cw: mentions of past minor character death, happy ending


Eijirou had always thought that it just a movie cliche that it always seems to rain when bad things happen.

He's seen enough movies - they have them on all the time, and god knows there's nothing else to do - to have vivid pictures of that protagonist, standing in the rain, filled with despair and soaking wet.

But he had always just thought that it had been a cliche, a movie tactic, set there to provoke emotion that maybe the actors can't pull forth.

Katsuki always rolled his eyes, waved an annoyed hand at the screen, grumbled something about how much of a coincidence it would be.

That had always made Eijirou laugh, kicking his feet into his friend's lap and leaning back onto the couch. The other kids would shush them, trying to watch the movie, and they'd get one of those /looks/ from one of the Caregivers - like a threat to get Miss Pepper.

Eijirou would always smother his chuckles after that, but Katsuki never cared - he got sent back to his room more often than not anyways.

Maybe Eijirou was always afraid of getting in trouble, sent to be alone, but it was admirable that Katsuki didn't care.

Besides, Eijirou would always sneak into his room on the way by anyways at the end of the night, bringing some of the treats that they had been given that night, the ones that Katsuki had missed out on because he had been sent back to his room.

He had liked to believe that maybe, that was why Katsuki hadn't cared. Because he knew that he had Eijirou, no matter what, that he could count on the redhead.

It's a Sunday in April and it's pouring buckets when Eijirou discovers that he's wrong about that.

He wakes up to rolling thunder at what would be dawn, hands shaking. He knows it's ridiculous - but he always gets a bad feeling when it rains.

"Too many movies," he whispers to himself, swallowing. Maybe it's that.

Or maybe it's because it had been raining all those years ago, standing next to a wrecked car, ushered away from an ambulance that isn't necessary anymore, suddenly completely alone in the world.

He barely remembers that day anymore. There's no reason to be afraid of it.

Thunder booms outside again, and Eijirou shuffles a little further down in the bed. He's sixteen and a half, he's too old to be scared of lightning storms. It doesn't change the shaking of his hands, the tightening of his shoulders as light flashes outside again.

He's sure that all the little kids are scared too, he could go downstairs under the guise that he wants to help out the little ones. He's got this new family here, he's got the Caregivers, he's got Miss Pepper. He's got his best friend - he's got Katsuki.

He can't figure out why he suddenly feels /lonely,/ with the rattling of the rain against his tiny hundred-year-old window. He's got no reason to be lonely. He's got Katsuki right on the other side of the wall.

Still mostly under the covers, he presses his palm against the wall.

Why does it suddenly feel so /cold?/ It's like the heaters are broken, like all of the happiness has suddenly been sucked out of the world, like he's all alone again, five years old, standing with rain dripping down his cape-socks into his Lightning McQueen sneakers.

He's still got those sneakers somewhere, up in his little closet. He doesn't have a lot from back then, but he kept those shoes. They don't light up anymore. He had wanted the heelies - but his mom had said he'd fall too much. He already fell all the time just walking normal.

That must still be the case - he gets his blankets tangled around his legs as he's trying to get out of his bed and falls flat on his face. Thunder rumbles like a laugh outside, and Eijirou grabs his blanket and pulls his around his shoulders like a cape.

It's dark in the hallway - of course it is. It's still way too early for any of the other kids to be up. Though, there's probably people downstairs. He shuffles down the hall, blanket dragging behind himself. He doesn't knock on Katsuki's door - doesn't want to wake him up.

They can talk in the morning.

Or, well, later in the morning. Katsuki's always grumpy when you wake him up too early. So Eijirou pads down the stairs and into the den. There's light in the kitchen, the sounds of people talking, moving around.

Maybe Miss Pepper making cocoa, or tea, or coffee if Eijirou is lucky. Maybe the youngest of the little ones sitting on the counter, wrapped up in blankets, one of the Caregivers wiping tears away and turning on music to drown out the rolling thunder outside.

It's not any of those things.

Eijirou blinks at the light, stopping in the doorway and frowning. There's a big book open on the table, two of the Caregivers scribbling things out, one of them looking through what looks like bus routes.

Miss Pepper is leaned over the counter, on the phone. She looks agitated, frustrated, and worst of all she looks /worried./

Thunder outside again. Eijirou winces.

"I don't care what you advise," Miss Pepper spits, angrier than Eijirou's ever heard her. He shrinks away a little.

"I looked it up," she continues, glaring at the counter, where she's curling her fingers against the granite. "I do /not/ have to wait any length of time to file a missing persons report."

Heat shoots through Eijirou, followed by a wave of ice cold dread. There's a lump in his throat. He knows. He doesn't want to be right - but he /knows./

A boom of thunder shakes him to his core. He feels like he might throw up.

One of the Caregivers looks up as Eijirou's blanket flutters to the ground. Her eyes widen out.

"Eijirou," she says, and everybody in the room - save Miss Pepper - turn to look at him, but it's too late.

"No," Miss Pepper says, still frustrated, way too loud in the quiet kitchen, in Eijirou's ringing ears. "He's been gone all morning."

Eijirou's already running.

