The summary is just a snippet from a poem I made way back. If I make it in the industry, maybe you'll see the whole thing someday as part of an anthology hehe

if you noticed, bk and dk differs in how they refer to the people around them depending on the assumed degree of closeness. Dk calls them by first name (usually) and bk by last name (mostly).

warning: this is one whole scene. prepare your stamina in reading

"I'm sorry
Let me say it
Let me scream it
Let me

Please

Let me say

No"

Chapter 6: Overdue

Izuku took six minutes, but the car was still there when he stumbled out of the elevator doors. The headlights turned on when he did, and a long honk followed him right until he strapped himself in.

"Took your goddamn sweet time, did you, Deku" was the last thing Izuku heard from Katsuki as they started out of the basement parking. Even when Katsuki's work phone rang, blazing words of 'emergency,' the blonde didn't say a single word when he shut it off and chucked it to the back.

Wisely, Izuku decided not to say anything when his own phone rang not long after. Instead, under scarlet eyes that burned into the side of his head, he shut it off all the same, and it followed suit to its pair.

This wasn't the second time Izuku rode with Katsuki. While the first time was, undoubtedly, a car wreck (he'd been getting into a lot of dad jokes nowadays), it didn't stop Izuku from constantly tagging along. To the Great Explosion Agency, children orphanages, sudden team-up operations with Minoru and Momo's agencies down south, and the occasional fast-food drive-thru.

There were times that it was quiet. It was entirely by choice in those instances– Izuku being knocked out from expending too much energy talking to everyone he came across, and Katsuki similarly tired from work.

The quiet in this car ride to an unknown location was less understood by both parties and more of Katsuki putting up an opaque and soundproof divider between them. They might as well have been in two entirely different vehicles. Izuku would look right, and there'd be a window, not a car seat. Left and he'd see an empty passenger seat. Front and there'd be the steering wheel.

Or, as Izuku liked to put it as Katsuki would– it was awkward as fuck with tension thicker than Mirko's thighs (not that his charge would ever say something like that).

It was when they passed the checkpoint for Nara-ken that Izuku tried speaking again. This time not just muttering to himself about the pros and cons of owning a car in modern-day Japan, but to Katsuki.

"So."

"…"

Izuku cleared his throat. He shifted in his seat to look at Katsuki. The blonde didn't even so much as twitch. Scarlet eyes were trained on the road ahead of them. Passing lights from other vehicles– trucks, cars, motorcycles– whizzed by, creating a man-made falling night sky on Earth. They caught on Katsuki's eyes, bringing out different colors– scarlet turning candy apple red, then darkening into carmine.

If only questions weren't dying to let loose from his tongue, Izuku would've remained in the silence to appreciate the beauty.

"Nara, huh?"

"…"

"I mean, well, I've been wanting to see the deers there! They're wild, right? Not domesticated or anything? Ah, I'm so excited– well, I always am when I'm with you, Kacchan. Hey, hey, do you think they'll bite? Oh, wait, never mind. Don't answer that. Of course they don't. That's why they sell crackers and everything for them. Wait– uh… did you bring any money, Kacchan? Because, I, uh, didn't. Not that I had any in the first place. Currency really isn't a thing up there–"

Izuku stopped talking. He didn't do it because he needed to catch his breath or his throat got dry or that Katsuki interrupted him with the expected "shut the fuck up or I'll drive us off this expressway."

He stopped talking because Katsuki turned on the radio and tuned in to a random music-focused station.

And, well, because just as he was about to start on the tangent of animal welfare, Katsuki took the lane towards the Mie-ken border.

"Ah. Not Nara then." Izuku paused for a few beats, sneaking a look at Katsuki. "Well, Mie's still good! We're obviously stopping by Ise Jingu, right?– ah, what a silly question, of course we will. It's the premier shrine, so of course we will. And if not deers, there're dolphins there, right? But, hm, they're in captivity and I don't really know how to feel about that."

"…"

Izuku's been waiting for Katsuki for more than a millennia now. He'd been hovering by the gates at every opportunity where he wasn't being dragged off to this and that by Ochako and the others. Unfortunately, he had to get told off more than a few times throughout that long period (that did not fly by as most expected) by Sasaki. Izuku thought the gatekeeper was a bit too finicky about the rules and the details of him and Yagi being the only ones to peek into the book.

