Chapter Text
Eijirou’s never rushed to their apartment so fast.
Now that Katsuki is at the agency and isn’t expecting him, this is Eijirou’s one and only chance to pack a few things and get the hell out of dodge. Katsuki will undoubtedly get a notification from their security system, but he can make this work.
He has to be quick.
As soon as Eijirou’s feet cross the threshold, he’s sprinting to the bathroom, ridding himself of his Hero costume in a flurry of limbs. His cold shower is hasty, swift enough he isn’t convinced all the shampoo is even rinsed out of his hair. A hoodie and sweatpants are thrown on in mere seconds before he gets to work packing. Eijirou stuffs necessities into the largest duffel bag he owns in a whirlwind, operating with nothing aside from a vague mental checklist.
Pausing in front of the kitchen, he sucks in a deep, painful breath before walking inside to stare at the magnetic memo pad on the refrigerator. Scrubbing a hand down his face, Eijirou shakily reaches for the pen and writes the only thing he can manage.
I have to leave. Sorry.
There’s no need to sign it. Katsuki will understand it’s from him.
When the locked apartment door closes, a small gust of air tickles the nape of his damp neck and sends a shiver down his spine. For a moment, it’s difficult to make his legs move. Once he leaves this place…that’s it. He’ll never live here with Katsuki again.
Several different emotions suddenly swarm him and Eijirou beats them back with sheer force of will. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the luxury of a leisurely escape. Mourning will have to wait.
Running into the parking garage and scanning his ID card, Eijirou unlocks his car before he even reaches it, almost yanking the handle clean off. Haphazardly tossing the bag filled with his belongings into the passenger seat, Eijirou cranks the engine, puts his vehicle in gear, and…stops. Yanking the tracking device out from underneath the driver’s seat, he instantly hardens his closed fist, crushing it into tiny shards. He isn’t interested in being followed.
After he exits the garage, he doesn’t look back.
Eijirou books a hotel room across town under a fake name, checks in via phone, and parks in the darkest corner of the closest garage. Thank goodness he doesn’t drive something super flashy like Katsuki that could be spotted kilometers away.
He orders delivery – from two different places because he fucking deserves it – and requests for them to simply knock and leave the food outside his door. It’s unclear how long he’ll be holed up, but it can’t hurt for him to pretend this is a vacation. A rest. Some well-deserved time alone.
Too bad his monochrome vision is a constant reminder of his predicament.
Shit.
Desperate to distract himself from the walls threatening to close in around him, Eijirou watches videos of his longtime idol, Crimson Riot, thankful he can stream it to the tv. A few in, a tell-tale knock signals one of his meals has arrived, another sounding off shortly after. He goes to peek outside and ensure those who delivered the goods are gone prior to fully opening the door, jacket hood still pulled up to shadow his face.
He doesn’t want to be recognized.
Sushi rolls and gyudon are stuffed into his mouth in record time while videos of his favorite former Pro Hero continue to play. Others might find it stupid that Eijirou’s always looked up to the guy, yet that’s never deterred him. He was chivalrous, manly, and strong. He can’t help but wonder if Crimson Riot would be proud to have inspired him. Was…was he a good enough Hero while he had the chance?
Tears well in his eyes, painful as they fall and gather onto the bedding. The evidence of unrequited love is unnecessarily pretty. They supposedly sparkle and shine like precious gems, uncaring of the agony they cause when their jagged edges slice through delicate tissue and leave unnerving trails of blood in their wake. It’s sickening.
Pressing the base of his palms into his eye sockets with a pressure that isn’t healthy in the slightest, Eijirou focuses on breathing techniques until his ragged inhales become smooth and the star tears subside. Determined to busy his mind, he makes himself comfortable under the blanket and turns on a newly released action movie.
It doesn’t keep his attention. Only half listening, his thoughts continuously stray to a certain someone when he wishes they wouldn’t. Eventually, life decides to grant him a smidge of mercy and exhaustion settles into his bones. When he’s finally on the verge of falling asleep, he gives in to a desire he’s been denying himself for hours.
After all, this might be his last opportunity.
With trembling fingers and shallow breaths and a barely beating heart, Eijirou opens the photo album on his phone. He scrolls until locating the folder reserved for important pictures and taps. In seconds his favorite picture of Katsuki fills his vision, one he snapped when the blond wasn’t paying attention. Katsuki’s relaxed, completely at ease with a gentle smile curving his lips. An expression reserved for few. He feels his throat constrict and blinks furiously in an effort to hold himself together. This is important.
