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Kirishima Eijirou was born with an incredibly rare condition that causes him to lose all his memories after 24 hours. For the first 16 years of his life, every single day feels like a new beginning. He wakes up, goes through the motions, and as soon as the day ends, his memories are erased, only for the cycle to repeat. His life is built on Post-It notes, reminders, and routines—anything to give his fleeting days some semblance of normalcy.
His classmates know about his condition, but after so many years, most of them have stopped trying to make lasting connections. After all, why get close to someone who won’t even remember you the next day?
That is, until Kirishima meets Bakugou Katsuki.
It’s the first day of their second year in high school, and Kirishima walks into class like it’s any other day. Unbeknownst to him, Bakugou, the most popular and feared student at UA, is having one of the worst days of his life. Over the summer, his girlfriend—who’d been the queen of the social scene and his perfect match in many people’s eyes—cheated on him, leaving him humiliated and heartbroken. The breakup wasn’t just private—it exploded for all to see.
For Bakugou, the breakup is fresh, the sting of betrayal still sharp as whispers and gossip ripple through the school. The normally proud and confident Bakugou is visibly tense, trying to ignore the hushed voices and sidelong glances. His fiery temper flares every time he overhears someone mention his ex, but for the first time in a long while, the fire isn’t rage—it's pain.
Kirishima, ever oblivious due to his condition, doesn’t remember Bakugou or his ex. To him, it’s all new. He watches as the girl who everyone assumes is perfect walks up to Bakugou with fake apologies dripping from her lips, making a public display of trying to smooth things over. Bakugou’s fury boils over, but before he can lash out, Kirishima steps forward, not knowing the history or the context, just sensing the tension.
“Hey, man, you okay?”
The entire class goes quiet. Kirishima, the boy who forgets everything, is speaking to Bakugou—the Bakugou. Everyone expects an explosion, but Bakugou just stares at him, momentarily stunned by the genuine concern in Kirishima’s voice. It’s a simple question, but for some reason, it catches Bakugou off guard. No one has really asked him that since the breakup. No one dared.
Bakugou glares, fists clenched. “What the hell do you care?”
But Kirishima doesn’t back down. In fact, he doesn’t flinch at all. “I dunno. You just looked… I dunno, like you could use a friend.”
It’s an innocent offer, and Bakugou can see the sincerity in Kirishima’s eyes. The guy doesn’t know anything about the breakup, doesn’t know the weight Bakugou has been carrying all summer. And maybe, that’s exactly why it doesn’t feel so suffocating talking to him.
Bakugou is sitting on the front steps of the school, scowling down at his phone. His call to his old manvj for a ride home had ended just like he expected: with a curt “I’m busy with work, figure it out yourself.” His jaw clenches in frustration. After the day he’s had, the last thing he wanted was to deal with public transport or walking home alone with his thoughts.
As he’s debating whether to just stomp the whole way back, Kirishima comes up behind him, wheeling his bicycle alongside. “Hey, Bakugou!” he calls out, flashing a bright smile. “Need a ride?”
Bakugou raises an eyebrow, glancing at the redhead’s bike. “You serious?”
“Yeah, man! I mean, it’s not a car or anything fancy, but I can give you a lift. Better than walking, right?”
Bakugou hesitates, half-expecting a catch, but Kirishima just stands there, grinning as if this is the most natural thing in the world. For some reason, Bakugou finds it hard to say no. Maybe it’s because, unlike everyone else, Kirishima isn’t tiptoeing around him or treating him like he’s some ticking time bomb. He’s just… being nice. For no reason.
“Fine,” Bakugou grumbles, standing up and walking over to Kirishima’s bike. “But if you crash, I’m killing you.”
Kirishima just laughs and pats the back seat. “Hop on, tough guy!”
The ride home is awkward at first. Bakugou, arms crossed tightly, tries to keep his balance as Kirishima pedals down the quiet streets, but it’s not long before the awkwardness fades. The fresh air and the gentle rhythm of the ride start to loosen Bakugou’s usual tension, and before he knows it, they’re talking—really talking.
“So, Bakugou,” Kirishima starts, glancing back briefly as he steers. “Why do you always look like you wanna punch someone?”
“Tch. Maybe I do wanna punch someone,” Bakugou mutters, though there’s less bite to his words than usual.
Kirishima chuckles. “Yeah, but you don’t actually. I think you’re a softie deep down.”
Bakugou scoffs. “You think I’m soft? What makes you think you know me?”
“Dunno, just a feeling. You’re not as scary as you make yourself out to be,” Kirishima says casually, as if he’s talking about the weather. “Like today. I mean, with everything going on with your ex, you could’ve blown up at everyone, but you didn’t.”