He slips on his blanket on the hardwood and crashes to the floor, but he's back on his feet in an instant, sprinting up the stairs, ignoring one of the Caregivers calling out for him.

Up the stairs two at a time, right at the T, forth door on the right - it slams open -

"Katsuki," he gasps. Thunder rolls outside again, rain pounding on the roof. Eijirou's heart rolls over itself, attempts a prison break through his ribs.

Katsuki didn't just shove stuff into a bag and leave.

No, Katsuki packed up his entire room into boxes, set out in a neat, organized pile in the center of the floorboards. His bed is turned down, sheets smoothed.

It almost looks like nobody has ever lived here.

"No," he manages, feeling choked. He feels like he can't breathe. Whichever of the Caregivers that followed him reaches the doorway, but Eijirou is already shoving past her, prying free from the hand that tries to grab his elbow. "No!" he shouts.

"Eijirou," she calls desperately as the redhead scrambles down the stairs, falling down the last couple. The heels of his palms hurt, and it probably doesn't even matter, if Miss Pepper is right and Katsuki's been gone all morning.

Still, he desperately undoes the locks on the front door, kicks it open, and rushes out to the front stoop.

"Katsuki!" he shouts, nearly drowned out by the rain. He stumbles down the steps, onto the sidewalk, bare feet splashing in the puddles. "Katsuki!"

He turns left, pauses, turns right. He has no idea where Katsuki would have gone. He might have gone to the train station, or maybe the Greyhound stop, or the airport, or, or, or....

Eijirou grinds to a stop, standing in the puddle in the dip of the sidewalk where he sat with Katsuki when they were seven, playing with army-men and waging tiny wars. In front of the steps where they kicked back and looked at the sky, talked about nothing.

Under the shadow of the building where he grew up one door away from his best friend, put there by tragedy and pain, but surrounded by comfort, /happiness./ Like maybe, he's found a new family.

A family that had just run away, leaving Eijirou alone, standing with this building that doesn't feel the same anymore, rain dripping down his hair and into his pajama shirt, gathering in the dips of his back and the spaces beneath his eyes. Cause that's rain - they're not tears.

Katsuki /left./ Without a single word, without a warning, without a single care about Eijirou.

/Nobody adopts teenagers,/ Katsuki had said once. /We're stuck here./

/At least we have each other,/ Eijirou had chuckled back. Katsuki had rolled his eyes, smiled.

/Yeah, yeah, Shitty Hair,/ he grumbled. /We're not //alone// alone./

But now here's Eijirou, standing in a thunder storm, staring out at the rain splashing little craters on the pavement - /alone/ alone.

One of the Caregivers makes it down the steps with an umbrella, wraps an arm around his wet, shaking shoulders. He lets her pull him back inside, nowhere else to go.

He lets her take him back in, alone and family-less, once again, in this big wide universe.

Eight Years Later

"No," Katsuki says, narrowing his eyes and trying /desperately/ not to spit in this guy's face. "I /just/ told you that we don't have the Bible."

"It's a bookstore," the guy snaps back. "That's the most famous book there is. You should have the Bible."

Grinding his teeth, Katsuki grips the edge of the little counter. It creaks under his grip. "Contrary to popular belief, not everyone is religious. We haven't been able to order religious texts yet. If you see, we have a section taped out for-"

"When will you have it?"

"You know it's interesting that someone who's so obsessed with it /doesn't/ already own the Bible," Katsuki snaps, and the guy folds his arms.

"You are being entirely too rude with me," the guy wrinkles his nose. "Where's the owner? I just want to be notified when-"

"I /am/ the owner," Katsuki growls, the wood of the counter splintering under his fingers. Shit. He's gonna have to fix that. "And you can get the hell out of my store."

The guy glares at him, but wrinkles his nose and turns on his heel. Katsuki flips him the bird behind his back, letting out a breath. Fuck. He's going to have to fix his stupid fucking counter now. What a great goddamn day.

"You can get in trouble for lying, you know," Deku says, leaning out from behind the bookcase he's stocking.

"Fuck off, Deku," Katsuki grumbles. "I'm /basically/ the owner."

"If you're basically then owner than /I'm/ basically the owner," Deku responds, rolling his eyes, dodging the returned book that Katsuki hurls at his head. He laughs, like an asshole. "Oh, come on. I'm just joking with you."

"You can shove your /joking/ up your ass," Katsuki growls, turning to put the books on the little cart so one of them can put them all back. "Get the fuck out of here. Flip the closed sign - I'll do closing."

"Huh? But I'm scheduled for-"

"Yeah and /I/ make the schedule," Katsuki snaps, shooting a heated look at the stupid little green-haired guy. "And I'm changing it. You go home. Take my closing tomorrow."

"I can do that, I guess-"

"Then fucking go," Katsuki snaps, wrinkling his nose as Deku chuckles, comes over to scribble down his clock-out time, and heads out.

The store goes quiet, and Katsuki breathes out.

He stocks back up in silence, the three returned books and the new ones they had gotten at noon, and straightens up the areas that customers had screwed up. The store is quiet, save for the hum of the heater. It's raining outside.

