his head is simultaneously shutting off and his entire body is preparing for hibernation, and that when he wakes up he'll be strung up in some sort of – of dungeon, or something, wherever the damn League hangs out. But his thoughts still run miles and miles per minute, competing to see who can run a marathon the fastest, and he decides that he'll put this to the test.

He doesn't make it obvious. It's not like he drills Katsuki with questions; he simply catches up with him, asks him how the hotel has been. Strike one – Katsuki doesn't correct him, doesn't say that "it wasn't a hotel, it was Eijirou's apartment". Strike two comes when Izuku asks if Shouto's help apprehending the villain from last week went successfully. And Katsuki doesn't correct him, doesn't say "Shouto hasn't come to visit, he's been too busy being your bodyguard, dumbass". And the final blow is delivered when Izuku rises to his feet, stretches his arms above his head.

"I'm going to grab something to drink," he announces, Katsuki's not-grumpy eyes trained on him as he does. "Want anything, Katsuki?"

And Katsuki doesn't flinch, not the slightest, at being called anything but Kacchan.

Strike three. You're out.

"No, I'm alright," this not-Katsuki says, but Izuku is halfway to the kitchen before Katsuki even says it. He doesn't know yet, if the fact that he's not trailing Izuku into the kitchen is anything to go by. Izuku can feel his heart hammering directly in his throat, can feel the bile rising there, can feel his insides dropping to his feet. Izuku doesn't know much about the League, but he certainly knows Toga is the only League member with this Quirk, and Izuku doesn't know who else would sneak into his apartment.

And then the dread hits him harder, wondering what the fuck happened to his Katsuki.

He ducks down when he reaches the kitchen, uses the island as a makeshift cover from Katsuki, reaches with one hand into the cabinets and shuffles around – makes a few clanking noises with the dishes in there to keep suspicion away from him. Shouto, Izuku thinks desperately. Shouto would know what to do—Shouto—

He unlocks his phone, sees it still lingering on his 'Call' app, Shouto's name highlighted. He opts instead for a text message – doesn't want to raise any suspicion talking to himself in the kitchen. Not-Katsuki is being incredibly quiet on the sectional, and Izuku doesn't want to take any chances.

He manages a quick text, embarrassed momentarily of how hard his fingers tremble when he types it.

To: Shouto 3

Izuku [18:09]: help

He's thinking about calling, actually, now. He's thinking about sneaking off to the bathroom, climbing out the tiny window that's over ten stories up and shimmying across the ledge to his balcony. But, he thinks, he's not a hero. Shouto could probably do that, but he's not a hero.

When he takes his head out of the cabinets from where he's been mindlessly digging, he sees red eyes; beady, wide, insane looking and had Izuku stopped to take a look just a bit sooner he's absolutely certain he'd have figured it out the second he looked through the peephole. And that not-frown is so unsettling, and Izuku vows to never make fun of Katsuki for not smiling ever again because he's just so uncomfortable. It becomes hard to force a casual smile, but he does, wobbly as it may be. "Sorry," he says, "can't find a glass."

"In your own kitchen?" Katsuki remarks, and oh yeah, that tone of inflection really doesn't sound like Katsuki.

Toga knows.

Izuku really wishes, at this moment, for Shouto to be here. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand what about him has splayed a target on his back, a 'Kick Me' sign like from goddamn grade school, when being Quirkless was the only thing anyone ever looked at him for. And he doesn't have time to reminisce because not-Katsuki has a hand to his throat, stretching across the island. And it doesn't hurt; it doesn't feel good, but it doesn't hurt.

Toga clicks her tongue.

"Your pulse is racing, darling," she says, and even in Katsuki's body all he can hear now is her. That voice that's so smooth it's grating, like fine particles of glass. Malice drips from her. And it hurts that it doesn't hurt, and his eyes are wide, and his vision is tunneling and his only thought is I can't—

"Oh, honey," Toga swoons. "Calm down. My job isn't to hurt you." Izuku's eyes are shut. When did Izuku shut his eyes? Now he can't see it when Toga leans in, but he can feel it, can feel her breath next to his ear. And it sends an involuntary shiver down his back, across his entire body in a way that jolts his eyes open and he can see it now, can see the half-transformed being that is Toga, definitely Toga.

"You wanted me to know," Izuku croaks out, his voice trembling. He curses himself for being so weak, so Quirkless.

And Toga grins, and it practically stretches to her ears. It's disgusting, the way she bares her teeth at him, like she's getting ready to eat him alive. "Of course I did, sweetheart! Why wouldn't I want the last thing you see to be my pretty—"

Izuku's phone dings.

Toga frowns, glances down at the phone. It's dropped to the floor between them, where Toga is fully stretched across the island and practically hovering in midair with her hand on Izuku's neck steadying her. She squeezes and Izuku intakes a strangled gasp in alarm, while her other hand picks up the phone. "Shouto, huh?" she giggles, holds the phone up to Izuku's eyes so he can see it.

From: Shouto 3

[18:12]: Are you in danger?

She laughs, maniacally, and it makes Izuku wish he was deaf. It makes him wish he'd never sat at a piano bench ever in his goddamn life, if that's what it would take to not be in this situation right now. He's certain he'd give anything to be away from Toga right now.

Anything but Shouto.