Somehow, though, in assuming mortal form, that well-tested patience became rapidly paper-thin.

"Kacchan," Izuku whined. "Talk, will you? At this rate I'm going to run out of facts about Mie and what we'll do there in– oh Yagi, is it 10 p.m. already? Wow, time's really a relative thing. Then when I do– and I'm pretty sure I will since my phone and yours are, uh, out of commission–, I'll just keep messing with the radio and tune in on that station you hate– you know, that one with people and their cheating partners– or play with the heater."

He saw Katsuki's fingers flex on the wheel and swore that the smell of nitroglycerin spiked for a second before it vanished. The heater was at an all-time low since it was already going on March, and nights by the sea were always warmer than the ones inland. Any higher (not that Izuku would actually fiddle with it and risk losing his fingers), and they'd be at risk of becoming targets of 'breaking news' come morning.

Katsuki took in a breath, and Izuku held his. Then the blonde breathed out and kept on driving, eyes in front and not sparing Izuku a glance.

If it wasn't so annoying and grating on nerves that Izuku didn't even know he had, he would've applauded the self-restraint to not lash out.

Izuku knew that Katsuki felt the eyes on him– boring right into the side of his head– but he deflated afterward. He also knew, after more than a month of the same ignoring tactic, that Katsuki wouldn't budge an inch. Not even if Izuku set himself on fire right beside him. The blonde would just pull over, kick Izuku to the curb, and let the remaining snow handle it.

It was something a guardian angel shouldn't think too pessimistically about their charge, but Izuku couldn't be blamed for that line of thinking. He was left at the grocery store that one time he tagged along to a hangry Katsuki.

Sighing, Izuku sank back into his seat. Just for pettiness' sake, he pointedly turned away from Katsuki (while, of course, still sneaking glances now and then). Some indie song was playing, and he remembered that one time his charge called him a "basic bitch" when Izuku was caught listening to what Katsuki called "shitty mainstream music that's worse than crap."

He'd very much like to turn to Katsuki again, point at the radio, and say, "I know this artist and I even bought a digital single. Now who's a basic bitch?" but it wasn't the right time for it. Despite how much his mouth blabbered on earlier (and that pathetic whining too), Izuku wasn't blind, nor was he dense. He could see Katsuki's nervous ticks leagues away and so much so just a car seat over.

Katsuki preferred to keep one hand steady and lax on the wheel with the other on the handbrake. Something about not trusting automatics and missing the time when manuals were still on the market. Right now, both his hands were on the wheel– rigid, with his knuckles white and veins popping out.

Izuku wasn't creepy or anything, but he'd always been attuned to his charge's– Kacchan's– breathing. He had to be during Katsuki's early years with those horror stories demons told him about babies who suddenly stopped in the middle of the night; no warning whatsoever. So it'd been part of the job, gaining a skill like that (he wouldn't call it a talent. Ochako and Shouto were practically pros when playing hide-and-seek).

It was with that skill that Izuku could hear the slightest hitches of breath. The bass of the music reverberated throughout the car, and a melody would ring out, but Izuku'd hear it nonetheless–

Hiccups. Katsuki only got them when he was nervous. Anxious and wanted to be anyplace else and do anything else.

Izuku hadn't heard Katsuki hiccup since he was a kid.

The bright red lights of the clock showed 11:36 p.m. by the time they got into Aichi-ken. It was only them on the road now. No one manned tollgates these days, but even if there were, Izuku thinks no one sane would've volunteered for the late-night shift.

"Hey, Kacchan. Why didn't we just head out tomorrow? It's pretty late, you know?" asked Izuku. "I mean, it's not that late for me. I'm saying it for you with your 8-pm-is-my-life-curfew thing that you never break– which you did a lot when I was still around you know. Yes, yes, it's entirely my fault–, so what gives? And where are we going anyway, Kacchan?"

Where are we going was the question at the forefront of Izuku's mind since Katsuki ordered him to find 'decent' clothes with a time limit. Even more than "are you still mad" and "have you been crying in your room," that was the question that took the top spot.

He'd tried hinting at it. Deliberately talking about deers and dolphins when Izuku already knew where it was they were going. He just wanted, well, a confirmation. A 'feeling' wasn't enough to go on.