Bakugou's grip on the bike’s seat tightens. “What the hell do you know about that?” His voice is sharp, but Kirishima doesn't back down.
“Not much, I guess. But from what I saw, you were hurt, and you didn’t take it out on anyone. That’s pretty manly, if you ask me.”
Bakugou’s eyes widen slightly at the word. Manly? No one’s ever called him that before—at least, not in the way Kirishima means it. There’s no sarcasm or mockery in his tone. It’s sincere.
“Manly, huh?” Bakugou mutters. “Weird way to look at it.”
Kirishima grins again. “That’s just how I see things. I mean, it takes a lot of strength to hold back, you know? Most people just explode, but you—well, you didn’t. That’s cool.”
For a moment, Bakugou doesn’t respond. He’s not used to compliments, especially not ones that feel genuine. And for once, he doesn’t feel the need to argue.
As the sun starts to set, they reach Bakugou’s house, and Kirishima pulls up to the curb, carefully stopping the bike. Bakugou hops off, brushing himself off as if the ride hadn’t been as strangely… enjoyable as it was.
“Thanks for the ride,” Bakugou mumbles, looking away.
“No problem!” Kirishima says, beaming. “Anytime.”
They stand there for a moment in an awkward silence. Kirishima scratches the back of his head, as if trying to think of something else to say, while Bakugou shifts uncomfortably, unused to these kinds of quiet moments with someone else.
Finally, Bakugou breaks the silence. “You… you’re not half bad, y’know? For an idiot who forgets everything.”
Kirishima laughs, his usual cheerful self. “Thanks, I think?” He pauses, his smile faltering just a bit as he adds softly, “But I kinda wish I didn’t forget today.”
Bakugou freezes, his heart skipping a beat. The words hit harder than he expected, and suddenly, the reality of Kirishima’s condition feels heavier. He won’t remember this tomorrow. He won’t remember their talk, the bike ride, or even Bakugou himself. And for some reason, that makes Bakugou’s chest tighten.
Kirishima shrugs, trying to stay upbeat. “Guess I’ll just have to rely on my notes, huh?” He grins again, though it doesn’t reach his eyes this time. “Well, see ya tomorrow, Bakugou!”
With that, he pedals away, leaving Bakugou standing at the curb, watching him disappear into the distance. Bakugou stands there longer than he expects, his eyes fixed on the shrinking figure. He can still hear the faint sound of the bike wheels rolling over the pavement, still feel the warmth of Kirishima’s energy lingering in the air.
As the sun dips lower, casting an orange glow across the quiet street, Bakugou’s mind is racing. He’s not used to people sticking around—especially after a day like today, when he’s barely holding himself together. Kirishima, though, didn’t just stick around—he made him feel… seen. And it’s strange. It’s frustrating. It’s confusing.
Why do I care so much if he’s gonna forget me tomorrow?
The thought cuts deeper than he wants to admit. Bakugou scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking at the ground. It pisses him off—this whole thing. The way Kirishima somehow got under his skin with his goofy smile and unshakable positivity. The way he just rode off like none of it mattered, like today wasn’t anything special.
But deep down, Bakugou knows that’s not true. Not for him, at least.
For the first time in a long time, he felt like someone actually gave a damn about what was going on with him—not because they wanted something, or because they were scared of him, but just because they cared. And that scares him more than he’d like to admit.
He turns on his heel and heads inside, his thoughts still a tangled mess of emotions he doesn’t fully understand.
Later that night, Kirishima sits at his desk again, staring at the blank pages of his journal. The glow from his desk lamp flickers slightly, casting long shadows over the scattered pages—pages filled with fragments of his life. But the usual routine of jotting down every detail before sleep feels heavier than it ever has. The pen feels foreign in his hand, the lined paper somehow daunting, as if recording today would make it slip away faster.
The thought makes his chest tighten.
The idea of losing the memories of today, of Bakugou, gnaws at him with a ferocity that he can’t ignore. Every single second of their time together feels precious, like delicate pieces of glass that could shatter at any moment. The ride home, Bakugou’s rare smirk, the way they’d talked about things neither of them would ever share with anyone else—it’s all still vivid in his mind. But the ticking clock in the back of his brain reminds him that soon, it won’t be.
Soon, all of this will fade.
I don’t want to forget this day. I don’t want to forget /him/.
The thought echoes like a desperate mantra in Kirishima’s head. His grip on the pen tightens, knuckles white, as frustration and fear coil around his heart. His breathing becomes uneven, shallow, as the weight of his reality presses down on him like a suffocating fog.
He’s used to this—used to waking up with no memory of the day before. For as long as he can remember, this has been his life, and he’s learned to accept it, even when it’s painful. But this—this is different. Today was different. Bakugou was different.
