Chapter Text
“Who the fuck are you?”
A meathead is at the end of Katsuki’s hospital bed. He has hair the colour of a warning sign and eyes like a puppy, and he’s pointing them both at Katsuki like he wants something.
“I already told you, I’m Kirishima Eijirou and I’m your-“
“There’s not a chance in hell,” Katsuki cuts him off, voice poisonous. Kirishima sighs. Then he pouts. But the puppy eyes return quickly when he spots Katsuki’s chart.
“Here!” He holds the chart up and lifts it closer so Katsuki can read. It’s there in neat kanji. Kirishima Katsuki.
“See?” Kirishima pushes. “Husband. Married. Rings and all.” He lifts his left hand and gives Katsuki a wave. The gold band on his ring finger shines.
Katsuki looks down to his own finger, and sure enough there is a matching ring. He immediately wants to tear it off.
“I don’t remember marrying you.” The sneer comes out before Katsuki even has to summon it. “My goal since fucking kindergarten has been to be the top hero in Japan, there’s no way I’d have wasted time on that crap. Get out, go home,” Katsuki orders. His head hurts, and his mouth is dry. Nothing really makes sense. He just wants quiet so he can recalibrate in peace.
Kirishima seems unphased by the spite in Katsuki’s tone. “But...we live together. And they’re discharging you, so…we’re going to the same place?”
“I can leave a hospital by myself,” Katsuki argues immediately.
“Oh, for sure.” Kirishima’s agreement isn’t condescending or pacifying. He hits a note that Katsuki rarely hears; one that somehow doesn’t make his temper flare. Kirishima tosses him a disarming grin. “The escort is just doctors being careful. But, like...where are you going?”
Katsuki pauses and thinks. He can remember home. Home is his house, and his mom and dad, and spicy curry. Home is an address memorised since childhood.
“I’ll get my parents to come get me. They can be my stupid escort.”
“Kats, you don’t live at your parents’ house.” Kirishima smiles at him, a little pained and a lot fond, and Katsuki bristles.
He doesn’t like that look. He hasn’t done anything to earn that kind of sickly sappy doting, and it makes him feel wrong.
“Get my phone.”
“What?”
“Get my fucking phone, useless extra!”
“Man, amnesia Katsuki is grouchy,” Kirishima complains, but he gets up and heads to the little plastic crate on the desk. Rifling through, he heads back with Katsuki’s phone in hand. “Uh, it’s dead-“ Katsuki has already grabbed for it. It doesn’t turn on.
He makes a frustrated noise in his throat and rips the covers off his legs, pulling tubes and wires out of his arm.
“Oh my god, dude, do not start this- there is a procedure for taking those out. Katsuki!”
“Quit using my first name!” Katsuki orders, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“It’d be weird to call you Kirishima, though-“
“It’s Bakugou! Or better yet, just call me nothing and get the fuck out!” Katsuki yells. He points sharply to the door and breathes raggedly through his nose, anger palpable.
A silence pulls tight between them; an elastic band pulling far and taut. Kirishima’s face creases, and he looks to the side. The sudden loss of those eyes on him makes Katsuki feel like he’s missed a step, like he’s caught in the drunk lurch right before the fall.
Kirishima’s voice, when he finally speaks, is quiet and thick. Katsuki can hear the way Kirishima’s throat tries to close around his words, emotion threatening to spill over; “I get that this is a lot. I do. But just...I’ve been so worried. For like a whole week you’ve been kind of touch and go, and…” he swallows. “Please. I just want both of us to go home. Please.”
Katsuki has never been a compassionate kind of guy. Tears don’t move him and begging has never dulled the power of his explosions.
And yet.
“Give me your phone. I’m calling my mom,” he demands. Kirishima hesitates but then nods warily. He doesn’t even let Katsuki put the number in; just hits a few buttons and suddenly holds the phone out again.
The bastard has Bakugou Mitsuki in his contacts.
Katsuki puts the phone to his ear and relaxes only minutely when he hears his mother’s voice. “Eijirou, is everything okay? Is he-“
“Where did you go?” Katsuki asks, cutting her off and sounding half annoyed and half whiny brat. He clears his throat. “You were gone when I woke up. Some idiot here is pretending to be my husband.”
“Katsuki!” She sounds relieved. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, you little brat. And Eijirou’s had your ring for over a year now so quit it with that ‘pretending’. The doctors told us three times that memory loss was probable based on the other cases, so do your breathing exercises and don’t bully him.“ Her scolding is somehow grounding. It’s familiar in a way that nothing else has been since Katsuki woke.