Something tugs on the back of his brain, but he ignores it. He doesn't need anything right now but to be stocking up, to gather his things slowly and write down inventory and stuff. He wishes there were enough things to stay here all night.

But there aren't, there isn't anything for him to do after an hour or so, everything's clean, everything is picture perfect. He's even figured out the stuff he's gotta buy to fix the counter, and written a note for it.

So he lets out a slow breath, writes down his clock out time, and locks the door on his way out. The sun is going down, highlighting the backs of the clouds in golds and yellows. The flowers are going to be blooming soon - and they'll get the tourists passing through.

"April showers bring May flowers," Katsuki grumbles to himself, hiking his collar up. The rain twinkles in the setting sun.

He hates when it rains when the sun is still technically out. Everybody says it's beautiful, but Katsuki can't think of anything but a smile and a rainbow.

That doesn't matter anymore. That's ages ago. This is Katsuki now, stopping to grab food for dinner. He doesn't want to cook tonight. He wants to bring home his takeout, tuck his legs up on the couch in the one-room apartment he can barely afford.

He wants to pull a blanket around his shoulders as thunder booms outside, ignore the memories that shift in his head like dust in the wind, and eat with his music playing softly.

He does /not/ want to stand at his counter, crossing off another day on his calendar. He doesn't know why he expected today to be any different than any other day. It's not like anybody knows.

He brushes his teeth, changes into pajamas, climbs into his single bed, no frame, on the floor. It's not high living, but it's a life. He's got a roof, he's got a job. He's got /books./ He's surrounded by adventures. It's alright that none of them are happening to him.

In the dark, blanket pulled to his chin, he breathes out. It doesn't matter that he's alone. He's got everything he needs.

"Happy birthday," he whispers to the dark room, maybe just to hear the words out loud. He lets them sit in the air, take him into sleep. He'll be fine.

It's a Sunday morning, and it's absolutely fucking pouring.

Katsuki has been dealing with dumbass people walking in all morning, shaking water out of their hair and off their umbrellas all over the floor in front of the door and all over the magazines on the front racks.

Plus also the idiots who won't buy the protective bag - letting their new book get exposed to the weather, letting the rain seep into their pages like /books/ and /rain/ go together. Idiots.

"People just don't want to spend the extra money, I think Kacchan," Deku says, and Katsuki tries to keep himself from socking the guy in the face.

"I don't give a fuck about their money, I give a fuck about their books," Katsuki grumbles.

"You should start thinking about the person holding the book instead," Deku chuckles, and Katsuki takes a swing, but the little guy dodges out of the way.

"Go stock up before I kick you through the front window," Katsuki threatens, and Deku has the nerve to laugh.

Deku moves away, taking the cart with him, and Katsuki leans onto the counter, sighing. He's been here for years now - he knows the tourist season is only just starting. People who don't know how much it rains here, in this little beach town, overflowing single-lane roads.

Creating little rivers on the sidewalks, making all of the docks slippery and impossible to walk on. Katsuki never sits on the beach or anything, but it's annoying to not be able to walk on anything without feeling like he might fall on his ass.

It's this time of year that makes him think of a clumsy dumbass, someone who could never keep his feet under him. It's not fair - Katsuki should be moved on by now - but it doesn't stop him from thinking. It doesn't turn off his brain.

It doesn't turn off his brain as the door jingles, a loud group of people move inside, laughing, shaking water off of their shoulders as they shove each other, hang up their coats on the hooks by the door.

Katsuki just sits at the counter, slowly marking through orders, taking even breaths. He can get through tourist season. It's fine. He's done it before.

The people fan out through the store, a couple others that were in already come up to the counter, refuse the protective bag.

Katsuki spends his time trying to avoid punching people in the face, ringing them up with the most neutral face he can muster. He just hates it when people don't take care of their books.

/If only you could see the words buried beneath my skin.../

"Milk and Honey," Katsuki says, taking the book slid across the counter. It's a good poetry book, but he's annoyed right now, from people coming in and out, so his voice probably sounds annoyed. "Is that all?"

"I guess so," the guy says as Katsuki types in the code, scrolls through the old computer. It always takes ages - they should get a new one soon. Right after he fixes the counter. "Did you have any other suggestions?"

Katsuki has a /hundred/ different suggestions, but nobody actually listens to him. Sighing, he types in the numbers, clicks on quantity: 1.

"Yesterday I Was The Moon," he says - a go-to. He knows the guy will laugh, move on, take his book and go. It never matters what he says.

"Oh really? Where can I find it?"

Frowning, Katsuki waves his hand at the last row. "Over there, third from the end. This is gonna be six-"

"Oh hang on. Let me go grab it, then."

Katsuki lifts his head as the guy spins, hurrying off down to the last row. There's no line, so it doesn't /really/ matter, but what the hell. He pushes his glasses up his nose, frowning. Whoever this guy is, he's wearing shorts in a rainstorm.

He returns, and Katsuki looks down at the book as he hands it over. He's got the right one - he had been paying attention. "You want this one too?"

"Yeah man! I love books, especially poetry. Just add that one right on."

