𝔸 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕍.𝟚 💥𝔹𝕜𝔻𝕜💥

Chapter 48

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The Red Lotus

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting long streaks of light across the room and stirring Eijiro from his sleep. He let out a deep yawn, stretching until his muscles groaned in protest. The rich aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, tugging him further from his drowsiness. A faint smile curved his lips as he swung his legs off the bed and padded toward the kitchen.

There stood Katsuki, spatula in hand, poised over a pan of sizzling bacon. The stove hissed and popped, and the steady rhythm of Katsuki's movements filled the quiet space. He flipped each strip with precision, his expression focused, as though breakfast were another mission to execute perfectly.

"Morning, man," Eijiro mumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. He rubbed his eyes and stretched again, taking in the spread of food across the counter—crispy toast, fluffy scrambled eggs, and a pot of coffee. "You didn't have to make breakfast for me, you know."

Katsuki grunted in response, not bothering to look up. "Tch, don't get the wrong idea, shitty hair," he muttered, his tone sharp but lacking bite. "I just happened to be up early, and I figured I'd make something. It's not like I did it for you or anything."

A chuckle rumbled in Eijiro's chest, warming the room with its easy familiarity. He stepped closer, leaning against the counter. "Sure, man. Whatever you say."

As Katsuki continued cooking, Eijiro couldn't help but notice the shift in his friend compared to the previous night. Katsuki's movements were deliberate, every action focused and controlled. The chaos of his breakdown felt distant now, buried under layers of the routine he clung to like armor. On the counter beside the stove, the remnants of the melted door handle caught Eijiro's eye—a clear sign Katsuki had already fixed it.

His gaze wandered around the room, settling on the photo Ashido had taken of them at the gift shop. Katsuki was caught mid-laugh in the image, a light smile on his face as he ruffled Izuku's hair. The sight stirred something bittersweet in Eijiro, a lump forming in his throat as he realized just how happy Izuku had made Katsuki. That photo was a rare window into a time when the weight of Katsuki's burdens seemed lighter, as though Izuku's presence had pulled him out of the isolation he often wrapped himself in.

Ever since that day of the war, even when Katsuki put up his tough, unshakable front, Eijiro had seen the cracks. He remembered those agonizing months after Izuku hadn't woken within the critical window the doctors had given. He'd watched Katsuki unravel in private, his rage and grief simmering beneath the surface, always directed inward. For years, Eijiro had known Katsuki blamed himself for what had happened, even though it wasn't his fault.

And then Izuku had come back—against all odds, defying every fear and doubt that had haunted Katsuki for so long. Eijiro had seen the change in him, the weight lifting, the way Izuku's return brought a rare, unguarded joy into Katsuki's life. But that joy was short-lived, ripped away again by the League of Villains. The cycle of pain, loss, and guilt had resumed, heavier than ever. Katsuki wouldn't admit it, but Eijiro could see how much it had broken him. How much it still did.

Eijiro's eyes drifted back to the photo, trying to swallow past the lump. Izuku had brought Katsuki a kind of peace no one else could, and losing that again... Eijiro could only imagine how deeply it had cut.

Eijiro's eyes then drifted to a nearby picture frame propped against the counter, and his chest tightened at the sight. It was the same photo that had sat beside Izuku's hospital bed: Katsuki and Izuku, side by side, their childish grins bright and unguarded. Next to the frame lay a singed Dynamight plushie, its edges blackened but intact, a clear indication Katsuki hadn't been able to part with it despite its state.