To my dearest, Katsuki

A Flesh-Eating Guilt

The light blue curtains of the hospital room were drawn back, and the blinds were lifted, allowing a cascade of soft sunlight to pour in and illuminate the space. Outside, a picturesque winter scene unfolded, with a thick blanket of pale white snow extending over the ground, glistening like diamonds under the bright December sun. It had been nearly two months since the traumatic events that led them here, and now, as early December arrived, the world outside was tranquil and serene, a stark contrast to the heaviness that filled the room.

Tana perched on the edge of a pristine hospital bed, her fingers gently enclosing Katsuki's hand, the warmth of her touch belying the cold sterility of the hospital environment. Carefully, she glided a small purple nail file over his fingernails, each stroke imbued with affection. Katsuki had always been particular about his appearance even before he had succumbed to this fate, lying in a hospital bed surrounded by tubes and monitors, seemingly lost to the world around him. Throughout the past month, Tana had made it her mission to care for him, indulging him with manicures, pedicures, meticulously trimming his hair, and soothing his skin with moisturizer.

On quieter days, she would simply sit in the chair beside him, her gaze fixed lovingly on his sleeping form, listening intently to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the soft rustle of her movements. Once, she had read her letter to him, the doctor's reassurance echoing in her mind that he could hear her. Her voice had trembled slightly as she poured her heart out.

"Keeping him all pretty?"

Tana's attention was drawn away from Katsuki's hand as she recognized Denki's voice, standing against the door frame with an amused grin. She met his gaze with a small smile and returned her focus to Katsuki's calm, pale fingers.

"When he wakes up, he's going to throw a major tantrum knowing you were holding his hand," Denki teased, easing himself into a chair beside her, their knees brushing together, creating an unexpected warmth that contrasted with the chill of the room.

When.

That simple word gnawed at Tana's thoughts, a constant thread of anxiety weaving through her mind. When would he wake up? It was a question that haunted her daily, filling her dreams with hopeful visions. She had even resorted to asking Katsuki himself, conjuring a sense of desperation in her heart. Still, as much as she longed to hear his voice today, she resolved to stay by his side, no matter how long it took.

Denki's gaze drifted to his best friend, taking in the distant look in Tana's eyes, the way her focus seemed to drift away from reality. It had been nearly two months since she had uttered more than a few words. The letters she had written to others had been read, each one heartfelt, but the most poignant response had come from Shota Aizawa. Denki suspected that he and Katsuki were the only two people she had confided in at all. He reached out, resting a hand on her knee, gently sliding the nail file from her fingers.

"Ana, please, talk to me," he pleaded, his voice soft yet insistent.

Tana's eyes remained locked on Katsuki, but Denki noticed the glimmer of unshed tears pooling beneath her lashes. With a slight tremor in her bottom lip, she dropped her head, surrendering to the weighted emotions she had been carrying.

"I feel so guilty," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"For what?" Denki asked, his brows furrowing. "This isn't your fault."

Slowly, Tana lifted her head, shaking it in denial as she tucked her unruly curls behind her ears. She looked at him with eyes brimming with sadness and uncertainty.

"If he doesn't wake up," she hiccupped, her voice breaking, "I broke your heart for no reason."

Denki shook his head firmly, reaching out and grasping Tana by the shoulders, drawing her closer. He was so close that she could lean down and rest her head against his shoulder. He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as the dam finally broke, and her tears spilled forth.

"I just wanted it to be him!" Tana cried, her fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of Denki's sweatshirt, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I know, Ana, and it will be. It'll be him," Denki whispered reassuringly, his hand moving soothingly down her back, each stroke meant to calm the storm of emotions raging within her.

"When he wakes up, it'll be him. I promise, Ana," he vowed softly, hoping to instill a seed of hope in her heart, one that might blossom into something brighter amid the uncertainty.