Katsuki nods slowly, adding it onto the order. He pushes the glasses up his nose again.

"I had a friend that really liked books. Poetry." the guy says, something odd in his voice. He sounds... he sounds funky. His voice reminds Katsuki of days past.

That's ridiculous, though, so he keeps his head down, grunting in response.

"He always had good recommendations, too. I hope yours will be as good as his."

"They will be," Katsuki promises, scribbling in the order, clicking through the computer.

"I'm sure," the guy says. His voice sounds echoes off the inside of Katsuki's head, and the blond grits his teeth. There's no reason to be weird like this with some random tourist. "How's.... uh. How's your day?"

Barely suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Katsuki stamps out the date in the books. "Fine. Idiots getting water all over my floors and mags, but whatever. That's gonna be twelve-fifty."

"Oh! Okay, nice."

"You want the protective bag?" Katsuki asks as the guy shuffles for his wallet.

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. Keep it safe from the weather."

Katsuki finally looks up to squint at the guy, pushing his glasses up with two fingers.

He's wet from the rain, and his hair is /bright fucking red,/ his shoulders are broad, his whole body built, but he has a familiar smile, these /eyes/ that Katsuki fucking /knows./

He knows those eyes looking at him across the room, narrowing as the guy laughs, sharp teeth in his mouth. He knows that voice - but he knows it a little higher pitched, a little more childlike. He knows this person as a teenager.

And here he is, standing in front of the counter at Katsuki's bookshop, at All Might's Book Nook, holding his wallet close to his chest. He doesn't look surprised, like it didn't take him the same amount of time to recognize Katsuki that it took the blond.

They hover there for a long moment, just staring at each other, as Katsuki tries to align the name Eijirou to this face. He's got the smile smile, the same tent of eyebrows above red eyes. But he just seems so... grown up. Katsuki had known a scared, nervous dark-haired kid.

This is a redhead, tall and strong, stance wide, like he's not afraid of anything. Like the smallest rainstorm won't send him to the kitchen, or Katsuki's door, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. This is a /man,/ and Katsuki had known a boy.

But as Katsuki stares at his face, this face that he knows, eyebrows still tented, something stirs in Katsuki's stomach. This is Eijirou, the same boy that he grew up next door to, shared so many day with. The same boy he held when he cried, the same boy he's seen through...

He blinks, clears his throat, pushes his glasses up his nose again, though they haven't slid down yet. "Um," he manages. He has no idea what to say. He doesn't think Eijirou does, either. "Um."

It's been eight years, it's almost been a goddamn decade. Katsuki shouldn't have a stomach flopping over, shouldn't feel guilty. That had been in a different lifetime. The rain that fell on that night has been through a hundred cycles since it landed on their heads.

They stay there, silent in a quiet bookstore, as the other patrons move around. Eijirou had to have come in with other people - they'll be coming up soon. Katsuki - with shaking hands - rings him up, swallows hard.

"Thirteen even," he manages. It sounds like he's been dehydrated for a year.

"Okay," Eijirou responds, and it sounds like /he's/ been without water since they last saw each other.

They move in silence, maybe both of them wishing they had a glass of water, as Katsuki rings him up, slides his books carefully into a bag and sealing it. Eijirou takes it, holds it to his chest. He hovers for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, like he wants to say something.

But he opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. After a long moment, Katsuki realizes he has no idea what to say, and so he takes it upon himself. He grits his teeth, swallows, and summons all of his courage.

"You're a long way from home," he comments.

It is the /wrong/ thing to say.

Eijirou's eyes change, squint a little, harden up. He kind of looks like he's slowly becoming rock, hands curling to fists around his books, expression turning razor sharp. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Katsuki starts to sweat.

"So are you," he finally says.

Something crams its way into Katsuki's throat - it feels vaguely like one of those socks that he stuffed into a bag, so many years ago - wet with the rain that had been tearing down from the sky. Sopping with the emotions that had been soaring through him as he packed.

But he's proud - he's an /idiot,/ really - and he chokes out a lame, "I /am/ home."

Eijirou stares at him, confident, sure, strong. He's a man now, and Katsuki still feels like that scared boy that ran away. Finally, he says, "I see."

Katsuki wants to hit himself in the face with the atlas sitting next to him, but he takes a deep breath, lets it out. This is Eijirou. This is the boy who used to be his best friend, standing here, staring at him. Katsuki should say something.

He opens his mouth to do so, but he doesn't get that far. Suddenly there are others, more people around their age, coming up with books to buy. Eijirou is obviously with them, but he stands at the back of the group, staring at Katsuki, quiet.

He holds his books to his chest - the one Katsuki recommended in there - as Katsuki checks out his friends, rings them up, watches them refuse the protective bag. As they pull on coats, get ready to brave the weather again.

Katsuki wants to stop him, wants to tell him to wait, to not go, but holy shit, what the fuck is he supposed to say? He never thought that he'd see him again. It's not like he had planned what he would say if he did. It's not like he had hoped, had dreamed...