Katsuki didn't say a word. But he did slow down the car enough to expertly grab at the glove compartment on Izuku's side, throwing an energy bar at him and taking one for himself. Such were the benefits of having good eye-hand coordination, Izuku thinks. And being ambidextrous. Watch Katsuki tear the wrapper open with one hand while driving (the expertise would make instructors feel ashamed) while Izuku fumbled with which end to start with.

The music faded out, and the DJs started talking. There must've been some sort of quirk behind their voices because the next thing Izuku knew, he was opening his eyes. The empty wrapper lay on his lap, and there was a crick in his neck.

What he noticed were two things mainly, though– the car had come to a stop, and the red light of the numbers by the radio said 2 a.m.

"Oh," Izuku rubbed his eyes and straightened up in his seat. He tried squinting past the darkness, but that was the thing with winter– the days were short, and nights were long and cold. "Is this a pitstop, Kacchan?"

"If you need to piss, do it in a bottle. I'm not taking your haunted ass home if you accidentally piss on someone's grave."

"Ah, it's fine. I didn't drink much before we left– wait," He whipped his head to the side, eyes wide at the now-speaking Katsuki. "Grave?"

Katsuki turned on the headlights briefly, and Izuku turned to the front just in time to catch a glimpse of the signage–

Musutafu Cemetery. Open all hours. Management Office open 5-6. Incense sticks and water are free. Donations are welcome.

–and it was gone under darkness in a blink. The soft rumbling of the engine ceased. The jingling of keys and the opening of locks was Izuku's only warning before Katsuki got out of the car and started walking. No flashlights or anything.

"Wait– ah, dammit– Kacchan, wait!"

After a grueling fight with the seatbelt (it was at the top of Izuku's list to give to Yagi to smite), he managed to catch up to Katsuki. Miraculously, he didn't end up accidentally stepping on anything important.

Who wanted flowers when they're dead? Nobody.

It was a bit of an uphill climb. Most modern cemeteries nowadays weren't as concerned about placing themselves all the way up hills or near shrines. With land prices rising, even the simple plot of land where tombstones could be spaced out was enough.

This cemetery liked to stick to tradition, it seemed. What Izuku liked to think Japan had an advantage over everyone else was its placement– it being the first to catch sight of sunlight from the east. So it may have been right at the tail-end of winter– mid-March– but not even the long nights of the season could stop the great sun.

By the time Izuku reached the top of the hill, where numerous pagoda-shaped tombstones were spaced out evenly, it wasn't as dark as earlier. Of course, it was still dark– he tripped every so often over a pebble or an exposed root– but not as much.

The sky was dark-grey in color, slowly turning into a snowy-white that'd fool weather-casters in predicting snow. They'd be mistaken. Inland like this, the sky always took a while to clear up (not like Osaka by the coast that it was). Even with the cloudy cover, Izuku could still see the rest of the place.

Poles were set up at the edges of the hill and followed after each other, leading to the center. Braided rope– what color, Izuku couldn't discern– connected all of them, their weight sagging the tops a bit. Upon closer inspection, he'd see sutras and holy prayers hanging across the connection. They all culminated at the center– at the big tree.

Izuku called it big, but it was nothing but a babe when compared to the big camphor trees in the countryside (from what he'd seen on TV, anyway). With winter still felt by nature, the bony reaches of it seemed pathetic almost. But it fit the solemnity of the place.

The braided ropes raced across its thick trunk– from the exposed roots to the very base and up and up. They tied into a knot just before hitting the branches and snugly fitting under the hollow. Even from afar, Izuku saw the sutras and bells with no clanger decorating the branches.

Somehow, looking at the grandiosity of it all, Izuku couldn't find it in himself to feel at or be in awe or any kind of energizing emotion. Death had always been like that– draining and dictating of what one should and shouldn't feel.

He couldn't marvel at wondering what kind of tree it was when the tombstones he'd pass had one too many grave markers erected behind them. There was no room for that kind of positive feeling when it came to places like this– angel, human, demon, or anything else.

When Izuku stopped at Katsuki's side, there was already incense burning and a cup of water at the base of the stone monument. Katsuki didn't make any motion to sit down before it.

He just stood there, hands at his side, head tilted down in what looked like subservience, and eyes trained on the engraved words of "Hisakawa Family Grave." There were three wooden markers erected behind it. The stone monument blocked the sight of the kaimyo written on them.

