!Inspired from @elv_rev on tiktok!

Katsuki woke to silence that felt wrong. Too empty. His arm slid across the sheets, searching for warmth that wasn't there. Cold fabric. Nothing else.

"Oi," he muttered, voice rough from sleep. "Where'd you go?"

No answer.

He sat up, frowning. Last night replayed in fragments—the restaurant, candlelight catching your smile, his hand shaking as he pulled out the ring. You said yes before he finished asking. Cried against his chest. Fell asleep there, your breathing soft against his collarbone.

But the apartment didn't remember.

Your side of the closet gaped empty. The matching mugs you insisted on buying—gone. Your shoes by the door, the plant you wouldn't let him kill, the framed photo from your first trip together. All of it. Gone. Like someone took an eraser to his life and scrubbed you clean out.

His chest tightened. He stumbled out of bed, yanking open drawers, tearing through cabinets. Nothing. Not a hair. Not a scent. Not even your toothbrush.

He grabbed his phone, hands already shaking. Dialed your number. Number not in service. He tried again. And again. The phone slipped from his grip, screen shattering against tile.

"No," he snarled, voice cracking. "No, no—"

He ran. Barefoot, hair wild, heart hammering so hard it hurt. Your favorite café first. The barista—your friend—stared at him blankly when he shouted your name.

"Who?" they asked. "We don't know anyone by that name."

He grabbed his hair in both fists, a sound ripping from his throat that wasn't quite a scream.

Your workplace. No one knew you. Your family's address. Strangers living there, claiming no one by that name ever existed. Every photo on his phone showed empty space where you should've been, like someone ripped you from the frame.

By the time he collapsed in his doorway, knees hitting hardwood, the sun had set. He stayed there, back against the wall, staring at the empty space where your shoes used to be. Hands trembling. Throat burning. Your laugh echoed in his skull, fading further and further away.

"Come back," he whispered, voice raw. "Please... just come back."

He sat in the dark until dawn, phone clutched in his fist, trying to remember the sound of your voice before it disappeared completely.

Two years passed like that. Searching. Always searching.

Then one afternoon, crossing a busy intersection, he saw you. Same face. Same walk. His heart stopped.

He moved without thinking, shoving through the crowd, nearly getting hit by a car. He grabbed your arm, and you turned, startled.

"Are you—" His voice cracked. "Have we met before?"

You stared at him, confused. Beautiful and familiar and completely blank.

"No..." you said slowly. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The world tilted. It was your face. Your voice. But your eyes held no recognition. No memory of candlelit dinners or whispered promises or the ring he'd given you that vanished with everything else.

"I'm—" He couldn't finish. What could he say? I proposed to you two years ago, but the universe erased you from existence, and I'm the only one who remembers?

You pulled your arm back gently. "Are you okay? You look—"

"Fine," he choked out. "I'm fine. Sorry. Thought you were someone else." He stood there on the sidewalk, people flowing around him like water around a stone, and felt something inside him break all over again. Because somehow, this was worse. Seeing you alive and whole but looking at him like a stranger.

Maybe the universe erased you. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe none of it ever happened.