“You didn’t think about mentioning I have my own place and a fucking spouse? Thought you’d just go home and let me figure this shit out by myself?” Katsuki growls out.
Mitsuki pauses. “You really don’t remember him?” She sighs, and her tone drops into something close to apologetic. “I thought that you might forget the last few days, Kiddo, not years. Have you told a doctor yet? Do I need to come down there? You know what, my bag is still in the car. I’ll come back.”
“Don’t bother. I’m about to leave, anyway,” Katsuki says. He won’t be here any longer than he needs to be.
“Is Eijirou taking you home? Katsuki...I’m worried. How much can you actually remember?” Even just her voice bleeds concern.
“...I...work as a hero.”
“Yes.”
“I graduated UA.”
“When?”
“That…” Katsuki can’t find the answer. He scrapes around inside his mind, but it keeps going blank and white. An empty page.
“How old are you, Sweetheart?”
He isn’t a child. He remembers how to shave and the feeling of breaking both arms. There’s a credit card in his wallet next to his hero license, and he knows he’s had alcohol before. But in terms of an actual, specific age? It’s like there are no landmarks for his brain to latch on to. It’s just a fog of unrelated experiences in his memory. “...I’m not sure,” he admits quietly. The two of them are quiet just long enough for the gravity of that to settle in.
“Do you want to come home?” She asks.
It’s tempting. He takes a deep breath, and forces himself to calm down. He could hide at home and wait this out, but that’s never been Katsuki’s style. He levels a glare in Kirishima’s direction.
“Oi. You.”
“Me?” Kirishima points to himself.
“Where do we live? Is it close to my agency?”
Kirishima considers. “Uh, our agency. And it’s, like, a fifteen minute walk. Do you-?”
“Where?”
“Shibuya…”
Katsuki grunts and turns away. “No. I’ll go with Shitty Hair. I’m not missing work.”
On the other end of the line, Mitsuki sighs. “You need to recover.”
“I’m fine. And the doctor said the amnesia was quirk related, right? So, it’ll wear off. My body still works. I’m not missing a day more than I have to.”
“I know I can’t stop you. But be careful, okay? And tell the doctors. None of us were expecting you to be missing this much.” The worry in her voice has his fist clenching against the sheets.
“Whatever. I’ll text you when my phone has charge.”
“Okay. Stay safe, baby.”
He hangs up and bowls the phone back to Kirishima. The redhead is practically shining at him, clearly pleased about something.
“The fuck is that face for?”
“You called me Shitty Hair,” Kirishima says triumphantly.
“Your hair is shitty.”
“You used to call me that in high school. It’s been a while since I last heard it, so it’s nostalgic, I guess?”
“You went to UA?” Katsuki says, surprised and eyeing him more closely.
“Yeah. We graduated together.”
“And you said ‘our’. Our agency. What are you, a sidekick?”
The face that Kirishima pulls would be comical if he didn’t seem so obviously annoyed. He crosses his arms and frowns.
“No dude, I’m your partner. We’re co-owners. And it was your idea, but I pull my weight.” He hits his own chest with a solid thump.
A husband and a partner. Katsuki feels like he would never share that much of himself or of his dream, and he doesn’t trust any of this one fucking bit. But he’ll crack the mystery when he’s out of this damn hospital.
“I’m getting dressed. Get out,” Katsuki orders. For a moment Kirishima looks like he might argue, but he gives up and starts towards the door.
“I’ll be right outside. Don’t rush it, okay? The villains got chargrilled but you got pretty beat up.”
Katsuki gives him the middle finger until Kirishima sighs and finally leaves.
—
Eijirou leaves for the hallway, heart pounding and palms sweaty.
God, the way Katsuki had looked at him, through him. But somehow, despite the sheer panic and cold despair that had welled up in Eijirou’s heart, he had managed to convince Katsuki they were married.
Are married! They are definitely married. The whole world knows about the wedding, they just know a little less about the marriage part. That it isn’t, technically speaking, one hundred percent romantically real.
Unfair, he thinks. It’s a bit real! They love each other a lot, when Katsuki isn’t missing memories. They always have each other’s backs. They’ve just built the agency together, and they live together, and Eijirou is definitely head over heals for his husband. He’s just never told Katsuki that part.
