This is a story about a hero who saved everybody except himself.

And the person who kept trying to save him anyway.

Fun stuff.

Anyway—let's start this shitshow.

The apartment was dark.

Not because the lights didn't work. Because Katsuki never bothered turning them on anymore.

His keys landed softly on the kitchen counter.

Another mission. Another victory. Another crowd cheering his name.

The hoodie hanging over the back of the chair… was still there.

He'd never washed it. Couldn't.

It still carried the faintest trace of your perfume.

For the first time all day… his breathing finally slowed.

Then— his phone lit up.

Another congratulations from his agency. Another interview request. Another headline praising Japan's greatest hero.

He stared at the screen for several seconds… before locking it without answering.

The apartment fell silent again.

The quiet kind of silent. The kind that digs under your skin and settles into your bones. The kind that reminds you of everything you're trying to forget.

Except you, apparently.

Because the door to his apartment creaked open—the one you still had a key to—and there you were.