He wants to remember.
Eijirou wants to remember the sharp edge of Katsuki’s jaw. The angle of his cheekbones. That naturally wild hair. How his nose crinkles when he laughs. Eijirou does his best to envision the colors too. The ash blond of his hair. Flaming red eyes. Naturally pink lips. Fair skin.
It’s essential that he recall even the finest details so he’s able to imagine Katsuki when Eijirou can no longer see him himself.
He must’ve fallen asleep memorizing, for the next thing Eijirou knows, the vibrating of his phone – still in his grasp – rouses him. Bright light causes him to squint and blink, apparently still able to see for the time-being. Midoriya’s name flashes across the screen.
Answering calls is on the bottom of his to-do list. The last thing Eijirou cares about right now is listening to voicemails, answering texts, or calling anyone back. He’s ignored absolutely everyone and everything because he wants to be alone. Looking back, when he turned off his location, he should’ve put the device on Do Not Disturb. Hindsight twenty-twenty.
Scrolling to do exactly that, Eijirou’s brows furrow when he realizes just how many calls are from Midoriya. Unease seeps in and twists his gut, insisting something isn’t right. The problem is, he isn’t sure he can handle any conversation with the guy. After all, the last time Eijirou saw Midoriya was at the Hero Gala.
When his heart was smashed into a thousand pieces.
When Katsuki revealed to his childhood friend that he was proposing to someone.
A new wave of nausea strikes, bile rising to sting Eijirou’s throat. A text comes through before he can contemplate anything further. Against his better judgement, for the first time since this all began, he reads what’s written. Apparently, Midoriya’s been texting almost as much as he’s been calling.
I heard you’re sick. Is there anything we can do? Kacchan’s worried.
Are you ok? Your mom says she didn’t know you’re sick?
Please let us know if you’re ok.
I think Kacchan is having a crisis. He didn’t go on shift so we could look for you, Kirishima. We know you aren’t in any of the hospitals in Musutafu. You aren’t at home and you aren’t with your family. Nobody has heard from you. Can you at least let him know you’re gonna be alright?
Kirishima, he found the note. I told him you might’ve overheard his plans at the Hero Gala. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say anything before, but I saw you. Now he’s convinced you aren’t actually sick and that you’re avoiding him.
He’s spiraling.
Something’s wrong. Kacchan won’t tell me what it is but something’s seriously wrong. Kirishima, please. He won’t talk to anyone, even me. He won’t open the door.
I’m sorry to keep bothering you if you’re genuinely ill. I really am. I don’t know what else to do. Kirishima, if you’re able, call me.
Midoriya’s done a hell of a lot for them – for everyone, really – over the years and never asks for anything in return. But…can he manage a normal conversation? What if…what if Katsuki is put on the line?
Readjusting in bed, Eijirou’s gaze travels to the tv to find its showcasing highlights of Heroes from the past like All Might and Endeavor. He contemplates what his idol would do in this situation and doesn’t appreciate the conclusion.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eijirou tries to ignore the way his lungs constrict and his stomach drops at the thought of talking right now. His thumb hovers over the button, jaw locked in dread. He doesn’t have to tell anyone what’s happening or where he is, but dammit, he can’t sit here and worry everyone forever. That’s not manly at all. And if something truly is wrong with Katsuki, Eijirou can’t help himself. He’ll have to intervene.
Even if it’s a huge fucking mistake.
Because despite everything, he’s still an idiot in love with his best friend.
As if the universe senses how much of a pathetic loser he is, Midoriya’s name lights up his screen again as an incoming call. Eijirou audibly swallows and tries to steel himself.
“Hello?”
“Oh, thank god,” Midoriya rushes out, his voice shaking. “Are you ok?”
“Yea, I-I’m fine,” he lies through his teeth, fingers tightening into a fist. “Just…needed some space.”
“Kacchan was right,” the other man sighs, suddenly sounding exhausted, what Eijirou could swear is a muffled curse following behind. “I-I know it’s not my place to get involved in any of this,” he continues, pausing as though choosing his next words carefully, “but it’s…”
Eijirou chews on his tongue, wondering why all the air sounds let out of a top Hero.
“It’s bad, Kirishima. Really bad.”