The room was dim except for the lamp’s amber glow, dust motes swimming in the still air like restless thoughts. Outside, the rain pressed against the windows, steady and ceaseless. You and Katsuki sat on the floor, knees almost touching, backs against the couch neither of you had the energy to unfold.

It had been building—the silence, the heaviness. The way grief lingered in the corners of the room, a shadow that never seemed to leave. You both knew it. The truth that this love, once blazing, now sat at the edge of something fragile, something that could splinter with the wrong touch.

Katsuki’s hands shifted, rough palms scarred and callused from years of fighting, yet trembling as they reached for you. His fingertips brushed against your skin, cautious as though you were spun from glass. His jaw clenched, his breathing uneven, the fury of someone used to strength but terrified of breaking what mattered most.

“Damn it,” he whispered, his voice cracked at the edges, raw. He leaned in, lips brushing yours in the faintest kiss, so tentative it hurt more than it healed. He stayed there, his breath mingling with yours, his forehead nearly pressed to yours. His hands cupped your face like a prayer, as though by holding you carefully enough, he could stop everything else from crumbling.

“You feel like you’re slipping through my fingers,” he murmured, words trembling against your lips. “And I don’t…I don’t know how to stop it. All I know is I can’t lose this. Can’t lose you.”

The kiss deepened just slightly, enough for the salt of sorrow to bleed through its sweetness. His thumbs brushed the curve of your cheek, and he held you as if memorizing the softness, as if you might vanish the moment he let go. His hands, made for battles, shook from the effort of gentleness.

“Stay,” Katsuki whispered, a plea heavy with grief and desperate devotion. “Even if I don’t deserve it. Even if it’s falling apart. Just…stay.”

The rain pounded harder against the glass, like a cruel reminder of the world pressing in. But here, in the rawness of heartbreak, in the quivering edge of what could be the end or a fragile rebirth, love still burned. Flickering. Shaking. But bright enough to be seen.

And with his forehead pressed to yours, the question hung heavy, unanswered.