#torudarling

“And I swear to— those fuckin’ idiots are absolute morons,” he huffs. “Filmin’ me right in front of a burning building? Then have the audacity to make me seem like the bad guy for tellin’ them off? They would’ve been barbecued!”

You notice, sometimes, that whenever Katsuki gets frustrated about something—anything—then his lips form a small pout. Whether it’s intentional or an unconscious habit, you find it adorable every time you’re blessed to see your husband’s expression up close.

“Mm, I did see that,” you hum.

“And y’know what?”

He’s settled comfortably on your lap, head cushioned by your rather soft thighs, perfect for being a substitute pillow while you do his evening skincare routine. Not that he ever needed one. Genetics made it possible for him to never need to worry about his face or whatever. You’re kind of jealous, actually.

Katsuki’s so effortlessly pretty. Handsome pretty. Pretty handsome.

“What?”

“People at the agency, my agency, kept on telling me to—shit, that’s cold—to maintain proper decorum in public,” he scoffs a little when you finally apply some soothing cream, gently massaging the formula on his skin in an upward motion that unknowingly lifts a little tension off his face. “Can you believe that?” he added. “I’m way too stressed to worry about proper decorum bullshit when people are stupid enough to not assess the situation they’re in.”

“I know,” you replied. “I’d probably react the same way as you. Some people do like putting their priorities in the wrong place.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue. “At least you understand,” he murmurs, dragging out a long sigh. “Hair’s going to go gray at this point if they don’t practice their common sense anytime soon.”

You laughed. “I’m going to miss your blonde hair. It’s iconic. Timeless.”

“Yeah, might look badass with gray, though.” And there it was, still a little pout on his lips as he looks up at you. It’s so intimate, so adorable, you think you want a picture of it and have it on the first page of a photo album.

“Mhm. Think you’d look hotter, actually.”

He snorted. “Maybe. We’ll just see in a few decades, huh?”

“That’s a long time, Katsuki.”

“Uh huh. We have a lot more to spend.”

You nodded. You loved the idea of having a lot of decades to spend with Katsuki.

“Hey, love?”

“Hm?”

“Did you know that you pout whenever you’re frustrated?”

He does not. And Katsuki continues to convince you that he doesn’t pout. Even if he’s already pouting while you tease him some more.

“Is that a statue?” you ask, squinting at the fishpond. A few turtles were lazily swimming about, and two in particular were perched up on a rock. “Wow, these look so realistic. This is where our taxes go: turtle maintenance in parks. Can’t say I’m disappointed, though.”

Katsuki snorts. “Don’t think it’s a statue.”

“But I think it is,” you insist with a small frown. “Can—“ you glance at the sign, “—Red-eared sliders really stay still for that long?

He shrugs, shifting a bit of his weight against the railing. A few people are staring at you (mostly him, because he was Dynamight), but he didn’t care in the slightest. Katsuki finds himself just staring at you, and the rest could just blow themselves to bits. “Want me to look that up?”

“No, because you’re going to be right, and I have too much pride for that.”

Katsuki chuckles at the honest answer. He loves that about you. Well, he loves many things about you. How you could be forward and honest with him without feeling the need to be intimidated. There’s nothing to be afraid of; he’s not that scary, he thinks.

“I am way too invested in this as a 29-year-old,” you murmur in awe. The turtle was trying to climb an elevated rock but kept slipping. Each time it slipped, you groan but continue cheering for it.

“What’s age got to do with being amazed by some reptiles?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you admit. “Aside from the fact that I haven’t even seen one until today.”

He stills. “What the fuck? Really?”

“Really, really,” you answer. “Honestly, now that I think about it, you can leave me here all day and I’d be entertained for the whole 24 hours.”

That doesn’t feel right. It’s a simple thing—to see at least a turtle once. It’s not like it was the most out-of-touch thing to experience. People can go to the zoo or a theme park.

Or maybe because Katsuki’s been exposed to these types of things at a young age, he forgot that not all had the same experiences as him.