The door opens and they start to leave, and Katsuki nearly fucking screams. He watches them shuffle through, Eijirou sending one last look back, holding his books ardently as he ducks out into the rain.

"Deku!" he shouts as the door closes.

"What?" the green-haired guy gasps, head poking out of one of the aisles, eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

Frantically scribbling on a piece of paper, Katsuki nods. "Yeah yeah I'm fucking /fine./ Come here, get the fuck over here, /hurry the fuck up you stupid nerd./"

Deku runs over, still holding the books to his chest that he had been stocking. "Are you okay? What? Did somebody steal something? You can't punch somebody else, it was almost a legal nightmare last time-"

"No, fucking- relax. I just need you to watch the counter for a second."

"Oh! Yeah, sure Kacchan, I can- whoa, are you okay-"

Before the idiot can finish, Katsuki is throwing his legs over the broken counter, sprinting for the door. He can't do this, he can't be an idiot, not again.

He throws the door out of his way as Deku calls out, ducks into the rain, the piece of paper held tight in one of his fists. It's really coming down, and he feels immediately soaked as he makes it three steps down the sidewalk, pauses.

Thunder rolls somewhere over the ocean as he looks back, to the right of the shop. There are people moving in both directions, but he has no idea which way Eijirou went.

"No," he whispers to himself, lost to the rain. He turns back, but he has no idea. "No, /fuck./"

Giving up his pride for a fraction of a second, ignoring the fact that Cheeks from the cafe across the street might see, he cups his hands around his mouth, faces towards the group of people down the street to his left, moving away.

"Eijirou!" he shouts, voice breaking."Ei!"

The rain soaks him past his skin, into his soul, just like it had so many years ago, through all his bags and all his clothes as he climbed onto a bus, studiously ignoring the curious look of a bus driver that watched a crying teenager get onto his bus.

He feels like he's going to fall to the sidewalk, too tired to go on. Fuck. /Fuck./ He can't. He /can't,/ he never thought this would happen, he never thought that he'd be teased by this, the idea that things could be okay.

Things can't be okay. That's life. He doesn't get what he wants.

And that's fucking /okay./ He's not going to break apart, going to fall to pieces. He's going to keep going no matter what. That's what it is to be Katsuki. To be... /fuck,/ he just wishes he knew his last name.

He had known it at one point, Eijirou had said it to him. He remembers clearly being angry. A little five-year-old, shouting, /if they didn't want me, I don't want their last name! I'm Katsuki! I'm Katsuki forever!/

Now he has no idea.

"Eijirou!" he tries one more time, stepping forward, a puddle splashing up, soaking his shoes through. He's soaked already. "Fuck. /Fuck./ Please," he chokes, swallowing. He can't cry, Deku will fucking know when he goes back in.

"Katsuki?"

Katsuki spins, nearly losing his footing as he tries to find Eijirou in the rain. He can barely seen a foot in front of him, but the dark-haired - no, the redhead - stands there, from the other direction, soaked through already.

"Eijirou, fuck," Katsuki gasps, stumbling forward. He left his rainboots inside in his haste, he skids a little on the sidewalk, tries to find his footing.

The redhead waits, standing there, watching him approach, like he's afraid.

"What," Eijirou manages, still holding his books carefully to his chest, like they're all he has left of the old Katsuki, the one that sneered at old movies, that got sent to his room. The one that he used to sneak cookies to.

Soaked through, Katsuki stops in front of him, rain drops running down his cheeks, down the back of his neck. He holds out his hand, clutching the paper in a fist, protected from the rain. "Here," he says. "I have something for you. Something that I... couldn't have before."

Eijirou steps forward, wary. He opens his hand, lets Katsuki press the paper into his palm. He tries to open it, but Katsuki jerks forward, closes his palms over Eijirou's.

"Don't be an idiot," he breathes. "The rain'll ruin it."

Eijirou just stares at him, and after a long moment, he nods. Like he /trusts/ Katsuki. Like even after all this time, he's sure Katsuki knows what's best. The same way he used to let him choose the movie, or the activity for the day.

And he blinks, and /smiles,/ and Katsuki remembers it all, in every minute detail. Every reason, every ache in his chest. He remembers what he had wanted, and what he had done, and he remembers /why./

And he remembers why, right now, he can't do exactly what he wants. Instead he steps forward, swallows, holds Eijirou's hand tight between his, protecting the paper. He can't have what he wants - probably now more than ever - but he'll take anything.

"Call me?" he whispers.

It's nearly lost to the rain, but he's only a half-foot away from Eijirou, so the dark-ha- the redhead hears him. He nods, eyes flicking down to their hands, realizing what's in their hands. A phone number.

Something Katsuki didn't have before.

He would have left a phone number if he could - he would have left anything. But he couldn't risk being found, being brought back. he couldn't risk any of it. So he had to leave Eiijirou in that old building with everything else - with his fucking /heart./

And besides. He hadn't had a phone number. This is new.

Eijirou stares at their hands for a moment, and then his eyes flick back up to Katsuki's, wide. Rain slips past his cheeks - it looks like he's crying.

"Okay," he whispers back.

