They were Kirishima and Bakugou.

・・・

Strangely, even though Katsuki had wanted to leave as soon as possible for the entire meal, now that their plates had been cleared, he felt glued to his seat.

Eijirou had his hand poised gracefully around the stem of a wine glass. Katsuki watched him swirl its contents.

He sighed. Eijirou looked up from the tablecloth in a flash.

“Sorry,” he muttered to him, and he meant it. “I’m just…”

He looked Eijirou in the eye. “Not sure what to say,” he finished.

Eijirou hummed. “Me neither, really,” he said with a lilt, “but I’ve been trying whatever anyway.”

“You know, no matter the circumstances, I’m still glad I got to see you,” he added.

If Katsuki was honest with himself, he’d agree.

It took effort, but eventually, Katsuki decided that maybe... he should try.

He sat up from where he leaned against the window, and crossed his arms on the table.

"You're not still at that shit desk job, are ya?"

Eijirou made a little huff of a laugh, something Katsuki had long ago learned meant he was uncomfortable, but tolerant. It always hurt hearing it towards him before, but now it was just a memory, just like everything else about the man in front of him.

"Nah, left ages ago."

"What's ages mean?"

"Like, three years ago, man, I dunno. Kiyo never stopped being a real prick. I couldn't keep it up no matter how much I liked everybody else."

Eijirou filled space so well. Katsuki started feeling something that wasn't bottomless nausea. Nostalgia. Fondness.

The lingering embers of their fireplace long-extinguished but still filled with hot coals, still cooling.

There was still love there, Katsuki realized. Something that would probably never go away. They'd built too much of themselves with each other for it to disappear.

Katsuki had dated other people since Eijirou. Probably loved them, too. None of them felt like this though, when he ran into them by accident—which had happened before. None of them hurt to look at but still made him want to smile.

That was always Eijirou's thing.

God, he wished Eijirou didn’t look so good, so well off and happy. Was he happy?

Katsuki wasn’t—that was, suddenly, for sure. The crack in his chest had become a massive fault line so quick he could've missed it.

With a deep breath, he sucked it up, and let himself talk.

▾☁︎▴
They awkwardly declined dessert after a while longer of casual conversation, and Eijirou almost felt transported back in time. Katsuki chuckled at him and he felt at peace.

But this wasn't really a date, was it?

No matter how much Katsuki's smiles and irritating quips tried to change his mind, Eijirou's head stayed on straight, firm, unyielding.

This was now, and they'd still broken each other's hearts once before. Left them too broken to really fix, at least together.

So Eijirou enjoyed the company. They talked about TV and movies and hobbies and anything a date would entail, but he was firmly aware that the person across from him used to know him more intimately than anyone else in Eijirou's life. Used to.

Eijirou watched new things, took up woodcarving, learned new song lyrics and met new people. Just as he imagined Katsuki had done too, over the course of six years.

So he didn't know him anymore, no, and that was what kept Eijirou from letting his mind wander dangerous paths.

Katsuki wasn't his to know anymore, and he wasn't Katsuki's. And it would be fine if it didn't fill Eijirou with so much goddamn heartache that he wanted to burst into tears every time Katsuki smiled.

He put on his bravest poker face, but Katsuki still knew him enough to notice.

He didn't say anything, though, and Eijirou had to wonder if that was worse.

▾☁︎▴
Katsuki had watched Eijirou fall from grace all evening. The false smiles got less frequent, the laughs quieter, non-existent sometimes. The eyes that had been on his were now on that same wine glass he’d never managed to finish drinking but kept holding onto.

In turn, Katsuki got braver. He asked questions, wondered things, admitted this was nice, yes, “It really is good to see you again,” kept saying that over and over to each other when they ran out of words.

Who were they trying to convince?

Katsuki wished they couldn’t read each other so well.

Silence fell over them so deafening it hurt his ears. They sat at their booth and let the restaurant overtake them, and prayed their thoughts could travel through the atmosphere for them.

“I don’t regret it,” Eijirou said to him, to finally break the silence. He’d put down his glass, looked up from the table. His eyes were stern when he said it, but kind.

“Which part?”

The rebuttal earned him a genuine Eijirou smile, another blow to the heart. “All of it, I guess,” which meant all of it.

He didn’t regret meeting him, he didn’t regret falling in love, and he didn’t regret breaking up.

Katsuki felt the same, sort of, even if it hurt like hell. The hardest to accept was the last, that the breakup was good for them. That he didn’t regret it.

It hurt, but so had the tail-end of their relationship, so no, Katsuki didn’t quite regret it either.

“Me too.”

And Eijirou hummed at him, and that was that.

▾☁︎▴
The rain had only barely let up, but it wasn’t promised that it would last. It at least meant they could take as long as they needed outside the restaurant. It was dark and loud and quiet.