The wind whipped past them, and the incense smoke swirled around.

"What are we doing here, Kacchan?"

"We're in front of a grave in a cemetery in my hometown, Deku. What do you think we're fucking doing?"

Izuku pulled his collar higher. It was frigid in the mornings. "I don't know. I– you get this letter for a reunion, you space out then storm out only for you to drive us the whole night across the country. I… I don't know, Kacchan. I really don't know."

Katsuki shifted by his side, but Izuku didn't turn to look at him. Somehow– he didn't know– he felt it'd be disrespectful to look away from the grave he was unknowingly paying respects to. And Izuku trusted his instincts and the vague certainty of 'feeling.'

Katsuki didn't talk. Izuku didn't either. No one did for a while. Just for a bit, it was just the sound of the wind around them. The times it died down, even the sound of the incense stick catching flame and shedding off ash could be heard.

When Katsuki talked again, this time, he didn't stop talking. As if he was making up for the silence he subjected both of them to earlier.

"His name's Hisakawa Yuu. Was neighbors with him and playmates since, what, they moved from Sapporo? That was around sometime in gradeschool. He called me his friend– I called him a nuisance and pain in the ass who didn't know when he wasn't wanted. Shit, I really hated him at some point," Katsuki paused. "No, I probably hated him from the start."

"Why?"

Katsuki took in a sharp inhale. Then a shaky breath out. "He was quirkless. Weak. An asshole who kept spouting how he'd do great things– fuck, I really hated him– and putting on airs and pretending to be strong."

Katsuki laughed. "Well, now, look at him. Turned to ashes and everything– just another pile of crushed bones and burnt flesh to add to who knows how many generations. Talk about being fucking great. What a load of crap."

Izuku took Katsuki's hand. It was shaking. Callused fingers convulsed for a bit against Izuku's hold before a squeeze eventually made it lax. Finally, Katsuki squeezed back and held on– his grip was tighter than Izuku's now.

Because he knew what Katsuki needed, Izuku spoke up. "What did he want to be? When he was alive, Kacchan? What was that great thing he wanted to be?"

He felt Katsuki's body take in gulps of air. Even with the sounds echoing from his charge– his Kacchan– Izuku didn't turn to his side and look.

"That's the thing," Katsuki laughed again, though it was more of a chuckle– Izuku hated hearing it. "I don't even fucking remember anymore. I just know that I hated him so much for even trying to be it. The fucker was so stupid."

It was the crack in Katsuki's voice that finally made Izuku deal disrespect to the dead by turning away to look at Katsuki. He was glad he did.

Izuku pulled at their intertwined hands until the blonde was in his arms. He kept them intertwined– Katsuki's trembling ones against his steady hand– with the other reaching up to run through Katsuki's hair.

The collar of his shirt was getting damp. The back sure to be getting crumpled and wrinkled with Katsuki's grip. But, it was all fine for Izuku. No amount of supposed discomfort mattered when his charge was clinging onto him for life while sobbing "stupid, stupid, stupid," in-between tears.

Through it all, Izuku waited. There was only half of the incense stick left. The water began reflecting daybreak's light that dawned upon the cemetery for a few seconds before sunrise truly began.

When Katsuki pulled away, anyone who'd see him wouldn't think he was crying. That was one of the good things about winter and the cold winds it brought– someone could be crying one moment and the next; they could blame the redness of their eyes and their noses to the season. The shine in their eyes they could blame on the wind and the tear tracks on melted snow.

No matter the season, though, Izuku always knew when Katsuki cried. Even in the times when he could no longer be there when he did, Izuku knew and remembered.

Their fingers were the last to untangle from each other. It took longer than the hand in Katsuki's hair, the face buried in Izuku's collar, and the hand on Izuku's back. Just a few seconds later; something that was usually unnoticeable.

Izuku noticed. He always noticed everything when it came to Katsuki.

Their hands broke away, and he thinks he heard the small bells with no clangers ring. It was just his imagination, though. But the next thing he heard (it drowned out Katsuki's "let's get your fashion disaster of an ass back") definitely wasn't imagined.

"How dare you show your face here, you fucking bastard."

At times like this, Izuku wished he'd taken on a form that had a few more inches in height. Not much, just a bit more. Enough that he could tower over Katsuki by a few centimeters and shield him– protect his Kacchan.