Eijirou’s mom isn’t Japanese. And that had never been a problem until Ma had passed. She had been their link to Japan and that had been enough, even with her passing, for them to have a place in Japan. His mom was and is an A-flo national; a fortress floating at cloud level that likes to keep itself closed off from the world below.
A year after graduation, and six months after Ma’s funeral, relations between A-flo and Japan had started to sour. It never reached war, but Aflo declared themselves fully independent from Earth, released information on their personal army, and closed off trade. Japan responded by ceasing free movement between Aflo and Japanese territories.
Eijirou’s Mom relied on that freedom to live and work in Japan, even if Eijirou was considered a dual citizen. She would have to try to apply for a visa along with so many others.
Aflo also called back every national with a quirk registered at a level six or higher. As a preteen Eijirou had been a measly level one on the Aflo Quirk Scale. When they came to test him again at the agency, he found himself at a whopping nine.
Aflo suddenly wanted him back, and Japan suddenly wanted him gone.
After months of agonising, Eijirou had finished yet another agonising call with his Mom. She had cried. He maybe had cried a little bit too. The visa had come back a third time with errors and red tape, and no one had really known how to help at any of the administrations she called. If she had to leave Japan, Eijirou would have had to follow her. A pile of demanding letters had sat by the front door sounding official and terrifying. He had known he could fight it in the courts like some of the other heroes, sure, but he could never have let his Mom go back to Aflo alone. She had no one to meet her there.
He’d sniffled a little into his sleeve and looked out over the city lights from the balcony. What a mess. Leaving behind everything he’d built in Japan had been a heartbreak he was too scared to face. Not really manly, but also completely true.
“Eijirou,” Katsuki’s voice had been low and concerned. Eijirou had scrubbed his face clean and turned to see Katsuki emerge from his bedroom, hands tucked deep in his pockets.
“Sorry. Uh, what’s going on?” Eijirou asked.
Katsuki’s eyes had flitted across the tear tracks, and the nervous way Eijirou bit at his bottom lip. He didn’t comment on it.
“Beamspear lost his case.”
“What?” Eijirou had choked, words barely a whisper. The information wouldn’t fit inside his brain; a square peg in a circular hole. “They can’t. They can’t. He’s been a hero here for seven years now-“
“They say he’ll have to apply for a visa.”
“They won’t give people the visas!”
“Eijirou!” Katsuki’s snap had Eijirou pausing. His breath had come fast and he had felt the hardening crusting across his shoulders. He’d swallowed as much of it as he could.
“They’re going to send us back,” Eijirou admitted. His voice had cracked on the last word. Katsuki leant against his shoulder, the two of them existing in a quiet hum together.
“It’s time to play their game.” Katsuki had said, determined. “You could stay in Japan before because of your Ma, right? You could go live with her relatives, get adopted by one of them while your mom keeps applying for the visa-“
“No, no relatives on that side of the family in Japan. My uncle passed before Ma and Mom met, so…”
“So you have to get married.”
Eijirou had fumbled his phone so hard he almost dropped it to the carpet.
“What?!”
“You have legal citizenship if you have a Japanese spouse. We dump your Aflo citizenship and apply for your Mom’s visa with a Japanese sponsor that you’re married to. The link would be undeniable.”
Eijirou had thought about it for a moment, taking in Katsuki’s earnest expression. He’d known immediately that Katsuki would have researched it to hell and back before suggesting it. It must have been an idea worth considering, but it felt so absurd.
“I’m not even seeing anyone, though. And it would be so unmanly to start a relationship just to stay in the country. Kind of like using someone, you know? I don’t think there’s enough time for me to find someone like that, even if we met tomorrow.”
Katsuki hadn’t looked away. Eijirou had thought immediately that he must have missed something, because that was the look he got when he said something stupid.
Katsuki words had come out in a slow drawl, patience wearing thinner. “Okay. So, someone you’ve already met. Someone who doesn’t want a relationship and so doesn’t care about a fake one, someone who is willing to do all the stupid paperwork, and someone who won’t look too sudden and suspicious. Do you see where I’m going with this yet?”
“...Nooo?”
“Me, you absolute dumbass. You can marry me. I don’t do dating. We already live together. We’ve been one team since high school. There’s no way they can argue it’s not real.”
Something behind Eijirou’s eyes had shattered and clattered down inside him like he was a tin man. What. What?! Marry? His best friend? Bakugou Katsuki. Marry Bakugou Katsuki.
All at once a million thoughts had tried to burst from Eijirou’s mouth.