Toga hums, pokes her tongue out while she types out a response with one hand. "Everything is fine," she reads out while she types, a giggle spilling out of her. "Just…hmm, what's something you'd do, Izuku?" she asks sweetly, like her hand isn't on his neck, like she doesn't have that gun from the bar in her jacket pocket – oh god, it's so much more prevalent now. He's done for, he's not going to live through this, he's—

"Are you even listening to me?" Toga yelps, accentuates her anger by squeezing at Izuku's throat and he makes a strangled noise, a whimper, maybe. He can't quite breathe anymore, he's intaking barely enough oxygen to keep him conscious. And the position they're in would make it easy for Izuku to just grab Toga's arm and yank himself free of her grasp, but his limbs are heavy and he's scared he'll only die sooner.

"I-I," Izuku stammers, wheezes in an attempt for air, and she lets up a little.

"Sorry!" she chirps, her psychotic giggle reaching through him, squeezing his stomach and making him think that he'll vomit all over the floor, right here and right now, just like the last time Toga showed up, when Tenya and Ochaco came over to check on him. "What's something Shouto wouldn't be suspicious about?"

"I don't know," Izuku replies, his voice so quiet that Toga has to lean in closer, and Izuku's breath catches. Her face is too close. She's too close. Izuku's no hero. He's no hero, he can't do anything, and she's too close, and he's going to die—

There's the softest, faintest chill that washes over the room, and for a moment Izuku really believes this is it. This is it, Toga's pulled out the gun and shot him, and his body is freezing over with death—but, well, no; that's not exactly how it goes.

Toga notices first. She must, because she pulls back from Izuku startlingly fast, ends up falling over the island onto Izuku's side of the kitchen. The door is frosting over, and as Izuku sits in the kitchen, silent tears falling down his cheeks, watching Toga contort herself to hide in one of the cabinets, the door tumbles over unceremoniously. Izuku winces at the loud thud, a short, suffocated sob leaving him as he covers his head. He can see one of Toga's horrid eyes poking out from the cabinet, watching him, and the tip of a gun. "Don't move," she whispers, so quiet that Izuku thinks maybe he's heard wrong. Still, he doesn't; he doesn't move, he doesn't do anything, because he can't. He's rooted to the floor.

When Shouto steps into the apartment, his right side is already spotted with freckles of frost. He's looking around the apartment, wearing a damn nice suit – likely in preparation for the gig they're supposed to be going to soon (he can't dwell on that too long or he actually will throw up). He sees Izuku almost immediately, how pitiful he is sitting on the floor of his kitchen, silent tears tracking down his pitifully red face, his breathing labored as he tries to steady himself. But Toga's still pointing the gun at him, and Shouto still hasn't seen her.

Shouto's guard lowers. "Izuku," he gasps out. "Oh, Izuku, what happened?"

"Shou—" Izuku stops, worried that this may qualify as moving, that he could end up with a bullet through him at any moment. And poor little Izuku only cries harder, another sob leaves him, thinking about how this could be it. After everything, this could be it; he loses to the League after they pretend to be his friend.

How does he tell him Toga is here? There's no way Shouto knows; Shouto thinks she's still locked up. But when Izuku doesn't even finish his word, Shouto's left side silently springs to life, with little flames licking their way up his arm. Izuku hopes, dumbly, that Shouto doesn't burn the piano.

"Toga, I know you're here."

The statement must startle Toga just as much as it startles Izuku, because Toga thumps her head on the top of the cabinet she's hiding inside. And Izuku flinches, whimpers like a child, and curls further on himself. He feels so awfully pitiful, but there's nothing he can do. He can't do anything, and it's become so painfully apparent to him the longer he's been bodyguarded, by Katsuki, by Shouto, that he'll never amount to what they are.

"Aww, Izuku and I were just having fun," Toga says slyly, as she crawls out of the cabinet and perches herself up on the island counter. "I just wanted to see him again, that's all!"

Shouto flicks his wrist and ice shoots over the floor of the apartment. It takes less than a second, Izuku thinks, and Toga's legs up to her knees are frozen to the surface of the counter. "Ouch," she hisses, then giggles, that same giggle that makes Izuku want to vomit. Izuku's untouched by the ice, and there's a small, thin path for him to walk around the side of the refrigerator, probably to take cover, but he's stuck. He's rooted to his spot, as if he's been frozen as well.

Toga's hands still have free range, though, and she's reaching into her jacket pocket while Shouto searches for cover. She draws out a knife and throws it, and Izuku watches it whistle just past Shouto's head; Shouto retaliates with another wave of ice, which spikes up from the counter and captures that arm in stalagmites of ice.

The battle, quite frankly, isn't even a battle. After Toga is frozen in spot like this, she sort of deflates; she allows herself to be apprehended by Shouto, giggling crazily even as the police arrive on the scene and handcuff her. This time, the policemen are accompanied by Kyouka, dressed in her Earphone Jack costume, in order to prevent another escape.

All this time, Izuku remains firmly seated on the floor of his kitchen. His eyes focus in and out, his brain like a broken record thinking about Katsuki and how he couldn't do anything to save him and how without Shouto he'd be dead. His tears have stopped and he feels nothing more than hollow, now, wonders if maybe he did actually die and this entire time he's been a ghost overlooking the situation.

But, shortly after the police and Kyouka leave, Shouto is steaming off a small space on the kitchen floor to sit without freezing to the surface, and he's sitting down next to Izuku, close enough that their shoulders touch.

And all he can say is, "I'm so sorry."