Sometimes, Katsuki forgets.

Sometimes, he wakes up and heads down to the common room, waiting for you like a lost puppy so he can walk to school with you, grumbling all the way. Then reality hits him all over again. You're not there.

Sometimes, he makes extra food out of habit, expecting you to wander over and take it when you get hungry. Sometimes, he makes your favorite sweets, only to realize halfway through that there's no one to share them with. Sometimes, he finds himself walking toward your old room instead of his own, only to stop when the truth catches up with him.

You're not here anymore.

His heart always feels heavy. If Katsuki were the type to cry, he doubts he'd ever stop. He'd never liked anyone as much as he loved you, and now, he couldn't even have you by his side. He couldn't protect you, couldn't keep you safe, couldn't even keep you in his life. Sometimes, he wonders if it was his fault for ever becoming part of yours.

Tonight, Katsuki finds himself standing outside your dorm room. It'll be cleared out soon, your belongings packed away to make room for someone else, but he can't bring himself to let go just yet. Your things are still here. The room still smells faintly of you.

So he slips inside, curls up beneath your covers, and pulls one of your shirts against his chest, burying his face in the familiar fabric.

Just for tonight, he'll pretend you're still here.

Unaware of a certain ghostly presence.