Instead, it was him who was being shoved behind the blonde's back. The movement was swift and instinctual– very much like the hero Katsuki declared he was and lived to be. Izuku didn't like that.

"Kaccha–"

Katsuki squeezed his arm, and he kept silent. Izuku could hear the crow of the rooster in the distance, and the sun was already halfway up from its slumber.

"What," said Katsuki gruffly. To anyone who'd heard him on TV, they'd think he was angry. To Izuku, who still had a damp spot on his collar and a rumpled shirt, he knew to think otherwise. "You fuckers own the place or something? News flash, idiot: graves don't belong to anyone but the shitty dead."

There was a group of people coming up the hill. They didn't look similar to each other much– some wore casual pair of jeans and a shirt, some went all-out with a suit and tie, and some looked unbothered with the bit of hike in their stilettos. There were two things they all had in common–

First, the trinkets and flowers in their hands. Aged pictures with yellow and frayed edges, bottles of sake, cans of coffee and chuhai. The flowers were primarily white, with an occasional yellow chrysanthemum and red spider lily sneaked in. Someone at the far back even had a small mat rolled up and tucked under their arm.

And second was the look of repulsion and hatred rippling across their faces when, one by one, they converged into a group– a united front against one Bakugou Katsuki.

The man who had been the first to reach them and call out Katsuki took a step forward, body shaking. The white lilies shook in his hand.

"No dead wants you here, Bakugou," The man's face contorted into a snarl– nasty and pure unadulterated hate. "No– no living wants you either."

"The dead are dead. They don't get a fucking say in anything anymore. And even if they did, I don't let myself be pushed around by shitty extras like you," said Katsuki.

The blonde's grip on Izuku tightened. He knew there was an answering scowl on his charge's face too. Whether it be full of the same thing as the man before them, he wasn't sure.

The man bristled and took a step forward, lilies swaying from the movement. Izuku tensed as the others moved to do the same.

A gust of wind came. Ripples were made across the cup of water's surface. The last of the incense stick snapped off and rolled from the tombstone, stopping right between them. The man stopped. So did the others.

Then the man sighed and walked briskly to the tombstone. Katsuki pushed Izuku back a few steps, both not saying a word. He watched over Katsuki's shoulder as the man removed the bindings on the white lilies before easing them into the vase right beside the last of the smoking incense.

He fixed the flowers. He wasn't looking at Katsuki's direction anymore. "Please."

Izuku turned to Katsuki. He tugged at his arm and opened his mouth, trying perhaps to implore him to say something. The hand around his arm tightened, and words failed Izuku again.

Katsuki clicked his tongue and took great strides towards the crowd. They parted easily for him. No, not as waves would for a holy man but as people would for a damned one. Izuku stumbled as he was dragged along, and the words were still lost on him.

What was there to be said to Katsuki, who had watered the graves with his tears one second and the next forced to walk down the path of shame? If there was, Izuku wasn't privy to the answer.

"Kacchan…"

"Bakugou-san."

It turned out there was one more person who was going up the hill. It was a woman. Unlike the others, she was donned in all-black. Looking at her, it was like she was still in mourning– and maybe she was. The plain, matte black dress hung on her body and down past her knees. Not a slip of skin could be seen except for her face and hands– sleeves ironed and black stockings blending into the look. Just a plain strand of pearls adorned her neck, with her long hair kept up into a tight bun.

But above all of it, what Izuku noticed the most was the look on her face as she looked at Katsuki. The woman's reddened eyes mirrored Katsuki's, and Izuku knew it wasn't because of the cold.

There was no hate there.

Katsuki's hold on Izuku tightened again. He couldn't see the blonde's face. "Fujimoto. Of-fucking-course you came with those shitheads."

She smiled– this woman called Fujimoto who wasn't looking at Katsuki like he was the dirt under her flat black shoes. "Well, you know how it is. Yuu-kun was someone dear to them too."

"They didn't even know his goddamn name when they went to the memorial ceremony. Turned a blind eye at the shoves in the hallways, skirting around him like the cowards they were. 'Dear,' my ass."

"And yet here they are. Still coming in from Tohoku and Kyushu every year. Whether it's guilt or that sense of duty we Japanese have, I don't really dive too much into the reason why," The woman was still smiling. "Just as I won't ask why you're here."