“Uh, normally this would be the part we’d exchange numbers and say we’ll talk soon, but somehow,” Eijirou tilted his head, watched his words dawn on Katsuki like a pretty picture, “I don’t think that’s what we want.”

He let Katsuki think. It was always a strangely mesmerizing sight, watching him retreat into his own head to figure out something so complex as a sentence. An odd sort of genius.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Guess not.”

Eijirou had spent the last half hour convincing himself not to reach out. He didn’t trust himself to have Katsuki’s number in his pocket. He didn’t trust he wouldn’t lead himself into this exact situation again in another six years.

Eijirou had earned the opportunity to say goodbye without the angry tears, in the most unusual way. He was thankful to his friend for the failed set-up, really. Something told him he’d needed this.

Not because he needed him, but because he needed to decide that he didn’t.

“Katsuki?” he murmured, and Katsuki’s eyes shot up in an instant, wide and vulnerable. It ached like something ancient.

“I hope you’re alright. Really alright.”

And something about Katsuki’s grimace told him he wasn’t, but it wasn’t Eijirou’s job to pry, so he kept quiet.

“Same t’you,” he mumbled back, and Eijirou wished his smile didn’t feel so wobbly.

“You’ve got a long way yet, you know. Lots of years to find new things, I’m sure some new heart-throb-”

“Stop talking like you know shit, Ei. /Shit/, I know. You do too. Stop talking to me like that. It’s just like before.”

His mouth fell flat and so did his heartbeat. “Heh, yeah. Guess it is.”

Eijirou watched Katsuki go while he waited for his ride. He walked the same way, hunched forward with his hands stuffed in his pockets like he was still 17 and thought it looked cool.

He smiled, but his teary eyes spoke for him.

“See ya, Kat.”

Eijirou didn’t talk again until he grumbled his obligatory greetings to his office mate the next morning. He had made sure to text his friend his thanks on the train ride in and said that he’d explain later.

That was it.

▾☁︎▴
He hadn’t walked that way since high school, but somehow, Katsuki didn’t feel right to walk with any sort of pride away from whatever mess the past few hours had been.

He rolled his shoulders when his cab stopped at the curb, recited his address mechanically, and slumped up against the car door just as the next raindrops hit the window.

He listened to the windshield wipers’ first squeaky swish across the dash, and let the sound carry his heartbeat for him while he felt too damn weak to beat it himself.

He crossed back over the bridge he’d ridden over with Eijirou, and that was when it struck him that this was it, and Eijirou was gone.

He was always gone, of course, but now it was real. Now there was no argument to hide behind.

Eijirou was just, gone.

Katsuki didn’t bother stopping his tearline from burning, but he did jut his lower lip out about it, irritated that he couldn’t keep it under control. He was an adult and six years older but he didn’t feel any less juvenile in his disappointment.

Katsuki still hoped Eijirou would be alright too. He did hope he was happy and that things would look up for him. He did care.

He just never really knew how to tell him when he sat in front of him, and wasn’t that what really broke them up in the first place?

“Fuck,” he muttered quietly to himself, as he rubbed the shame out of his eyes and blinked rapidly back into focus.

When Katsuki got home, the sound of his keys hitting his side table was like the crash of a thousand cymbals and gongs, and he let out one undignified scream, right into his kitchen.

/Fuck/ this sucked.

He stood straight once he ran out of breath, alone in his empty kitchen and empty house shrouded in darkness, and took one steadying breath. So what was he going to do about it? What was left?

He glanced at a clock he still had seven years after it’d been gifted and never bothered to replace. It had memories in it, somehow, such a mundane little thing. He huffed.

“Goodbye, Ei,” he whispered, and he threw it in the trash the next morning at the first sign of sunrise.

▾☁︎▴
The first week or so was rough for them, in their own ways.

Katsuki had to keep throwing things away and replacing them, and that was his goodbye.

Eijirou had to keep reminding himself that they never would’ve worked out anyway, and convince himself of that.

But after those initial days, once the reopened wound began to close, things got a little better, bit by bit.

The way they always do, after a breakup.

They never stopped wondering about each other, which was typical, normal, of course. It’s normal to wonder, when so much of your heart had gone to someone once upon a time, if they’re happy.

Eventually, Eijirou and Katsuki made their own happy.

The way they always do, after a breakup.

And it was okay that it didn’t go the way they thought it would, because it often doesn’t. And it was okay they didn’t try to make it work again, because they didn’t have to. And life moved on and they moved on, but a piece of them still died in the other’s arms, that night.

The way they always do, after a breakup.

"𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶

𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳

𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦."

https://open.spotify.com/track/1Pz8TQksKnJq5u6iQdVvXt

・・・ＥＮＤ.