“No, no no no. Katsuki, that’s your whole life! What if you meet someone? Or want to start a family? What if we have a fight and never talk again? You can’t just sign your life over-“
“My life is getting the number one spot and being top of the world. I can’t have DynaRiot Agency with just Dynamight. Literally nothing would change for me, it’s just...you. You have to be okay with not getting the romance and the, the…all of that.” Then his eyes had finally slid away from Eijirou, out at the sunset beyond their balcony. “I want you to stay. Here. And fight by my side.”
It had been a straight up declaration of feelings! So very Katsuki, the epitome of living with no regrets and refusing all fear. Eijirou’s heart had melted. Of course Katsuki would take the most straightforward course to keeping someone important to him in his life.
It was true that Katsuki never dated, and that he frequently declared dating was a waste of time. Eijirou had literally never seen Katsuki take an interest in another human being. He barely even managed to make acquaintances with people a lot of the time, and friends were even more rare.
They had already been living and working together. They already looked after each other if one of them got sick, paid for stuff if the other was running short, comforted each other on the worst days. Wasn’t that most of the wedding vows already?
“I want that, too.” He’d smiled so wide, feeling something inside so intensely at how much Katsuki was willing to sacrifice for him. For their agency and dreams. “I’ll...think about it.”
A week later, when Beamspear had boarded a plane for Aflo and another representative turned up for Eijirou at the agency, Katsuki had asked him again.
And that time Eijirou had said yes.
–
Katsuki finds himself winding tighter the longer he’s awake. The doctors seem confused when he tells them how much of his memory is seemingly missing. Other people had been hit by the same quirk, he’s told, and had lost hours, sometimes days. The idea of years is alarming, but the whitecoats say they just don’t know what his recovery chances are without more data. Everyone seems to agree it’s likely, but there’s just no proof. It’s driving him nuts.
To top it off, no one thinks it’s weird that Katsuki has a husband. They even say goodbye to him by name on the way out.
Red Riot.
The two of them take a taxi sent by the agency, and Katsuki ignores Kirishima in favour of thinking about the agency he’s supposed to be in charge of. Shared. What other parts of his sudden future life are going to turn out a disappointment? He hopes he remembers how stupid this all is when his memory returns. A lot of changes have to be made to fix this shit-heap.
“We’re here. I’ll get your bag.” Kirishima hops out of the taxi almost before it stops. He has a nervous energy to him that pisses Katsuki off, but without any other choices available to him, Katsuki can only follow him out to where he supposedly lives.
“That’s it?” He says, unimpressed, faced with the apartment block that is his ‘home’.
“Home sweet home. We’re on the fifth floor.” Eijirou gives him a grin and turns to pay the taxi driver.
The apartment complex is square and plain, on the side of a hill. Recycling and burnables are tucked out of sight in a neat little cubicle, the entrance is open to the post boxes and an elevator, and the whole block is a peachy orange colour. It’s functional but clearly outdated.
“Tch,” Katsuki scoffs. He strides inside and tells himself he still has time to change all of this.
“Hey, Ka-! Bakugou. Wait up! I have your keys.” Kirishima jogs to catch up to him. Katsuki says nothing.
“Is seeing it bringing anything back? We’ve been here since graduation. I was kind of hoping something here might jumpstart your memories.”
A talker. Why the fuck would he marry a talker?
“Shut up.”
“That’s okay. We’ll keep working on it,” Kirishima smiles, unshakeable.
Katsuki turns his back on Kirishima’s optimism and starts up the stairs. It makes all of his bruises and pains flare to life, but it’s better than standing in an elevator with Kirishima. Plus, it lets him take stock of himself.
Still decent stamina. Acceptable muscle. At least he hasn’t been letting everything go to shit all this time.
The corridor to their place is square and clean and boring. Kirishima gently nudges past him, keys in hand.
“It’s this one. I’ll text you the apartment number so you can find it easy by yourself. I got that curry in. The paste. Uh, I know it’s not as good as when you do it from scratch, but you always say it’s the only decent premade-“
“Move,” Katsuki bites out.
“Oh! Right. Sorry.”
Their apartment is an open plan kitchen in the same room as a clearly second-hand kotatsu. The rice cooker quietly hums, steaming. There are several sets of shoes in the entrance way, two umbrellas, two sets of house slippers.
Katsuki toes off his shoes and ignores the slippers. He doesn’t care which pair are technically assigned to him; neither of them feel like his.
