💚🧡Bakudeku & Kirikami One Shots❤️💛

Climbing A Mountain For You

❤💛

Eef

AU:
No quirks
Warnings:
Mild Angst

[Kirishima's POV]

We broke up.

We actually ended it.

This has become a repetitive thought for me every morning, when I realise I'm alone in a double-sized bed, my legs and arms starfished out, grappling for something soft or warm or resembling the comfort of a familiar sleeping figure to pull myself against.

That night wasn't as rough as the stories say. That night where he breaks, screaming that I didn't love him enough, and that he was hurt. I tried to reason with him, saying that he hadn't said anything about it, but he insisted that it was my fault. I wanted to engage with the relationship in the first place and, me being my workaholic self, didn't remain committed to it. It was a new song I'd found and, after a few plays, I had enough. I couldn't disagree, and watched him storm out without a word.

I wasn't angry. I could never be.

Not even at myself.

I wasn't sad either. More like there was a void in my chest, filled with the slight nag of regret. Then my eyes open, and I realise how lonely my house was, now lacking the presence of the cheerful blonde. He looked happy, but maybe I was being naïve, casting over strained smiles or awkward silences. 

I can't say it destroyed me, or that it was overwhelming. Maybe I cried at my loss, or in fright, but I was certainly not as sad as I was supposed to be. Maybe because I'd become so addicted to working and being good at my job to get promoted and have a better income that I'd severed all romantic feelings I felt towards him. Of course I did.

I had a couple of dreams. Borderline to a nightmare. It was mostly imagining the hurt and broken face he wore before leaving me, never again responding to another text. I think that was what made me realise that I loved him, and that I still do. 

I didn't have the motivation to work for a bit. There was no specific reason why - I just didn't want to. But, on one of those uneventful days, my mind went back to a time before I'd become so work-obsessed. We were having a late night conversation after returning from a club, walking off the effects of alcohol. It was about three weeks since I'd asked him to move in with me and we were bundled in thick sheets, looking up at the pitch black. But we were okay with being blind, because we had each other.

I asked the question first, because hearing the words coming off his lips was equivalent to a hymn lulled from the sweet mouth of a mother.

"How much do you love me?" I ask. The head laying on my arm shifts, and I didn't need to look in his direction to know he was looking with a mellow kind of fondness.

"I love you so much that..."

He paused, looking around for inspiration.

"I'd name my first ever official release after you!"

I remember cackling with laughter, ruffling his sunflower-blonde hair.

"It gets better and better each time!"

He joined in with my own only later, waiting until we'd both gotten the amusement out of our systems to ask his own question.

"How much do you love me?"

It had taken me a bit to come up with an answer.

"I do, so much that..."

I had to be imaginative.