katsuki rarely drinks. it's not something he enjoys. but one one night, he shows up at your once-shared apartment, smelling like liquor. something sweet and fruity, liked he'd tried to wash a bitter taste from his mouth. to someone who doesn't know him the way you do, a tired sobriety may be assumed. he's that sort when he drinks.
he smiles when he sees you, a bashful kind of smile, despite not having spoken with you for months and you realize that maybe he's forgotten. maybe he's forgotten the last few months when he moved his stuff out of your place, the period of time after the break up where no one would bring up your names in front of the other.
"katsuki? it's the middle of the night," you say to him through the half open door. "what are you doing here?"
katsuki looks at you, clearly tired, and he swallows thick before opening his mouth and closing it again. you wait for him to find his words.
"i wanted to see you," he says.
"you don't live here anymore," you remind him gently, though you're not sure why you assume that he believes he does.
katsuki glances at the ground and then uses the doorframe to steady himself. you can tell that he's trying not to scare you, trying not to use the sheer size of his body. there's something cautious and equally careless about his motions and you tilt your head.
"katsuki?"
"why don't we talk anymore?" he asks you, swallowing again. you wonder where his friends have gotten off to and at what point int he evening they'd noticed that he wandered off.
the question tugs at your heartstrings as you stare at the man in the doorway. it's a pathetic sort of feeling, a weak longing in your chest. you're not sure how to answer. after the break up, things just sort of... fell off. there was nothing to say anymore.
"I want to talk to you," he admits.
this is a side of katsuki that only you are privy to. a quieter, gentler side of him. one where he can openly admit his wants and faults. an exposed bleeding wound that katsuki has never really been able to sew shut.
you shake your head a little.
"talking's hard," you tell him. you're being honest. talking to him is hard. there is so much history there.
"we used to be friends," he reasons, almost as if he's reminding himself.
"yeah," you nod, "we did."
"and now we're not," he adds. "and that fucking sucks."
you nod again.
"it's late, katsuki," you say to him. "you should get home and sleep this off."
katsuki nods, but he lingers. his eyes wander past you into the inside of your apartment, almost as if he can picture himself wandering in. you keep the door half shut.
"we'll talk soon?" he asks, something hopeful in his voice. this vulnerability makes you ache.
"yeah," you respond. "we'll talk soon. fix things."
katsuki nods and then, as if something sobering has come over him, he straightens his back. you furrow your brows as he looks at you, a pink tinge over his cheeks, and wait for what he has to say next.
"sorry to- sorry to bother you so late," he says, a little less gently. he's let a mask slip carefully over his features.
"it's fine," you shake your head. "get home safe, okay? do you need me to call someone for you?"
katsuki shakes his head insistently. "no, no," he says firmly— soberly. "i'm good. i'll see you around."
"okay."
he turns from your step and you watch his back for a moment before quietly shutting the door to your apartment. it feels too quiet now, and you briefly miss the light from the street as you turn back to the empty, darkened rooms.
you wonder if he'll remember coming to your door tomorrow and kick himself for it. you wonder if he'll wake up in the morning, his head pounding, with the mortifying memory of having shown up on your doorstep, telling you that he misses you in a set of different words. or, you wonder if he'll forget. will he wake tomorrow with no memory at all of the first conversation you've shared in months?
it's probably best if he doesn't remember it. then, there'll be nothing to follow up on and nothing to apologize for in the sobering light of day. you won't have to talk to him and be reminded of just how painful every aspect of this is. you have no intention of keeping your promise to talk soon, as much as you might like to fix things. it's best, for the both of you, if you let him fade into the background. then, you can meet him again as strangers—friends of friends—and pretend that the history between you both never happened in the first place.
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