“Let’s go to an aquarium museum this weekend, then,” he offers gruffly.

You nod happily, not even fighting the excitement you felt. “That’s— I won’t be able to sleep a wink this whole week, Katsuki! I’m so excited!” you laugh as he holds your cheeks with just one hand to hush you. “‘m seriouws! Ish goin’ to be awesome!”

Despite Katsuki’s slight flush, he only smiles at you. Yeah, he’ll learn to appreciate the simpler things in life alongside you.

Katsuki knows he’s at his lowest when he’s staring at your number on his phone. It’s not like there’s an actual emergency that requires you to be the first responder, but… well, it’s not like you were still his emergency contact.

This situation makes him look helpless and desperate, and for a staggering moment of vulnerability that makes his heart drop, he accepts that he is. There’s no particular reason to be longing for what he and you had. Yet he can’t help but wallow in the past anyway.

He remembers, then, how easy it is to call you. Whatever it is that happened in his life, no matter if it’s small or something worth celebrating, it’s you who always comes to mind that he wants and needs to talk to. 

Because Katsuki had learned to need to hear your voice first thing in the morning—and be it the last thing he relishes just as he’s about to close his eyes. You’d always have this cheeky tone, as if you were just as excited as him. “Hello, Katsuki? Hi! What’s up?” And all the worry that’s lodged in his mind clears without a moment to waste.

He decides to call. The dial rings once, twice, until it leads to voicemail.

Katsuki doesn’t call again. He knows. He knows that you didn’t answer on purpose. You reminded him so.

“Please don’t call,” you murmured, eyes cast on the floor then. “Because I won’t answer anymore. For once, Katsuki, let me salvage what’s left of the respect I have for myself.”

“But what if I needed to talk to you?” he replies, because he might actually need to.

“You won’t. Call your friends. Call your parents.”

Katsuki knew you meant this in the nicest way possible. He’s exhausted you to the point where staying with him is no longer the best option for either of you.. He doesn’t know how to lessen your burdens, your fears, your worries, and your exhaustion.

So he doesn’t ring a second time. You’ve let him go. You had to let him let you go.

So he doesn’t call you anymore. He owes you that as an apology and respect to your wish.

It’s Eijirou who finds Katsuki paying respect at someone’s grave and says, “Hey, man. You’ve been here for hours.”

“So what?” he asked, tone clipped. “Nothin’ wrong with staying here for a while.”

And he knows. He knows that his friend meant well—but he just can’t help it. Katsuki’s well aware that he’s been a lot more on edge lately, coming to work early and leaving late, and making sure his schedule was filled to the brim—pushing just how much he could get away with before he hits the warning limit.

He gets days off, sure. He spends each and every single one of them here.

Visiting his deceased wife. Your grave. So, really, there’s nothing wrong with staying for hours in his wife’s grave.

“You know what I’m getting to, dude,” Eijirou sighed, scrubbing a hand through his face.

“I don’t,” Katsuki’s lying. “What? Can’t we talk about this when I’m clocked in? I’m enjoying my day off.”

As if some unknown force had given Eijirou the courage to say the right words, he says, “She wouldn’t want you doing what it is you’re doing at work.” He’s quick to realize that he’s not in the position to tell him what to do, and he adds, “Shit, I’m sorry—“

Katsuki clenched his fist. Though he tries to remain calm.

“Don’t tell me what she’d want or not want.”

He leaves it at that. He lets Eijirou leave, too, even if his friend keeps on apologizing through text.

Because you’re not here. And Katsuki could only do so much to alleviate the pain. Grief that he keeps at bay behind busy schedules and many things to think about.

He’ll get over it. Some day. Maybe a decade from now. Maybe not at all.

He’ll figure it out.

Leave it to your husband to be strong enough for the two of you. And he hopes you trust him in this. Because he doesn’t know what else to do without you by his side.

When someone asks Wakatoshi how he’s doing after his recent breakup, he tells them he’s okay. Which was the truth for a time.