"Good, 'cause I won't fucking answer shit."

Katsuki managed a couple steps past her– still dragging Izuku along, who only managed a hasty bow– when she spoke up again. The blonde stopped and barely stopped Izuku from tripping and tumbling down the hill.

"I will ask if you received the invitation, though."

"What's it you?"

She chuckled softly. Izuku peeked over his shoulder and saw the lines of age deepen on her face. Even with the light and pale makeup, he could see the tiredness on her face.

"Seeing as I'm the one who sneaked your name on the list, and as one of the organizers, I think I can ask, no?"

Katsuki clicked his tongue, but still, he didn't turn around. His hold on Izuku's arm was a death-grip– knuckles white and fingers bruising. "Then you'll know the answer, won't you, you meddlesome bitch?"

"Will I?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

The woman stayed quiet for a while. Katsuki didn't make any move to say more, and Izuku continued to have words fail him. It wasn't his place to say or do anything.

All he could do, in this moment and in this time, was to let his charge hold onto him– depend on him. All Izuku could do was to be that something that Katsuki could use to stop himself from breaking.

Shoes shuffled behind them, and they began walking away. Then they stopped.

"What did you come here for, Bakugou-san?" asked the woman softly and in an almost whisper. If not for how Katsuki froze, Izuku wouldn't've thought the other heard her. Especially not with the oppressive silence that weighed upon them.

It was that sort of silence that people hated being in and wanted to leave but couldn't– not if they wished to have their expectations met, questions answered, and turmoil set at peace.

When Katsuki answered, Izuku didn't expect it. He had expected– waited with bated breath– for the blonde to keep walking and dragging him along, leaving the question hanging and falling. They would've driven back, stopped at a gas station to shake off lingering spirits, and gone home.

Definitely not this–

"If I said I wanted to say sorry– apologize for driving him to his grave– would you believe me?"

Izuku heard a choked sound behind them, and he took a peek again. The woman had one hand covering her mouth, her body shaking. Tears ran down and left streaks on her face, dampening black turning into a deeper black.

She drew her hand away, and he saw that her lips were trembling. Still, Katsuki didn't turn around.

"If you have to ask me that then I guess you don't believe yourself either, Bakugou-san."

Izuku wanted to tell of the grand turn of events at this point. He wanted to say how Katsuki– his Kacchan– would turn all indignant and turn around. How there was this big row between them– Katsuki and Fujimoto– that turned into a bigger row when someone from the group came down to fetch the woman. He wanted to tell of the past that Izuku only had bits and pieces of– speculations and nothing more– being wrenched out of the ground. Maybe even the late Hisakawa Yuu would rise from all the fighting and take a sip of the water that Katsuki prepared a while ago.

Instead, there was nothing of the sort.

The woman called Fujimoto, who wore mourning clothes and didn't look at Katsuki with repulsion and unadulterated hate, turned her back on them. She began walking up the hill to where Izuku and his charge had been a mere minutes ago.

Izuku didn't know if she turned back around to look at them before her figure disappeared around the crest. Katsuki had started their descent at almost the same time she started hers, hand pulling and pulling at Izuku.

Katsuki told him to go to the car. Thrown him the car keys and told him to start it up. Izuku asked if he was going to the bathroom, and the blonde said no.

"Then why aren't you coming to the car with me?"

The blonde just turned his back to him and made his way to the Management Office with a grunted: "just do what I say, Deku."

Izuku started the car. Began heating it up and all. But he kept his eyes trained on Katsuki, who was in clear sight through the office's window. He watched silently as Katsuki shook hands with someone belonging to the staff who smiled at the blonde.

"Thank you for always," they told Katsuki as his charge signed some papers in a practiced fashion, indicating that it wasn't a first for the blonde.

It was later, when they got home, that Izuku realized that Bakugou Katsuki had been paying for the upkeep of a dead man's grave that he didn't have the right to visit.

AN:

Driving from Osaka to Fujiyoshida takes around 4hrs 45mins.

They were listening to UEBO's Memories, YeYe's Young Forest, and The Floor's 雨中. They're all in spotify :)

There's a Salinger reference there somewhere.

The classmate's name was Hisakawa Yuu (久川宥). It can be read as "forgiven (宥恕) a long time ago (久)" or "forgiveness overdue" or something along those lines. There's always open interpretation when it comes to names.