Shouto stared down at the orange, semi-translucent plastic bottle on the kitchen counter. He stared with half-opened, lackadaisical eyes at the familiar shade of orange, the generic white cap, and the typewriter-like font that every pharmacy seemed to print in black on the white label hugging the side of the bottle. He stared at the rough, flaky palm of his hand to the smooth, thin capsules resting in his palm.

Maybe I really am sick, Shouto began to ruminate as he tipped the small pills in his hand into his mouth. You take medicine to cure or ameliorate the damage from sicknesses. Maybe I really am depressed. He brought the white-tinted glass of water sitting beside the orange bottle to his lips. I was convinced I knew what it felt like and never thought to change my mind—maybe I just stubbornly denied everything else—but even now, I still can't say what depression is. Maybe I really am just human. He gulped down his medication with a cold flood of water, licking away a stray droplet of water on his lower lip. I'm just sick with something incurable. No matter what medications I take or how many I take, they haven't been able to cure me.

Shouto twisted the white cap back onto the medicine bottle and ambled towards the living room of the college apartment he shared with Katsuki. He stared at his husband, who sat alone at the living room sofa with a half-empty glass of alcohol beside him. Rather than staring into the soundless, flashing television, it was almost as though the rectangle interpolated with harlequin pixels gazed into Katsuki's red eyes that were glazed over with the television's flickering reflection.

"Kat," sighed Shouto as he approached Katsuki and sat beside him, "I think you should try and get out of the apartment today." He leaned up against Katsuki and brought his arms around the latter's chest. "I doubt you want to, but it'll be more difficult to leave the longer you stay here." His lips gently pecked Katsuki's cheek.

Katsuki nodded slowly. "I know…" He inhaled slowly. "I'm…fucking pathetic like this. Look at you…taking care of me like I'm a crippled old man." His eyes softened and squinted down like marshmallows met with a flame. "It ain't fair to you. I'll get through it. I promise, Shouto." He slowly intertwined their fingers. "But, oi. Cut the bullshit…and tell me what you really think. I know you've just been telling me the things that you think would benefit me the most. What do you really think of this whole situation?" He reached over to his half-empty glass and promptly downed the remaining alcohol; only an empty shell of glass was left behind.

Shouto shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Kat," he murmured while standing up. "Any appetite yet?" The leather sofa gradually swallowed up the divot formed under Shouto's weight.

A scowl twisted over Katsuki's visage. "Stop acting like you care and just say it," he spat, compressing his voice into a waterfall of nettles. "It's killing me to know you're just lying to try and comfort me." He forced himself up to his feet and approached his husband.

"Fine," muttered Shouto, who only tilted his head to partially meet his husband's lifeless yet rippling eyes. "I couldn't care less. She was going to die anyway. It means nothing to me. All of this is nothing but an unnecessary waste of time. Why are you so devastated? You hardly spent time with her anyway. You always yelled at her. Have you ever thanked her for all she's done? If anything, you're mocking her by choosing to stay like this. Would she have wanted to see you moping around all day? No. She always wanted you to give your best and nothing less. You're obviously not giving it your best here. But…I—"

I wish I cared, and I hope I can change that, Shouto thought to himself as Katsuki rammed Shouto's back against the wall with lips peeled back; translucent venom dripped from Katsuki's teeth. I knew you'd be pissed.

"THAT'S WHY I FEEL SO FUCKING SHITTY FOR EVERYTHING, GODDAMMIT!" vociferated Katsuki, whose gruff voice trembled and splintered as it reverberated through the walls. "I'VE BEEN TOO FUCKING SELFISH TO THANK HER OR SAY ANY OF WHAT I'VE REALLY FELT, AND NOW, I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO! THERE'S NOTHING I CAN FUCKING DO ANYMORE! And you… YOU HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT TO TELL ME I'M NOT GIVING IT MY BEST!" He crushed his hand into a fist and wound back his arm.

"YOU WORTHLESS EXCUSE FOR A SON!"

Shouto could see the fist fast approaching his jaw, but his trained muscle memory of shielding his vitals from Endeavor's wrath was swallowed up by a deep-sea inferno of shock. He felt a frigid swish of nausea and vertigo burn through his body, but his body refused to move. His senses disintegrated as Katsuki's fist struck his cheek and mandible.

What I tried to forget at the wedding… Shouto unconsciously realized as Katsuki's visceral invectives vanquished his grasp on reality. There… Endeavor. Fuyumi. Screaming… He blinked, and abruptly, his knees snapped from beneath him; he unknowingly sank into a fetal position on the floor. 'You killed him.' 'Why should you get a happy wedding after everything you've done?!' 'Is this how badly you want the shit beaten out of you?!' His body trembled, and although his eyes were pried open by arrant stupefaction, he could see only a landmine of a hazy white. I can't… I can't. I can't breathe. I can't see. It won't stop. Stop… Stop.

Forget, Shouto commanded himself as something gripped his shoulder. Just like before. Forget. It never happened. Forget. They were never there. Forget. My husband never… Forget. Repress it. Go back. Like nothing happened. Go back… Don't succumb to misery again. Go back. Everything relating to it… Forget. Repress. Go back. Breathe. He consciously forced his body to take in a deep breath of air. Even my husband…

Shouto suddenly realized that his body was ensconced into a certain warmth he knew all too well, and while regaining his footing in reality, he found himself violently shaking. He could not hear, and he was unable to move his trembling body. All he could do was flick his pupils back and forth as memory and reality were insidiously rent.

Get up, Shouto snarled at himself while his insides were mangled with torn electric cords. He'll kick you again and again and again. He told you not to falter. How could you forget? 'You worthless, good-for-nothing fuck-up.' You'll have to hide the bruises. The cuts. The limp. The pain. Again… It's all your fucking fault. Get up. All you do is fuck everything up. Why can't you do anything right? Get up. What would Katsuki… Katsuki. Endeavor's dead. So Katsuki…wants to beat me too? I…

"Kill yourself."

Shouto felt as though time had frozen over the cracks in the folds of his mind. A familiar, frigid weight encroached on him, and its cold breath descended upon his psyche in a soft, blinding veil. He twitched as it sank into his neck in ten crescent-shaped blades. His bones were frozen with a silver glaze, and suddenly, his severed veins were joined together like wires. An electric flicker of something liquid yet bone-shattering rewired his brain.

I understand. I give in. That's…my role. All I can do…is accept it. I fucked up. All this time… I am just a fuck-up. I just…wanted to forget my role in this world.

Like an old, whirring machine, Shouto lifted the weight of his head from the floor to groggily scour his hazy field of vision for his husband. "Kat…" he whispered once his lightless eyes met Katsuki's pinched pupils.

Katsuki gently grasped Shouto's cold hands. "O-Oi…" His voice was a moth flopping at the edge of a rusty porch light.

I have to pay up. I deserve this. This is my role. Obey. Throw everything else away. Forget. Nothing ever mattered, did it? Repress…the good memories. Things like me have no fond memories to cling to. Go back…to the way things were before.

"Beat me…until there's nothing left of me."