They both stand there, rain falling down their cheeks, hiding the evidence. There's so much to say, so much to be apologized for, but Katsuki breathes out, steps back, the paper safe in Eijirou's hand. There will be time - if Eijirou wants it. He will explain himself.

And for now he'll let Eijirou tuck that hand - the one clutching the number, not the books - back to his chest. He nods.

Katsuki doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve kindness. He knows it. He knows he deserves Eijirou's back - he deserves a right hook.

He deserves Eijirou to turn away. He deserves absolutely none of this. No second chances.

But Eijirou is Eijirou. He doesn't leave. He's forgiving, he's loving, he's /kind./

And maybe he wants to know what happened just as badly as Katsuki wants to explain.

And for a second, he stands there, heart beating in his throat, wondering if maybe everything will be exactly how he pictured it for nearly ten years - and he takes a step forwards.

But then Eijirou hits the heels of his palms against his chest, forcing him back. Katsuki goes, stumbling back - unable to force it, unable to hurt him, to ask him for more than Katsuki deserves.

Eijirou holds up his fist - still holding the phone number, knowing what it is now - and nods a little frantically. "I'll call," he manages, voice sounding like he's been punched in the throat, and then he turns on his heel and runs.

Katsuki just watches him go, accompanied by rolling thunder, wondering if Eijirou had stood in that thunder storm all those years ago, no way to follow him.

"I can't just /call/ him," Eijirou gasps, staring at the number, scribbled out on the back of a return book sheet.

"Alternatively," Kaminari says, sipping wine from the bowl that he had found in the cupboard - they hadn't been able to find any cups - waving his hand. "You /can/ just call him."

"How much Rose have you had?" Eijirou demands, flopping onto his back on one of the beds. "You know who this is, right? You know which angry blond we're talking about?"

"Obviously," Kaminari rolls his eyes. "I might be an idiot but I'm not /stupid./ Just call him."

Letting out a big breath, Eijirou pushes himself up, leaning onto his hands. "And what?"

"And hear what he has to say."

"Hear how he's sorry? That he left me all along? In that place? How he tore away the only family I thought I had left?"

Denki frowns for a moment before holding out his bowl of wine. Eijirou refuses, and the blond sits back in his chair. "No. I mean. Yeah. But just listen to what he has to say. He obviously wants to talk to you, right? He ran into the rain with nothing on to give you his number."

"You're /my/ friend," Eijirou complains. "You're supposed to be on /my/ side."

"I /am/ on your side!" Denki gasps. "I'm just trying to make sure you're seeing all the angles! I love you, man. you know I just want what's best for you."

Eijirou hesistates, wringing his hands. "And you think that... calling him is best for me?"

Kaminari purses his lips, leans back in his chair. "Well. You want to hear his side, right?"

"Right."

"It's just a phone call," Kaminari points out.

"Then he'll have my number," Eijirou points out, but Kaminari shrugs, waving his bowl of wine just a little too haphazardly, dripping some onto his pants. He hisses, dabbing at it.

"Okay, so what?" he asks. "He gets weird- you block him. Shit, don't stain, please."

Eijirou nods slowly, staring at the paper. He doesn't know what will happen when he calls. He doesn't know what Katsuki is going to say. But based on the desperate look he had given, hair pressed down by the rain....

"Okay," he breathes, picking up the number, his cell. It had taken a long time to get to a place where he could afford a cell phone. He wondered if it took Katsuki the same amount of time.

There's just so much he wants to /know,/ so many things to ask Katsuki about. They used to talk about /nothing,/ but now there are /things/ to talk about, there are life-events and decisions, there are actual conversation points.

He steps out onto the covered balcony of the hotel, sitting in the flimsy chair, and typing in the number scribbled out on the paper by a hasty hand. He can do this. He can.

He lets out a long breath, staring into the falling rain. It's been pouring for like, four days. So much for a sunny holiday.

The ringing stops against his ear as the phone is picked up.

"Hello?" Katsuki asks directly into his ear, and Eijirou's breath stalls in his chest.

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Eijirou sits there, suddenly frozen, tongue like lead in his mouth. He stares at the falling rain, unblinking. This was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea.

"Hello?" Katsuki says again, and Eijirou can hear him swallow. "Ei? Is that you?"

Eijirou is a man now.

He's come a long way to be where he. It's taken years, sure, but he's not the same kid he was. He's not afraid of thunder, he only trips on curbs now, not flat ground. He has a job, an apartment, he pays his phone bill.

But suddenly he's that same boy, he's standing in the rain, despair crushing his heart into little pieces, afraid he's never going to hear his best friend's voice again.

And here it is. Here's Katsuki, calling him Ei like it was just yesterday.

"Y-yeah," he chokes out, swallowing hard. "Yeah. It's me."

There's a pause on the other line, Eijirou waits. He doesn't know if Katsuki's still working, or maybe he's home now. Where is his home? Does he live with anyone? Did he ever get his license? Has he been here the whole-

"Hey," Katsuki finally says. "I... It's... I'm glad you called."

Eijirou nearly swallows his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. It's so much /not Katsuki/ he has no idea what to even say. "Okay," he manages.

