Chapter 15: Post-Game - End up on the floor, you can't remember, you clueless
They say the best-laid plans of mice and men go oft awry...
The night of the party passes by Katsuki in a blur, filled with snapshots of lucidity that disintegrate into out-of-focus visuals and distorted audio. The vivid parts seem to have longer and longer intervals between them with his periods of so-called 'clarity' becoming more shrouded in shadows and hazy edges each time. Eventually all that remains is an utterly empty void.
He is unsure whether his memories simply slipped from his grasp or if something had impaired his fundamental ability to form and retain new memories. Unbeknownst to Katsuki this is not the first time he has considered this. He had this realisation on multiple occasions the previous night but each time he thought it was the first time.
Piecing together his scattered memories is maddening. It is akin to completing a puzzle when you know some of the pieces are missing. Organizing what he can remember is equally frustrating, like spilling a bowl of sand and being instructed to return them to the bowl in the exact order they came out.
Katsuki knowsthe few cloudy memories within reach have a chronological order. Heck, he can even hazard an educated guess as to what it is. The problem is he doesn't want to guess, he wants to know.
Not for the first time, Katsuki gets the distinct impression that Midoriya has broken something within him beyond repair.
Katsuki immediately experiences a surge of uncontrollable panic at the thought. Suddenly the thought of trying to remember and guess at what he couldn't doesn't seem so bad. Katsuki's face twists into a scowl. The sensation of hurriedly pushing away the intrusive thoughts about his brokenness has become as familiar to Katsuki as using his Quirk. Practiced. Habitual. Necessary to survive.
He drifts for an indeterminable amount of time. It may take a little while for him to be able to face remembering. At least in his own head, sometimes he can let go of his strong, confident façade. Curling into himself, he brings his knees to his chest and loosely wraps the arm on the side he is lying on around his knees. Katsuki isn't sure how much time has passed when he finally feels ready to shift through his memories from the previous night. He just knows that it has been long enough for the sheen of sweat covering him to dry and the rabbiting of his heart to slow.
He knows there was a party. It was to welcome Kirishima back. Back from hospital. Back from the brink of -
He remembers leaving that girl. What was her name again? He does know it, he's certain. Ironic given she couldn't remember his name for shit.
He also remembers Midoriya asking him not to attend the party so he could study for an upcoming midterm exam. The memory feels wrong though. Midoriya doesn't ask. Well he does but the consequences for not doing as asked hardly makes it a choice at all. Confusingly he also vividly remembers Midoriya telling him to wear the clothes he left neatly folded on his desk to the party and instructing him not to drink alcohol. Katsuki is confused whether one or both events actually occurred. He thinks they both did. He vaguely recalls being muddled about whether Midoriya wanted him to attend or not. Katsuki also recognizes that he may be simply transferring these emotions from his prior knowledge of how much Midoriya seems to delight in wrong-footing him.
C'mon think. What was he wearing when he went to Harada's room? Were they clothes that Midoriya would be likely to select for him? Were they his own choice? Would the latter even tell him anything? Probably not – it could both serve as evidence of that particular memory being false, that memory being true but he disobeyed the instruction or that memory being true and happening after he went to Harada's room. Harada! Right.
Knew I knew it. Katsuki thinks before snorting with mirth. Don't lose it. Focus.
Had he gone to Harada to help him calm down after dealing with Midoriya or to get the confidence to deal with him?
Katsuki's head is on fire. Closing his eyes doesn't stop the stabbing pain from the rays of light passing through his corneas. His throat hurts something fierce and his bones ache. He feels a thousand years old.
This feels like the worst hangover he's ever had and yet he hadn't consumed a drop of alcohol. If Midoriya had told him not to drink he would have laughed. He doesn't drink. Not really. He has some vices but excessive alcohol consumption was never one of them. He would have insisted the reason he was staying sober was because he wanted to, not because Midoriya told him to. Committed to his word, he didn't make the rookie mistake of drinking the "non-alcoholic" drinks. He'd heard one too many stories of someone thinking it would be hilarious to spike the non-alcoholic beverages. He could have made sure he only drank things with a seal but he went a step further and resolved to drink only water.
At one point he stopped even doing that and as a result he'd felt thirsty all night.
Katsuki has a vivid recollection of the last time he'd consumed any liquids due to the associated emotion of choking terror he'd experienced while doing so.
While waiting for the tap to fill his glass he had caught Midoriya staring at him from across the room. The ball of anxiety that rattled around his chest when he saw Midoriya's expression is crystal clear. Katsuki remembers how incredibly uneasy he had felt, like his intestines would shrivel up from terror. After that Katsuki had decided it would be safest and most prudent not to consume any liquids at all.
Why was he worried about Midoriya? He knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd confronted him. Had it not been then? He'd done it. Properly. Unequivocally. He'd told Midoriya it was over. He'd told Deku it was over.
His breathing quickens.
He'd told Midoriya it was over.
The clack of nails is disorientating.
It shares similarities to a sound that frequently haunts his nightmares. When he's tormented by the sound superimposed over images of Kirishima moaning loudly as he rakes his hands down a boy's back. His hands are hardened but his scratches leave gouges on a shiny silver surface instead of lines of broken skin welling with bright crimson blood.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Katsuki forces one eye open. His vision is blurred but he is relieved not to see human-shaped forms next to him that are lost in the throes of pleasure. When the double images finally converge into one, what Katsuki does see is a dark substance under his nails. It's a reddish-brown so dark that it is almost black.
Keeping even one eye open is like a lance through Katsuki's skull so he quickly snaps it shut.
Eventually the scraping starts up again, this time slow and methodical and less like nails scratching metal.
Everywhere hurts. Everywhere. Katsuki's skin feels too tight. Exposed like a nerve. Even the brush of his bedsheets over his naked body is agony. He rolls onto his stomach, traps his hands underneath himself and tries to calm down by focusing on what he does remember from the previous night, instead of panicking about what he can't.
They say the best-laid plans of mice and men go oft awry and leave us nought but grief and pain.