It’s not just any memory he’s about to lose. It’s Bakugou.
Desperation sets in as Kirishima taps his pencil against the page, the sound barely audible over the rushing thoughts in his mind. He feels trapped, cornered by the inevitability of his condition. There’s nothing he can do. No matter how many words he writes, no matter how many details he records, it won’t be the same. Tomorrow, he’ll read it all back, and it’ll feel like someone else’s life. Not his.
There has to be a way…
Kirishima pushes back from his desk and snatches up his phone, fingers shaking as he types feverishly into the search bar. He’s searching for anything—anything at all that might help him hold onto his memories for just a little longer. Articles on memory loss, experimental treatments, forums for people with conditions like his own. But nothing seems promising. Nothing offers him what he’s looking for.
His pulse quickens as he scrolls, faster and faster, his eyes scanning the screen in a blur of text and images. Then, buried in the middle of a thread on an obscure medical forum, he stumbles upon something that gives him pause: a comment about experimental pills that extend short-term memory.
Could it really be that simple?
He clicks on the link, reading through the details. The pills are designed for people with degenerative memory conditions, extending their short-term recall by another 24 hours. They’re experimental, and there are risks. But at this point, Kirishima barely registers the warnings. All he can think about is the possibility of holding on—to Bakugou, to today, to everything that matters right now.
But his rational mind catches up, and doubt creeps in. It’s not just the side effects he’s worried about—it’s the unknowns. The pills are new, barely tested, and the long-term consequences are unpredictable. What if they don’t work? What if they make things worse? What if, in trying to hold onto these memories, he loses them all for good?
But then his mind circles back to Bakugou. To the way Bakugou had looked at him today—not with pity or indifference, but with something else. Something real. The warmth of that connection lingers like a spark in the cold, a spark that Kirishima can’t bear to let die. He can’t lose this. He can’t lose him.
His decision is made in the next breath, fear and hope swirling together in a volatile mix as he grabs his phone again. His heart pounds in his chest as he dials the number of his doctor, each ring making the tension in his stomach twist tighter. The weight of the choice presses against him, but the urgency to not forget drowns out the caution.
When the call connects, the familiar voice of his doctor sounds far away, muffled under the weight of Kirishima’s racing thoughts.
“Hey, it’s Eijiro,” he says, his voice tight with barely contained anxiety. “I… I need to ask you about something important.”
His doctor listens carefully as Kirishima explains what he found. The pills. The possibility of remembering. The urgency in his voice must come through, because after a brief silence, his doctor speaks with a tone of caution.
“Kirishima, I know you want to hold onto your memories, but you need to understand that these pills are still in the experimental phase. Yes, they could extend your memory by another 24 hours, but they’re not without risks. If you take them too often, your brain could become dependent on them. Over time, they could interfere with your natural memory functions, and in the worst-case scenario… you could lose your memory completely. Permanently.”
The words hang in the air like a death sentence, heavy and suffocating.
Kirishima swallows hard, his throat dry. The fear of losing everything settles in, but the fear of waking up tomorrow and not remembering today—of not remembering Bakugou—feels even more unbearable.
“I know the risks,” he says, his voice firmer now, despite the tremble in his hands. “But… I need this. Just for now. I need to remember him. Please.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Kirishima’s heart pounds so loudly he can barely hear anything else. Then, finally, his doctor sighs.
“All right, Kirishima. I’ll prescribe a small dosage—enough for a few days. But promise me you’ll be careful. If you start to feel any side effects, you have to stop immediately. I’m serious.”
“I’ll be careful,” Kirishima promises, though deep down, he knows he’s already too far gone to back out now. “Thank you.”
After the call ends, Kirishima sinks back into his chair, staring at the phone in his hand. Relief and fear war inside him, but beneath it all is a single driving force: the desire to remember.
I’ll take my chances, he thinks, setting the phone down and returning to his journal.
Because no matter what, losing Bakugou isn’t an option.
The next morning, Kirishima wakes up with a knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach. The familiar disorientation of waking up and not knowing what the day holds still lingers, but then it hits him—he remembers. For the first time in his life, the events of the previous day don’t vanish into nothingness. He can recall every detail, every moment with crystal clarity. The pill worked.
A mix of relief and dread washes over him as he pushes himself out of bed. Relief that he hasn’t lost yesterday’s memories—memories of Bakugou, of the way they connected. But with that clarity comes a creeping sense of unease. He knows there’s a price to pay for these memories, and the thought of the pills—of becoming reliant on them—haunts him like a shadow.