What's he even going to do, if the Katsuki he knew is gone? If the years have changed him, made him unrecognizable. He had thought that he lost Katsuki already. It'd be so much worse to find him, to almost have him back, only to find he's not Katsuki anymore.

"Fuck," Katsuki grits, voice half-muffled, like maybe his face is pressed into his arm, or maybe a pillow. "Fucking. /Shit./ That was the wrong this to say, wasn't it? I'm - I'm /sorry,/ okay? I don't know what the fuck to say."

This is actually a little comforting, hearing him flounder, curse left and right. He's no /unrecognizable,/ at least. There's a bit of Katsuki left in there, the one that would get sent to his room all the time.

"Me neither, man," Eijirou admits.

"Well um," Katsuki pauses, lets out a big breath. "Uh."

Emotions tumble over each other in Eijirou's stomach, too fast and jumbled for him to be able to figure out. He doesn't know /what/ he should be feeling.

Maybe it's anger pressing itself up against the window of the washing machine of emotions in his stomach, betrayal, pain. Whatever it is, it pulls words from his mouth he doesn't plan.

"Why don't you start out by telling me why you gave me your number?"

Katsuki makes a small noise, Eijirou isn't sure how to decipher it without being able to see his face. "I wanted to /talk/ to you," he says, heat starting to bubble in his voice.

"Since when did you want to tell me what's going on?" Eijirou shoots back.

He's not like this - he's not one to hold a grudge. But Katsuki made him feel so /worthless,/ made him feel like he was so completely alone, like he didn't matter at all. Without so much as a goodbye, left him standing in the rain, bare feet and bare bones.

"Eijirou," Katsuki says, sounding like he's desperately trying to keep his cool, "It's been years, I just want to-"

"I'm well aware of how long it's been," Eijirou answers, ignoring the way his voice catches. "Since you /left./ Since you left me /alone/ alone."

He expects Katsuki to yell, to snap, to get mad. But instead he just makes a choked noise, goes quiet for a second. Eijirou twists his own face, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn't want to be mad. He just wants it to be how it was before.

"I'm sorry," Eijirou whispers after a long moment of silence. "I'm sorry for whatever I did, whatever made you feel like you didn't have a home with us anymore. Whatever I couldn't help you with. Whatever it was. I'm sorry."

"Ei - fuck - no. Don't be sorry. I... It wasn't because you... Well /I/ didn't - I mean I - fuck. Fuck fuck /fuck./"

/"Kacchan!"/ the voice comes from far away through the phone, and Katsuki hisses a string of profanities, some of which Eijirou doesn't even know.

"Fuck. Eijirou, can I - look, will you meet me for coffee or something? I..."

"You have work," Eijirou finishes for him. He feels worn out, like he's run a marathon of emotions in just a couple minutes.

"Yeah."

Eijirou nods, though Katsuki can't see him. The rain falls in sheets, and Eijirou kind of feels soaked to the bone, completely dry. "Okay," he whispers, dead-tired. He wants to hear what Katsuki has to say, no matter how much it hurts. "Yeah. Tomorrow?"

There's another call for him on the opposite line, and Katsuki shouts the expletives back this time.

"Yeah. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I can... There's a little cafe on the corner by the beach, down the street from the bookshop."

"Ten AM," Eijirou murmurs.

"Ten sounds good."

"I'll... see you," Eijirou whispers, and he waits. Wait for a goodbye now. Maybe to make up for the one he didn't get before. He feels stripped down, raw.

The rain patters against the sidewalks below, tapping against the roof, background music to Katsuki as he breathes, "Bye, Ei."

Eijirou hangs up just a half-second before he starts sobbing.

He drops his phone to his lap and buries his face in his hands, listening to the rain, feeling ten thousand emotions in his tiny, fragile glass case of a body. They're pressing at the walls, cracking the glass, threatening to spill out and flood with the rain.

He feels a little ridiculous crying now - nothing had even happened to provoke this - but he just can't /help/ it. He feels like that kid, shaking because of the thunder, crying because the only person he cared about anymore had left him, just like everybody else.

And maybe, maybe, feeling a touch of hope that he hasn't felt in a long, long time. He refuses to water it, to let the rain feed it, let it grow. But the seed is there. The hope that maybe he'll get Katsuki back - a hope he hasn't felt in years and years.

So he sits there, cries, and listens to the rain - just like he had in his bed, eight years prior.

Eijirou should have brought an umbrella.

He's soaked through by the time he shoves the cafe door out of his way, ducking inside. The place is bustling with people - couples and tourists and people waiting for coffee. Eijirou shakes water out of his hair, scans -

/There he is./

Katsuki is sitting in the back, tucked into a little booth, tracing his thumbnail against the edge of a paper cup of coffee. There's another cup sitting across from him, at the empty bench seat. Waiting for Eijirou.

With something pressing at the back of his throat, Eijirou shuffles through the people, slides into the booth. The blond looks up as he sits, narrowed red eyes tracking his movements, like if he looks away for a second he'll disappear.