He’s had a lot of time to think after that conversation that ended his relationship of eight years. Four were when they were friends, and four were in the actual romantic relationship. Eight years—that’s just... no longer is.

Wakatoshi was ok. He didn’t understand why his friends, even the ones he hasn’t been able to keep in touch with due to busy schedules and different life trajectories, kept on asking him the same question. Over and over again. And he thought of it as their initial concern for his well-being, because that’s what friends are for.

He was okay—fine. He still followed through with his day-to-day routine. Still showed up to practice. Still maintained his health. Still him.

So Wakatoshi didn’t understand why they were still so concerned even when he reassured them that he was fine.

But the truth had a way of making itself known in the most unexpected times. In the moments when you least expect it to. Like tonight, when he and a few friends from Shiratorizawa had invited him out to drink.

“Are you okay?” Semi Eita asks just as he finishes another shot of alcohol. The liquid carves a slight burning—sort of tingling—sensation in his throat, but Wakatoshi disregards the feeling and lifts his gaze from his glass to look at him.

“I am,” he answers.

It’s the truth and nothing but. It’s the same answer he’s given to a hundred people. And it’s what he was sure he felt. That is, until things finally settle in.

“Hey,” it’s Satori who puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “you can be honest with us, y’know? If you still miss them, then you don’t have to keep telling us you don’t when you do.”

Oh.

Oh.

Well, that’s something to be honest about, alright.

Wakatoshi sets his glass down with a soft thud and thinks—dwells. Gathers all his thoughts and feelings in such short notice—and he realizes there are still a lot of things he hasn’t gotten over. Like coming to an enlightenment of the things he’s just brushed over and convinced himself to swallow down.

“I just...” He heaves in a breath.

He doesn’t know where to start or what to start with. Because feelings were confusing and reminded him of his parents’ complicated relationship that he was now sure affected him growing up.

But no, Wakatoshi thinks to himself; he has to be honest. He can be honest. If he doesn’t, then it’s only a matter of time before the dam overflows and he’s left with an awful aftermath.

“I miss them,” he confessed, breath shaky. “How could I not? They were... my other half, and now that they left, it feels like that other half of my sense of self is missing.”

And he doesn’t know where he got the courage to continue, but he does. “I really loved them. And I just... I really, really do miss them.”

So this is why he lay awake most nights. Longing, wishing for everything to just be a bad dream, and that by the time morning arrives everything will just be a long-forgotten what-if. It isn’t. Wakatoshi’s bad dream is a continuous nightmare that continues to haunt him even when his eyes are open.

Oh—

Oh, he’s crying. How odd.

He didn’t cry when he agreed to end things with you. He didn’t cry when you left, tears streaming down your face. He didn’t cry even after.

Because maybe, maybe now he’s finally coming to terms with the fact that there was no going back to what you two were. To miss what was finally allowed Wakatoshi to accept what he truly felt. To accept, but never forget. And that’s the thing about missing someone, no?

He has to accept that what was was no longer his to hold on to and that it was alright not to forget. Because he loved. Wakatoshi loved. And how could he forget what he loved with his whole heart and mind?

Accept? he could do.

Forget? He doesn’t think so.

He could miss what was all he wants, but he knows that missing wouldn’t bring things back to the way they used to be. And that’s the bitter truth when it comes to loving someone so much it hurts when fate and coincidence have other plans for you two.

“Please, let me try—“

“No.”

“Pretty please—“

“Nuh uh.”

“Just one sip—“

If only you knew the lengths of Satoru’s persistence. He had the whole afternoon off just to bug you and finally get what he’s been asking so nicely for. He only ever does this (asking nicely, he means) whenever you’re one cup of coffee short from taking your rage (by non-lethal and rather soft smacks to his shoulder) out on him.

Not that he minded. Because Satoru almost always had the most smug smile whenever he got a rise out of you. He enjoys it a bit too much, he thinks.