As Kirishima walks to school, the memory of the bike ride with Bakugou plays on repeat in his head: the casual conversations, the way Bakugou had let his guard down, the vulnerable flashes behind his sharp exterior. It’s all still there, vivid and intact. He can’t help but feel grateful, yet a sinking feeling lurks in the back of his mind. How long can this last?
When he reaches school, his eyes scan the crowd for Bakugou, and his heart stutters when he spots him standing by his locker. Bakugou’s usual scowl is firmly in place, his arms crossed as if he’s daring the world to challenge him. Even though they had shared something more yesterday, Kirishima’s stomach churns with nerves. Remembering the day before is one thing, but what does Bakugou remember? Did yesterday mean as much to him?
What if everything that felt important to me was just a normal day to him?
With a deep breath, Kirishima steels himself and approaches. His pulse quickens the closer he gets, but he pushes down the flutter of nerves, forcing himself to play it cool.
“Yo, Bakugou!” he calls out with a wide grin, masking his uncertainty. “Guess what? I remember yesterday.”
Bakugou's reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, just for a split second, betraying his surprise before he quickly covers it with his usual smirk. “Oh yeah? Thought you’d forget.”
Kirishima shrugs, trying to match Bakugou’s casual attitude even though his heart is racing. “I don’t forget everything, you know,” he says, his grin faltering just slightly as he watches for Bakugou’s response.
Bakugou rolls his eyes, but Kirishima notices the subtle shift in his posture—the way his shoulders seem to relax, the tension easing out of him just a bit. Bakugou doesn’t say anything more, but the flicker of relief that flashes across his face doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirishima.
He cares.
The thought sends a rush of warmth through Kirishima, even as they fall into their usual banter. As the day goes on, they slip into an easy rhythm, joking and talking more than they ever have before. It feels natural, comfortable, like they’ve known each other for years instead of just weeks. Kirishima can’t help but notice how much lighter Bakugou seems around him. It’s subtle, but it’s there—the way Bakugou’s sharp edges seem to soften ever so slightly when they’re together.
The nervousness from earlier melts away as Kirishima starts to believe that maybe—just maybe—Bakugou feels the same connection he does.
-
As the weeks pass, Kirishima continues taking the pills. The routine becomes a lifeline. Every morning, he wakes up with a new clarity, able to remember more than just the day before. His memories stretch beyond a single 24-hour window for the first time in his life, and with every passing day, his bond with Bakugou grows deeper.
They spend more and more time together—after-school rides home, eating lunch side by side, lingering in the quiet spaces between classes where no one else seems to intrude. Bakugou slowly, almost imperceptibly, lets his guard down, revealing bits and pieces of himself that Kirishima suspects no one else gets to see. There’s something raw and real in those moments, and it only strengthens the pull Kirishima feels toward him.
And it’s not just Kirishima who feels the shift.
Everyone around them starts to notice the changes in Bakugou, too. He’s still brash, still quick to anger, but there’s a softness in his interactions with Kirishima that wasn’t there before. The scowls are less severe, the insults more teasing than biting. When Kirishima’s around, Bakugou’s fire seems less about keeping people at a distance and more about stoking something between the two of them.
Whispers begin to circulate in the hallways. People talk, exchanging knowing glances when they see the two of them together. It’s impossible to ignore the way Bakugou acts differently with Kirishima, how he doesn’t push him away like he does everyone else. And Kirishima—well, he can feel it, too. He can see it in the way Bakugou’s gaze lingers a little longer when he thinks no one’s looking, in the way his words soften when they’re alone.
-
One day, as they sit together in the school courtyard during lunch, Kirishima is scribbling in his journal, trying to capture every little detail of their day. His handwriting is messy, rushed, as if getting the memories down on paper will make them more permanent, less fragile. Bakugou sits beside him, arms crossed as he watches with mild curiosity.
“You really write all that crap down?” Bakugou asks, raising an eyebrow, his tone mocking but not unkind.
Kirishima grins, not bothering to look up from his writing. “Gotta,” he says lightly, flipping to a new page. “Don’t wanna forget anything important.”
Bakugou scoffs, his usual roughness still present, but there’s a strange tenderness in his eyes that Kirishima catches from the corner of his vision. “You won’t forget, idiot.”
Kirishima’s smile falters for a moment, his heart tightening. The truth of it stings more than he’s willing to admit. “Yeah… I hope not,” he mutters quietly, the weight of that hope sitting heavy in his chest.
For a moment, there’s silence between them—an unusually tense silence that Kirishima isn’t used to. Bakugou seems to sense the heaviness too because his expression shifts, his gaze softening as he glances away, like he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to say out loud.
Then, in a voice quieter than usual, Bakugou asks, “You still takin’ those pills?”
