Kirishima is the type of man who could get the crap beat out of him during a mission, come home with lumps, cuts, and wicked bruises, and still have that sweet toothy smile because he gets to come home to you. He can ignore all the pain and the aches because the very second he steps through the door of your shared living space, you're on him like a hawk, assessing injuries and fussing over him, scolding him for being too reckless.

It makes his manly heart swell with pride knowing he has a partner that loves him so much and is willing to drop everything to help take care of him. Not that he couldn't patch his own self up of course, but he loves the feeling of how gentle your fingers are when they brush and prod at each wound, and how you nag at him for not staying at the hospital longer.

"Why would I when I have a perfectly good nurse here?"

The bright light shining from the overhead fixture was doing nothing to help the aching behind your eyes. Salt and heat stung at your eyelids, but you could do nothing to stop the sudden torrent that was gushing out of you. Your stomach hurt from how tightly it clenched as you cried, doing your best not to wake your significant other. They were most likely still asleep in your shared bed, blissfully unaware of what was happening on the other side of the bathroom door. And you wanted to keep it that way. 

They barely said a word to you when they came home earlier, and you could tell that whatever happened today was taking a toll on them. This wasn’t something you needed to bother them with. They already had enough on their plate without you adding to it.

You couldn’t sleep. Besides being an insomniac, it was always a battle getting your mind to calm down enough to try and make yourself get a few hours of shut eye. But tonight, you just couldn’t get your brain to shut off. Especially not after seeing the news. 

The thoughts got too loud. The emotions got too overwhelming. The loneliness became too much to bear. The insecurity was eating you alive. So you were doing the only thing you knew how to do. You were facing it on your own. Because that’s what you did. You dealt with your problems quietly so that you wouldn’t have to rely on anyone. Because people have let you down your entire life. Your parents. Siblings. Friends. Even your significant other, a time or two. 

All you had was you. You were already a disappointment to yourself. It spared you some of the heartache and mostly prepared you for the expectation of being disappointed by anyone else.

You were curled into a ball, leaning on the tiled wall for support. Your arms were pulled closely to your chest as sobs wracked your entire body. 

Despite doing your best to forget it, the newspaper articles and television broadcasts wouldn't leave your troubled mind.

*Pro Hero spotted with new love interest?*

An out-of-context photo of your significant other with a civilian who was definitely not you had been snapped by a curious passerby.

They were pressed closely together, your partner's hand pressed into the small of the other person's back, guiding them to wherever their destination was. Normally, you would have brushed it off. You would've ignored the feelings of self-doubt and put more effort into cheering your love on from the sidelines. But this time....this time was different. This time there was no way you could.

Because seemingly overnight, more photos of your love and the same mystery person began popping up everywhere.

It wasn't long before the media caught wind of the situation and did what they do best. They made matters worse.

The reporters smeared pictures of your relationship everywhere. They took photos from your Snapchats, Instagram, and wherever else they could get them from, depicting you in a negative light.

*Out with the old and in with the new!*

They made remarks on your weight, appearance, quirk, job, and many other things were nitpicked to the bone, comparing you to the mystery stranger wrapped up in your lover's embrace. The endless hate comments on every platform of social media was enough to make you shut off your phone and toss it in your bedside drawer.

However, what hurt the most is that your partner seemed completely unbothered by all of it. They didn't even offer an explanation. They never said a word about it. They just went through the motions of their daily routine, leaving for another patrol, another mission. Never once telling you they loved you or kissing you goodbye.

These days, it was a rarity if they spoke to you at all.

With trembling fingers, you brushed some stray tears from your cheeks, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead. Your legs had long since gone numb, pins and needles prickling beneath your skin. Leaning your head against the wall, you close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe.

But the breath would not come. Only more choking cries that you are quick to bury in your hands.

You're not sure how long you sit there. How long it takes for the tears to drain you of everything. All you know is that your body has gone into autopilot. Your arms move of their own accord, pushing you up, hands clinging to the bathroom sink for support. Shaky legs keep you upright, knees weak and unsteady. The cold marble of the sink vanity bites into your hands and your neck aches as you crane your neck to look up.

The reflection in the mirror blinks at you with puffy, bloodshot eyes. A red nose twitches and sniffles, sucking back a flood of snot. Your hair is a mess, clothes disheveled, and you look downright ghastly. Swiping at your cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt, you sigh, chest hollow and empty.

Turning away, you shut off the bathroom light before venturing out again. You tiptoe on the carpet, willing the knob not to squeak as you shut the door behind you. The bedroom is quiet, save for the faint sounds of breathing coming from the opposite, occupied side of the bed.

Your bare feet shuffle to your side, hands grabbing the blankets as you slip under them, pulling the duvet above your shoulders. Your partner stirs in their sleep, rolling over on their side, face turned towards you, but showing no signs of being awake or aware.

The aching feeling returns as you settle further into the mattress, head plopping against your pillow. You turn to face the wall, back to them. You can't look at them right now. Not when it hurts this badly. Not when you don't have the energy or will to plaster on a fake smile and pretend that everything is alright. Not when your honesty clawed at your throat, desperate to ask the questions you were too afraid to voice in the daytime.

Are we going to be okay?

Am I enough for you?

Do you still think I'm beautiful?

Is there something that I've done wrong?

Why don't we talk like we used to?

Why does everything feel so different?

How are you so close to me yet still so far away?

Do you still love me?

A sudden chill creeps up your arms and tickles your feet and it makes you realize that the sheets have long grown cold, making you aware of your lack of warmth from them.

But as you peek over your shoulder at your lover, still victim of the throes of deep slumber, you can't help but wonder if your absence was even noticed.