“It’s bitter,” you noted, swishing your coffee cup around. The ice clinks against each other—like it’s mocking him.

“You’re lying,” he pouts.

“I’m really not, ‘toru.”

“You are.”

“I’m n— I am not playing this back-and-forth shenanigan with you.”

He whines when you raise an eyebrow at him. How could you be so cruel to your own boyfriend?

“Just,” he heaves in a breath, drawing up his very best pleading look, “please. One. Just one! If I don’t like it, I won’t bother you anymore.”

Puppy dog eyes? Check.

Pout? Check.

Squishing his cheeks with both hands the way you hated (secretly loved)? Check.

What more could you possibly want from him?

You sigh, handing him your coffee. Satoru hums in a triumphant smile, takes a sip, and immediately regrets his decision. He sticks his tongue out and rambles out a blegh sound, his brows knitted together as he then shakes his head in disapproval.

Yeah, he hates bitter coffee. Or any caffeinated drink, for that matter. He just wanted a little taste.

But you like them. Still, he doesn’t see the appeal.

“Tastes awful,” Satoru murmured, hunching a little, defeated.

“Told you,” you laughed. “We could just go back to that coffee shop and order another one that’s sweeter. And here you were, telling me you just wanted to share mine.”

“I didn’t think it’d be that bitter!”

“Uh huh, let’s just get something for you, then?”

“I don’ wanna ‘nymore,” he replied. “Think I’ll stick to water—or juice.”

Satoru watched as you shrugged and nodded along. He feels you sling your arm around his and drag him home. Though the aftertaste of your coffee was bitter, he thinks the way you love and think of him (of his preference for sweeter things and how you offer to cater to the mentioned preference) is definitely sweet. He might just get a cavity.

Could he get a cavity from thinking that love is too sweet?

“Tama, can you pass me my glasses?”

“Mhm,” Tamaki sets his phone aside and reaches for your glasses on the coffee table. He extends his out to you. “H—Here you go, lovey—“

And suddenly he’s blinded. Tamaki didn’t know what to expect, or even if there was something to expect, but he definitely didn’t anticipate being blinded in broad daylight—indoors, no less.

You take your glasses with a thankful hum, then tilt your head when you hear him softly gasp. “What?” you asked, wiping the lenses carefully with a soft cloth. “Is something on my face?”

The words—or the lack thereof—are lodged in Tamaki’s throat. What could he say? And how does he say it without sounding like a complete idiot?

“W—Why are you l—looking at me like... that?” the last word is said in a soft, hushed murmur. He’s embarrassed, so he decides it’s best to cover his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers, and just let himself sink into the couch and pray that it swallows him whole. It doesn’t.

“Like what?”

He also doesn’t know what. But you were just glowing. So pretty and cute even if you’re only squinting at him as you clean your glasses. How your lips jut out in a small pout, how you try to make out his figure as you put them back on—and then truly look at him with this sort of look that carries fondness (for him, he hopes) and a little confusion. He can’t take it!

What was wrong with him? What was wrong with you?

“Like that!” he weakly protests, and he’s sure he’s imagining things. Call him crazy or whatever.

You laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, love,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. “This is my normal face, no?”

If that was your everyday face, Tamaki’s doing a horrible job admiring it every single day because he’s still unexpectedly getting blinded by your beauty. He wants to admire it, treasure how you're beautiful both inside and out, and commit to the memory and burn it into the deep crevices of his mind.

If this is what love does to people, then so be it; Tamaki is one lucky man.

“I—yeah,” he says, a bit defeated, but doesn’t dwell on the thought too much as you tell him to help you with making lunch. “Right, ‘m coming,” he tells you, following close behind.

You were going to be the death of him. Not literally, he hoped. Because he still wants to live long enough to grow old with you, to see every memory you two would share together, to learn more about you that he has yet to know, and to never let you forget how much he loves you. Every day. For as long as he has to.

Call him smitten or helpless, but Tamaki’s just in love. So he wouldn’t deny it.