Kirishima’s hand freezes over his journal, the weight of the question sinking in. He forces a smile and nods, trying not to let the uncertainty show on his face. “Yeah… They’re working. For now.”
Bakugou doesn’t respond immediately, but his gaze lingers on Kirishima for a long time, more serious than usual. Kirishima can feel the unspoken concern hanging between them, the quiet fear that Bakugou would never admit to having. It’s in the way Bakugou’s eyes dart away, his arms crossing tighter, his guard going back up just a little.
While this is happening, Kirishima starts a training course to ensure he never forgets the Bakugou Katsuki he has gotten the privilege to know.
“There’s someone I really don’t want to forget,” Kirishima confides to the doctor during their first session. The sterile, softly lit room feels heavy with fear as he fidgets in his chair. The doctor’s gaze is steady and understanding, offering him a small sense of comfort amid the anxiety swirling in his chest.
The training sessions are expensive but worth every yen. Every Tuesday and Friday at 6 p.m., Kirishima meets with the doctor, who is an expert in memory retention techniques. As he takes a seat across from her, he feels the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He’s fully aware that the training sessions are not as effective now that he’s older, especially compared to his childhood when he relied on them to remember basic things like names, ages, and colors. The knowledge that the exercises may not yield the same results only adds to his urgency.
The sessions begin with the doctor explaining different memory techniques. “We’re going to use a combination of visual, auditory, and emotional cues to help reinforce what you want to remember,” she explains, her tone professional yet encouraging. “It’s important to create strong associations.”
Kirishima listens intently as she hands him a stack of colorful flashcards. Each card has a word or image on one side and a brief explanation on the other. The first few cards are straightforward—objects like “apple” and “dog.” He breezes through these, but when she flips the cards to “Bakugou” and “friendship,” his heart races.
“Now, try to create a story around these memories,” the doctor suggests. “The more personal the connection, the stronger your recall will be.”
Kirishima nods, feeling a surge of determination. He takes a deep breath, summoning every moment he’s shared with Bakugou. He envisions the first day they rode their bikes together, the wind in their hair, laughter echoing around them as they raced down the street. He thinks of the way Bakugou had scowled at first, but that scowl had morphed into an unexpected grin as Kirishima playfully challenged him to go faster.
“Bakugou is more than just a classmate,” he mutters to himself, trying to solidify the thought in his mind. “He’s my friend. He’s someone I can trust.”
The doctor watches him with a keen eye, noting the changes in Kirishima’s expression as he immerses himself in his memories. “Good,” she encourages, jotting down notes. “Keep building those connections. Your memories will anchor you when you feel uncertain.”
Each session, Kirishima becomes more and more invested. He begins to realize that the training isn’t just about rote memorization; it’s about understanding the emotional significance of his experiences with Bakugou. He takes the time to reflect on their time spent together—how Bakugou’s laughter feels like sunlight cutting through the clouds, and how his rare moments of vulnerability have opened a door to something deeper.
But even as he trains, the anxiety of losing those memories looms over him like a dark cloud. On particularly rough days, he fears waking up and finding that he’s forgotten Bakugou’s name, his smile, the little things that make him who he is. The thought gnaws at him, leaving him restless at night.
One evening, as they delve into memory exercises that focus on emotional anchors, the doctor turns serious. “Kirishima, it’s crucial to have balance in your approach,” she says gently, her tone earnest. “While it’s important to work on remembering, don’t forget to live in the moment too. Experiences are just as valuable as the memories you’re trying to hold on to.”
Her words strike a chord within him. He realises that while he’s been obsessively focused on preserving memories, he’s been missing out on the joy of simply experiencing life alongside Bakugou. The idea of living fully in each moment, rather than just preserving it for the future, resonates deeply.
As the sessions progress, Kirishima starts incorporating this newfound understanding into his daily life. He makes a conscious effort to be present during his time with Bakugou. They continue to ride home together, and he finds joy in the small moments—the sound of Bakugou’s laughter during their bike rides, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against Kirishima’s as they sit side by side at lunch, and the way Bakugou’s eyes spark with life during their shared conversations about their dreams and aspirations.
He begins to document these moments in his journal—not just the big events but the little things that make their friendship unique. Each entry becomes a tapestry of their experiences, woven together with the threads of their shared laughter, teasing, and silent understanding.
Despite the emotional turbulence of their growing bond, Kirishima finds solace in knowing he’s cherishing each moment with Bakugou. It’s during one of their bike rides that he first realised just how much he had come to care for Bakugou. They’re racing down a sun-drenched path, and as he glances back at Bakugou, he sees the fierce determination in his eyes, paired with a rare, unguarded smile. In that instant, Kirishima’s heart swells with affection. He wants to bottle up this moment, to hold onto it forever.
One afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting warm hues across the schoolground, Kirishima felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety bubbling within him. He had been building up the courage for days to invite Bakugou to hang out after school. With every shared laugh and moment of vulnerability, his feelings for Bakugou had deepened, shifting from simple friendship to something more profound and intricate. As he approached Bakugou, who stood by his locker, packing away his books, he took a deep breath, trying to quell the fluttering in his chest.
“Hey, Bakugou! Want to hang out after school?” Kirishima asked, his voice upbeat, a hopeful grin on his face. “Maybe we could hang out at your place, and I could meet your family? I’ve heard so much about them!”
But the moment hung heavy in the air. Bakugou’s expression hardened, and the usual spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a guarded intensity. He crossed his arms defensively, and Kirishima could feel the atmosphere shift, the warmth of the afternoon sun suddenly feeling cold.
“We’re just in the friends stage, so let’s just hang out somewhere outside of school some other day,” Bakugou replied curtly, his tone laced with irritation and an underlying tension.
Kirishima felt his heart drop at the response. The words struck him like a blow, leaving him momentarily speechless, as if the air had been knocked out of him. It was as if a wall had suddenly slammed down between them, isolating him from the warmth he had come to associate with Bakugou. He blinked, searching Bakugou's face for any hint of warmth, any sign that this was just a moment of frustration, a miscommunication. But all he found was an impenetrable wall of indifference, a familiar scowl that seemed to echo a rejection of everything Kirishima had hoped for.
“Oh, okay…” Kirishima managed to reply, his voice barely above a whisper, disappointment flooding through him like icy water.
The quiet devastation settled over him like a thick fog, wrapping around him and smothering his optimism. Doubt flooded his mind, twisting and turning like a storm. Had he misread their friendship all along? Had those moments they shared been nothing more than fleeting kindness, little sparks of joy meant to be extinguished? Kirishima felt an ache in his chest, a deep, gnawing sensation as a sense of loss crept in, heavy and unwelcome. He replayed their recent memories in his mind—every laugh, every stolen glance, every moment that had felt so special now felt tainted by uncertainty.
As Bakugou turned away, walking briskly down the hall, Kirishima’s mind raced with conflicting thoughts. The playful banter they had shared, the way Bakugou had slowly let his guard down—was it all a facade? Did Bakugou even like him, or was Kirishima simply imagining a connection that didn’t exist? The silence between them felt deafening, filled with unspoken words and emotions that were suddenly too complicated to navigate.
He watched Bakugou walk away, shoulders tense and jaw set in that familiar stubborn line, and the pain settled deeper. The world around him blurred into a hazy background, the sounds of students laughing and chatting fading into a distant hum. Kirishima’s heart felt heavy, as if the weight of all his unspoken feelings were crashing down upon him, dragging him into an ocean of confusion and despair.
As he walked home, his mind spiralled into a vortex of confusion and self-doubt. He replayed their conversations, analysing every word and gesture like a detective searching for clues. What had he done wrong? Was he too forward? Had he scared Bakugou away by wanting to spend more time together? The more he thought, the more he felt the warmth of their shared moments slip through his fingers like sand, leaving only emptiness behind.
Days turned into an agonising blur, each one dragging heavier than the last. Kirishima found himself going through the motions, attending school and pretending to laugh at Bakugou’s jokes. But his heart wasn’t in it; it felt like he was wearing a mask, a facade to hide the ache deep inside. The bond he had treasured now felt like a fragile thread, ready to snap at the slightest tug, the distance between them growing palpable.
Meanwhile, Bakugou was facing battles of his own, the pressures of his family’s situation weighing down on him like an anchor. The reality of their financial struggles loomed large, casting a shadow over every aspect of his life. He buried these feelings beneath layers of anger and bravado, convinced that showing vulnerability would only weaken him. The desire to reach out to Kirishima was there, a deep-rooted urge to share his burden, but the words stuck in his throat, tangled with pride and fear. Instead of opening up, he pushed Kirishima away, convinced that distancing himself was the best way to protect them both from the harsh reality of his circumstances.
After yet another day of silent tension between them, Bakugou found himself alone in his thoughts, the weight of his choices pressing heavily on his shoulders. He sat in the driver’s seat of his family’s worn-out car, parked in a dimly lit area behind the school. The muffled sounds of laughter and chatter drifted in from outside, a reminder of the world he felt increasingly disconnected from. He clenched his fists against the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he fought against the tumult of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
He missed Kirishima. He missed the laughter, the camaraderie, and the sense of safety that came with having him around. But admitting that would mean confronting the reality of his life—his insecurities, his fears, and the painful truth of his home situation. Instead, he buried those feelings beneath layers of anger and bravado, convinced that if he kept his distance, he would somehow protect both Kirishima and himself from the harsh truths that surrounded him.