“Your room is the one on the left,” Kirishima says, taking the bag and gently slipping it inside the door on the left hand side. “I’ll...do dinner. Yeah. Get comfortable, okay?”
“What kind of marriage has two separate bedrooms in a place with Tokyo rent?” Katsuki challenges. Kirishima freezes.
“...a superhero one?” He settles on eventually. “We have different shifts. If I come back at four in the morning, I don’t wanna’ wake you up. And this is good, right? I guess you probably don’t feel like sharing a bed right now.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes. “I don’t care what the hag says, I can smell bullshit when it lands in front of me. Don’t fucking lie to me, Kirishima.”
Kirishima looks pale. “I’m...well, this is just how we are…”
“Fucking married?”
“Yeah. Married.” Kirishima nods. It’s confident, decisive. Despite his lack of colour, he seems unwavering on that fact.
It doesn’t make it more believable, per se, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of lie Kirishima could keep up. Hypnotism quirk? No. Fake memory implants? Katsuki can’t rule out that someone could have gotten to everyone, even his parents, and set all this up.
But why bother?
There are photos of the two of them on the fridge, and his own handwriting on the grocery list by the rice cooker.
Katsuki grimaces. “Just stay out of the way,” he says, defensive and angry, before marching towards his bedroom. Kirishima lets him go.
—
Katsuki’s room is functional and simple, and not far removed from how it was-
When? He can’t work out which room he is comparing it to.
It has less clutter than his room at home. He doesn’t remember living anywhere else, but the ghost of an image plays on the back of his eyelids. A room. His room.
Shaking his head, he plugs his phone into the first charger he sees and starts snooping on his alleged life.
There’s a picture of him with a very small, very frail All Might on the wall. It makes him feel some kind of way; a sort of ache in his chest. He hates that the most so far and takes it off the wall to lie face-down on the desk.
His clothes are neatly put away and look acceptable enough. There are books on martial arts and law and hero theory on the desk. A workout has been handwritten and left beside his bed, but it’s not in Katsuki’s hand.
Something pings. He turns to glare and realises it is his phone. It lights up brightly, finally on again, and it noisily declares a flurry of incoming messages.
That’s way too much interaction for him to deal with today. Grabbing it, he goes to mute them all before realising there might be evidence on the device.
It lets him in with a thumbprint and a facial scan, and opens to a background of the view at the top of a mountain. The message alerts are mostly from his parents, though there is a group chat that it seems Kirishima has just set off.
We’re home now guys but gotta rest up so might not see u for a bit
he’s much better though! Dont worry 2 much!
Emojis. So many emojis. Kirishima types like he talks.
Ignoring his mother for the moment, Katsuki opens the photo app.
There isn’t too much in there, as expected. Some photos of his own notes on things, a couple of cat pictures, some food that looks pretty messy and so is definitely not his own handiwork.
And then...Kirishima.
Smiling, sleeping, a screenshot of a news report on Red Riot; there are so many of him. Some are even of the two of them together, and that makes Katsuki’s heart do a terrified little flip flop in his chest.
Another alert comes through from his mother and he opens it just to get away from the photographs. Unfortunately, he ends up looking at something much worse.
Be nice to Eijirou! He’s my only son with good manners! his mom’s text says. And after that it’s just picture after picture of the two of them in full montsuki and drinking from the sake cups and breathing in a stupid amount of petal confetti.
Fuck. Fuckety fuck.
Katsuki slams the phone face down on the bed, and breathes. That’s a lot of evidence. Software can create some strong fakes, he knows, but they’ve got everything right if it’s been doctored. From Katsuki’s own hands and the scarring on them that he knows by heart, to the angry set of his shoulders, it’s perfect.
For the first time in all of this, a little seed of self doubt begins to sprout in Katsuki’s mind. If those pictures and that big, dumb smile on his face are both real, then Katsuki has to ask himself honestly; does he really want to destroy this life that his past self built up?
Hating himself a little, he reaches once again for the phone and zooms in on their faces. They seem pretty happy. The smile on Katsuki’s face is one of victory. He’s not sure that’s what love looks like. He’s never even been in love.
Probably. Not that he can remember, anyway. Shitfuckshit, he doesn’t know how to live this life! He doesn’t do this bullshit and his other self shouldn’t either!
He gets up and paces. It’s not that helpful, but moving starts to force his body to regulate itself. He lays out bullet points in his head.