He gestures vaguely to the coffee - it's still really hot, even on the outside, so he must not have been waiting long - and Eijirou pulls it closer. "Thanks," he says. "The hotel coffee isn't /nearly/ strong enough."

"You still completely addicted?" Katsuki asks quietly, and Eijirou chuckles, sipping the burning liquid.

"I'm a barista now - so even more than I was, yeah." Eijirou chuckles, and Katsuki snorts a laugh and rolls his eyes.

"Dumbass," he says.

Eijirou can't help the little chuckle, paired with a spear of emotions through his stomach. It feels, for a moment, like it used to. He drops his eyes, sipping the coffee. He wants it to be like it used to be. He wants it so bad.

But it's /not./

"Okay," he says, quiet in the clamor of the cafe, letting the cup burn into his fingers. "I need you to know that I'm still mad at you."

"I know," Katsuki chokes out. Eijirou can see his fingers almost dangerously tight on his own cup. The paper is going to crumple, spill his beverage all over everything. "I know."

"You /left,/" Eijirou breathes, letting his eyes find Katsuki's. The blond stares back, eyes flicking back and forth between his own.

"I know."

"You packed everything up and just /went./"

"I know."

"And you just - you only left me that /stupid/ - just only-"

"The picture, I know," Katsuki chokes out, his voice breaking. "I... I couldn't..."

Katsuki trails off, staring at him, like he doesn't know how to say what he wants to. Eijirou pulls out his phone, snaps off the case. Carefully - making sure not to get it wet - he pulls out the Polaroid. The only thing Katsuki left for him.

A crappy picture of the two of them, blown out by the flash, with their heads sticking out of a massive blanket fort they had made when they were twelve. Eijirou's grinning like a fool, and Katsuki looks like he's trying to fight a smile.

Eijirou has kept it with him every day.

He had given up. He had found solace in the abyss of days, comfort in the clamor of his own cafe. Tracing strangers' gazes, wondering if they were thinking about things they lost as well. It had taken years to feel like he was whole again.

And he had kept the photo, pressed into the back of his phone case - a reminder. That things felt more than okay once. That it's /possible/ to feel good. That maybe one day he could figure out again how to feel like he belonged, like he wasn't alone.

And he has friends now - he has Kaminari and Ashido, his housemates. He has his coworkers at the cafe. He has a life that he's built himself, though they're not Katsuki. And maybe that's on purpose. Maybe he had never let any of them close enough to get a grip on his heart.

Because as soon as they've got ahold of it, they can tear it right out.

Katsuki makes a pained noise seeing the photo on this table, miles and years from when he's seen it last. His face cycles through all of the stages of grief before settling on a half-scowl, pain only partially hidden. "Yeah," he sounds a little strangled.

"So tell me," Eijirou says, hands shaking. He can't tell if it's anger, or if it's pain, or maybe sadness. He feels like he's being very slowly squashed flat. "Tell me /why./"

"I had to," Katsuki sounds unsteady.

"You had to go," Eijirou clarifies. He doesn't feel as solid as his voice comes out. "You had to leave."

Katsuki nods, eyes still on the picture. Eijirou snatches it to put it back into his phone case, and Katsuki's gaze flicks back up.

"I didn't /belong/ there, you knew that," he says, voice a little clearer. Eijirou stares at him, shaking his head.

"So you just left? Without saying anything? Just went? What about me? What about your best friend?"

Katsuki narrows his eyes, but his mouth twists into a grimace. "I didn't mean-"

"I don't care what you meant," Eijirou interrupts him, voice rising a little. "You made me feel worthless. You tore away the only family I thought I had left."

Katsuki's face twists even further, and he glares at Eijirou. "/That's/ why."

"What?"

"You told me I was your family." Katsuki's voice cracks, raising in volume.

"You /were./"

"That I was like your brother, Eijirou," Katsuki stresses, fingers starting to dent his coffee cup. His hands are shaking.

"So /what,/ I don't get what-"

"I fucking loved you!" Katsuki shouts, and the cafe goes quiet. His drink spills over his fingers, and he doesn't even seem to notice. He stares at Eijirou, glaring through glassy eyes. His voice drops quieter, cracking. "I loved you, and you told me I was like your brother."

Eijirou stares at him, eyes wide. He can feel the gazes of like twenty strangers on him, and he suddenly feels very small. "You... loved... me?"

Katsuki glares at him, studiously ignoring the tears tracking down his own cheeks. Maybe it's just rain. Inside.

"I knew," Katsuki manages, glaring through his tears. "That you wouldn't understand. You would make me take you with me. I couldn't... I was... I was too /weak,/ Ei. I couldn't fucking do it." He wipes his face on the back of his hand, huffs out a big breath.

Eijirou has no idea what to say. Everything feels like it's shifting, all of the things Katsuki had said when they were kids, a hundred different things coming into line. What would he have done? If he were in Katsuki's position, all those years ago?

"I know you have no reason to," Katsuki says, swallowing thickly. "But I'm going to say it now, and I hope you'll accept it."

"Accept...?"

Katsuki looks back up at him, breathes out. He looks like he's been punched in the face. "I'm sorry, Eijirou. I didn't want to hurt you."