But no amount of denial could erase the gnawing emptiness in his chest, nor could it silence the voice that urged him to reach out to the one person who made everything feel a little lighter. The inner conflict raged on, leaving Bakugou in a constant state of turmoil, a battlefield of emotions he didn’t know how to navigate.
But the shadow of uncertainty lingers as Bakugou’s situation at home worsens. After his father loses his job, the once-stable life they knew crumbles, forcing them to face harsh realities. Kirishima learns that Bakugou’s family is struggling financially, and soon, they find themselves living out of their car. It’s a jarring shift from the privileged life they once led, and Kirishima can see the toll it takes on Bakugou. Missing school becomes a frequent occurrence for him, and Kirishima worries about his friend’s well-being.
But the shadow of uncertainty lingered, creeping into the edges of their lives as Bakugou’s situation at home worsened. What began as subtle changes—a certain weariness in Bakugou’s gaze, a reluctance to talk about his family—soon spiraled into something far more concerning. Kirishima had heard rumors swirling around school, whispers of Bakugou’s dad losing his job and the financial trouble that followed. At first, Kirishima wasn’t sure whether to believe them. Bakugou had always been proud, fiercely independent, and he never mentioned anything about his home life. But it wasn’t long before the signs became impossible to ignore.
The once-confident and fiery Bakugou started to seem more withdrawn, and his absences at school grew more frequent. Kirishima noticed how Bakugou avoided conversations that might lead to questions about his personal life. He'd brush off invites to hang out with excuses that felt increasingly thin. "Got stuff to do," he'd say with a sharp edge, or "Don’t have time for this," before stalking off, leaving Kirishima standing in the hallway, concerned but unsure of how to push further without crossing a line.
Then, one day, Bakugou stopped showing up to school altogether.
Kirishima waited at Bakugou's usual spot by his locker, hoping he was just running late. But as the minutes passed, and the first bell rang, the nagging feeling in Kirishima’s gut only worsened. Days turned into weeks, and each one seemed to stretch on longer than the last. Kirishima couldn’t shake the pit in his stomach, the creeping anxiety that something was seriously wrong. At first, he thought maybe Bakugou had gotten sick or injured, but when he texted him to ask if he was okay, all he got back were one-word responses.
“Fine.”
“Busy.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Kirishima’s mind raced, replaying their last conversations, trying to figure out when exactly things had started going so wrong. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was because of him—because of the moment when he’d pushed too hard, asked too many questions, and unintentionally made Bakugou feel cornered. But something told him it wasn’t just that. There was more beneath the surface, something Bakugou wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.
Eventually, the truth came out, but not from Bakugou himself. Kirishima overheard a conversation between two classmates, talking in hushed tones by the lockers.
“Did you hear about Bakugou’s family?” one of them whispered. “I heard they’re living in their car now. His dad lost his job, and they couldn’t afford the rent.”
“Yeah, someone saw them parked by the old grocery store lot,” the other added. “It’s pretty bad. No wonder he’s not coming to school.”
The words hit Kirishima like a ton of bricks. His chest tightened, and his stomach twisted painfully. Living in their car? He couldn’t imagine how much pride Bakugou must be swallowing, how much shame he must be burying just to get through the day. The thought of Bakugou—his strong, self-assured friend—facing such a harsh reality left Kirishima feeling helpless and angry. Angry at himself for not realizing sooner, for not pushing harder when he’d sensed something was wrong.
That night, Kirishima lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning with thoughts of Bakugou. He imagined Bakugou’s family huddled in a cramped car, trying to find some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos. Bakugou had always been proud, always put on a tough front, but Kirishima knew how much this must be breaking him inside. The anger, the frustration—it all made sense now. Bakugou had been trying to keep everyone at a distance because he didn’t want anyone to see him in such a vulnerable state.
The next morning, Kirishima made a decision. He wasn’t going to let Bakugou face this alone, no matter how much Bakugou tried to push him away.
After school, he headed to the old grocery store lot, the one the rumors had mentioned. It was a part of town that most people avoided, rundown and forgotten, a relic of better days. As Kirishima approached, his heart raced. He scanned the rows of abandoned cars and crumbling buildings, searching for any sign of Bakugou’s family.
And then he saw it—a familiar car parked in the farthest corner of the lot. The windows were fogged over from the cold, and the once-polished exterior was now dusty and worn, a stark contrast to the life Bakugou had once known. Kirishima’s breath caught in his throat. This was real. It wasn’t just a rumor anymore.
