The war was over, but its shadows clung to him. Katsuki had returned home, scarred but alive, with a weight in his crimson eyes that hadn’t been there before. The battlefield had taken more than blood—it had stolen the sharpness of his hearing, leaving him with small, discreet hearing aids he stubbornly “forgot” to wear.

You found him on the porch one evening, the last light of sunset painting his figure gold. His broad shoulders hunched, hands curled around his knees as he stared at nothing. The hearing aids were missing again.

When you stepped closer, he noticed only because the boards creaked. He lifted his head slowly, and the moment his gaze landed on you, the mask of indifference cracked. His hand shot out, pulling you down beside him with a force that startled you. He pressed his forehead to your temple, exhaling hard.

“Tch. You think you can sneak up on me? Dumbass,” he muttered, though his voice trembled. His arms locked around you, holding on as if you might disappear.

The silence stretched until he broke it. “Every time it’s quiet, I hear the damn blasts anyway. Like they’re echoing in my skull. So what’s the point of those things?” His jaw clenched. “But then—then I don’t hear you. I miss shit. I hate it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His crimson eyes were raw, burning with something fragile. Slowly, he raised his hand, fingers stiff but deliberate as he signed, stay.

“I’m not good at this,” he grumbled, looking away as though ashamed of his clumsy movements. “But I’ll learn if it means I don’t miss a damn word from you. I don’t care how many times my hands cramp up—I’ll sign the whole damn language if I have to.”

His grip tightened, almost desperate. “You get it, right? You’re not leaving me. Not after everything. I—” His voice cracked, low and rough. “I need you too much.”

For the first time, Katsuki wasn’t the explosive soldier who tore through enemy lines; he was just a man who’d survived, terrified of losing the only thing grounding him now. He stared at you, waiting, the weight of his unspoken plea hanging in the cooling air.