One, he’ll try to find a new agency. He might have to sidekick again for a while but it’s the only option. Two, divorce. That’s an avenue open to him. Three, he could move back home until he has enough for a deposit on his own place.
A knock at the door breaks his concentration.
“Um, Bakugou? Dinner is gonna be ready in ten. Do you want the shower first?”
Katsuki rips open the door and Kirishima looks surprised. Normally Katsuki would ignore him, but he hates the stink of hospital on him and now that the offer is there, he’s going to take it. Anything to get out of this room and start thinking like a normal person again.
“It’s just,” Kirishima continues, “I know how much you hate the way the hospital smells. So.”
Damn him.
A withering look is all Kirishima gets for his inside knowledge on Katsuki’s thoughts. Everyone hates hospital smell. It doesn’t mean anything.
Cowed, Kirishima steps out of the way and Katsuki heads to the only door that hasn’t yet been explained to him. Kirishima follows behind and holds out a fluffy red towel. “This one’s clean. Uh, don’t use my red conditioner unless you want pink hair. You were pissed about that the first time,” he chuckles.
Katsuki scowls. He doesn’t want to know their in-jokes.
“Something’s burning, Idiot.”
“Oh, nuts!” Kirishima turns on one heel and launches himself back towards the kitchen. Katsuki is left to work out the shower unit alone, the way he fucking likes it. He doesn’t like this apartment though, or Kirishima, and he won’t like the stupid burnt curry either.
—
The curry is actually acceptable.
It pisses Katsuki off to admit it, but it tastes fine, if a little synthetic. It clearly has hot sauce added for depth of flavour, and Kirishima even gave him chilli flakes to tailor it to Katsuki’s own taste buds.
“It’s not as bad as you thought it would be, huh?” Kirishima beams at him. “You taught me a lot about how to improve store-bought stuff.”
Katsuki’s eye twitches. It’s fucking weird to have a stranger know his thoughts like this.
He grunts. “It’s shitty and it needs more onions.” He says, scathing, but Kirishima’s shining grin doesn’t falter.
“Hey, so tomorrow we wake up at six. I’ll take you into the agency and we can do first patrol together so that you know the beat. You’ve done it so many times, though. I bet it’ll be like muscle memory, you know?” Kirishima says.
“Fine.” Katsuki stands with his plate and goes to wash it.
“Leave those, I’ll get it. You still need some recovery time.” Kirishima lifts it out of his hands and balances both on one arm. “Goodnight Katsuki,” he says, leaning in.
Katsuki watches the realisation take over, seeing in real time Kirishima realise his error. His heart rate still spikes. What the hell is this? A hug? Had he been going for a fucking kiss?
They look at each other, two faces slowly colouring with eyes wide.
“Uh. My bad,” Kirishima eventually says, stepping back. “See you tomorrow .”
Katsuki doesn’t know what to do with that. It feels incomplete, like he’s missed something important. But he doesn’t want to kiss an annoying, loudmouthed stranger that he only met a few hours ago. Katsuki doesn’t even know him, so that feeling needs to be stomped right down to the heels of his feet and trodden on until it’s dead.
—--
Eijirou listens for Katsuki leaving, and doesn’t sigh out his breath until the door to Katsuki’s bedroom closes.
Stupid! Stupid Eijirou. It had taken Katsuki so long to be cool about physical touch as teens. After Kamino he’d started allowing it, sometimes even seeking it out. It had been a catalyst. And always after that, Eijirou would loop an arm over Katsuki’s shoulders or bother him with a head in his lap.
Being roommates made that even more common. Leaning on each other in the early morning before sunrise as they brushed their teeth, and lying together pressed close under the kotatsu to watch dumb dramas in the cold of winter - that was everyday, normal, Katsuki and Eijirou.
Most importantly, before work both a hug and a forehead bump for luck, because every new day was a risk. Before sleep the same again, because they’d both made it.
It had been their ritual for years. A kind of charm, just for them. Without it, alone in the kitchen, Eijirou kind of feels like it’s a bad omen. Plus, he’s pretty sure he made Katsuki uncomfortable.
God, this hurts so much more than he had been prepared for. And the one person he would go to for help with it is gone.
No. Not gone. Katsuki isn’t gone. He’s a whole person who Eijirou still cares about with or without his memories. And Katsuki could remember, should remember even. They just have to hold out until then. Eijirou just has to believe in Katsuki like he always has.
And until then, Eijirou will just miss him. Miss him so much that it hurts.