asahi my beloved

Probably he should move out, he thought, probably he was still having nightmares because he couldn’t leave that house where he shared so many memories with you. It was probably the fact that he still couldn’t throw away any of your belongings, it was as if he said you weren’t important, as if your death had helped him get rid of you. Each of the things that reminded him of you he treasured with his life, for him, it was as if he was keeping the last beats of your heart, trying, in vain, to keep you alive.

He clicked his tongue, leaving the empty glass in the sink. His nightmares used to happen at about five o'clock in the morning so he tried to distract himself by going to train just before work. Slowly, he began to return to those habits that took him so long to break. He started to shut himself up again, to ignore what he was feeling, to point out a goal that would distract him from his painful bloodstained past.

In this way, he tried to sleep again, achieving this after more than two hours. The alarm made him wake up suddenly, unable to shake off that new nightmare. Even with the bitter taste of that dawn and dark circles under his eyes, he greeted the guard of his agency and went inside to train.

Memories of your death haunted him as if it had happened just yesterday; his mind was still fixed on that tragic mission where he lost you and where he could do nothing but shout at the sky for you to breathe again. He had complained that the two of you were on two different teams on that mission, he knew that both of you were a better team than that other hero you had been paired with, and, if only he had been more insistent, if only they had listened to him, you would have been with him by his side, brightening up his days, making him feel alive. If only, if only…

For months nightmares about how he had to carry your lifeless body tormented him by taking away his sleep and desire to live. Followed by overwhelming interviews and press conferences, the light from the cameras hitting him in the face remained a vivid memory of yet another of the tragedies surrounding your death. He barely spoke to the press, but the anger began to fill him when the comments about how emaciated he looked, about how poor Ground Zero had lost the love of his life, how sad. The pity made him feel sick, even, it made him think about how they stained your memory, nobody talked about your achievements, nobody talked about how you did not doubt for a second to sacrifice your whole life to save those strangers. No one asked the little boy how his last memory of you before saving him was that warm smile you had with everyone. It seemed, no, it was all in vain.

That was the first time he broke in front of everyone.

“You fucking bastards, you don’t care about her at all! You’re just here to have something to put on your stupid magazine covers!” he shouted, trying not to cry. “She wasn’t just my girlfriend, she was a hero who gave her life and I think it’s pathetic that you’ve forgotten that!” he stood up from his chair, throwing it away. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…!”

“Bakugo, are you listening to me?” he heard Kirishima say. “Man, you look awful,” he murmured, getting close to him. “Are you alright? Maybe you should go rest,” he proposed, genuinely concerned. Kirishima was aware that the anniversary of your death was just around the corner, and he was going to make sure Bakugo didn’t lose his way like last time.

“I’m fine, shitty hair,” he refused, taking the weights back to the floor for further training. “I need more than a couple of hours of lack of sleep for me to go home.”

“If you say so.”

The rest of the day turned out to be horribly slow. There was no mission or altercation, nothing that could distract him from doing anything but patrol with your ghost walking by his side. There was something about that day, something that simply did not allow him to be calm, he felt observed, persecuted, he had no other way to explain it, it was likely that all this was the result of the nightmare that was repeated like a movie in his mind.

He returned to the silent and empty house where he lived, the one he could no longer call home because you were not there. Or well, your body wasn’t there. In the cabinets was still your favorite cup, and in the bathroom followed each of your belongings, Bakugo was in charge of cleaning them and putting them in their place, in case you came back, in case that was just a bad dream. Your side of the bed was always spotless, just as you left it before you died, the book you never finished, the reading glasses and a glass of water he couldn’t move. Katsuki hadn’t even dared to take the sweatshirt you always stole from him to sleep, he wanted to keep believing that you were taking it on the sly and that he would come home to see you reading that book or watching your favorite series. He wanted you to be there.

He drank his third glass of whiskey before heading off to sleep, emotionally exhausted from thinking about you so much. Maybe it was time to let go, maybe it was time, he cried for you a long time, yes, a long, long time…

“Katsuki” a warm hand caressed his jaw, waking him from his sleep. “Katsuki, you are late for work,” he heard, as he opened his eyes. “Stop fooling around,” she repeated, Bakugo looked at her with fear, reaching out to touch her, was it real? “Move, we have an important mission today!” she yelled, making her ears ring. The traces of the touch of a few moments ago felt like ice now.

“Hey, stop!” he shouted, sitting down as he looked at her. “You’re dead,” he said, only a broad smile came over him. “Stop mocking me and tell me what’s going on now, this is not funny!”

“There’s no time for breakfast because you fell asleep,” she replied, changing her shirt. “But we can order something to go at the restaurant near the agency,” she suggested, making the blond man increasingly angry.

“Listen to me! What the fuck is wrong with you?” he stood up, walking to her to take her by the shoulders, she smiled back at him, squeezing his cheeks and kissing his lips, only this time the kiss felt cold, as if he had put his lips on the ice.

“Do you even miss me a little?” she asked him with laughter, those laughs she only had with him every morning when they talked about who was the slowest to get dressed. “Katsuki, do you even miss me a little?” she repeated, the hands she was using to hold his cheeks felt as cold and lifeless as marble. “Why couldn’t you save me?” she asked, and when the blond man looked into her eyes, all he saw in them was emptiness.

“Shut up,” he cried into the void, and it was then that he realized that it was all a dream, another nightmare, another memory that you were gone. The side of your bed was empty, empty and cold, like marble.

He drank from the glass of water, with the clock striking 1:37 AM. It was time to let you go, but how exactly could he do that?

He left the glass in the sink, running his hands over his face and moving forward to sleep on the couch. Probably the first thing he had to do was accept that you would never come back.

Do you even miss me a little?

All the time.