He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next. What if Bakugou didn’t want to see him? What if showing up like this only made things worse? But Kirishima pushed those thoughts aside. He couldn’t just leave. Not now.
Slowly, he approached the car, his footsteps echoing in the quiet lot. When he reached the driver’s side window, he knocked gently, his heart pounding in his chest. After a few tense moments, the door creaked open, and Bakugou stepped out. His face was tired, worn in a way Kirishima had never seen before. His eyes, usually sharp and full of fire, looked dulled by exhaustion.
“Kirishima,” Bakugou muttered, his voice rough and guarded. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you,” Kirishima replied softly, his eyes scanning Bakugou’s face for any sign of how he was feeling. “You’ve been gone for weeks, man. I was worried.”
Bakugou scoffed, though it lacked his usual bite. “Well, you shouldn’t be. I’m fine.”
But Kirishima wasn’t buying it. He could see through the cracks in Bakugou’s facade, the way his shoulders sagged just a little more than usual, the way his eyes darted away like he was afraid of what Kirishima might see.
“Bakugou,” Kirishima started, his voice gentle but firm, “I know about your dad. I know things have been tough. You don’t have to pretend like everything’s fine. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Bakugou’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Kirishima thought he might lash out, throw up his walls even higher. But instead, Bakugou just sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He leaned against the car, staring out at the empty lot, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally spoke.
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Bakugou muttered, his eyes fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet. “It’s bad enough living like this. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it.”
“You’re not dragging me into anything,” Kirishima said, his voice steady. “I’m here because I care about you. You’re my friend. I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time in what felt like weeks, Bakugou’s expression softened, just a little. There was a flicker of something—relief, maybe, or gratitude—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Kirishima could feel the unspoken understanding between them, the quiet acknowledgment that, even in the darkest times, they weren’t alone.
As they stood there, side by side in the fading light, Kirishima made a silent promise to himself. He would stand by Bakugou, no matter what. Even if things got worse, even if Bakugou tried to push him away again, Kirishima wouldn’t let him face it all on his own. They would get through this. Together.
The sun was setting low in the sky, casting long shadows through the hallways of the school as Kirishima found himself at a crossroads. For weeks, everything had been perfect. He and Bakugou had finally rebuilt their connection, and it felt stronger than ever before. Each day was a new adventure, each smile from Bakugou a small victory. Even though things weren’t perfect at home for Bakugou, his return to school signaled hope—hope that they could keep pushing through.
But all of that hope came crashing down with a single message on Kirishima’s phone. The air had felt light and easy just moments before he opened that cursed image, but as his eyes scanned the screen, everything changed.
He felt his heart lurch in his chest. His eyes widened in disbelief as the picture stared back at him: Bakugou, unmistakable in every detail, kissing his ex. Her arms were draped around his neck, and the way his face pressed against hers sent a wave of nausea rolling through Kirishima’s stomach. For a second, he couldn’t even breathe.
The accompanying message—“Is this the Bakugou you really know?”—made his blood run cold. His chest felt tight, like a vise was squeezing his ribs, and his heart thudded in his ears. His vision blurred for a moment, and all he could do was blink, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Kirishima clicked through the attached images one by one, each more painful than the last. There were several photos, some of Bakugou laughing with his ex, others of them in intimate moments that made Kirishima feel like an outsider peering into a life he didn’t belong in. The worst part? Bakugou looked genuinely happy in the photos.
Happy with her.
Kirishima’s hand trembled as he scrolled to the last image. His breath caught in his throat. It was the worst of them all—Bakugou’s ex-girlfriend, lips pressed to his, in what looked like the middle of a passionate kiss. His hands were gripping her waist, pulling her close, and for a split second, Kirishima’s entire world came crashing down.
His mind rebelled against it. This can’t be real. There’s no way Bakugou would do this to me—not after everything we’ve been through. But the photos were undeniable. The details were too specific, too sharp. The girl had carefully edited her new boyfriend out and replaced him with Bakugou’s face—flawlessly enough to make Kirishima’s stomach churn with doubt.
Suddenly, everything felt fake. Every laugh they shared, every time Bakugou opened up to him, every stolen moment of vulnerability—it all felt like a cruel joke now, as if he’d been the one left in the dark the whole time. Was Bakugou just playing with me? Was he still in love with her this whole time?
Kirishima’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he shoved the phone back into his pocket. The pain in his chest only grew stronger with each step he took down the hall. The once-friendly school now felt oppressive, the walls closing in on him as his thoughts spiraled out of control. He had to find Bakugou. Now.
Without thinking, Kirishima darted through the hallways, his mind consumed by the need for answers. His pulse raced as he checked every spot where Bakugou might be—the lockers, the gym, even the courtyard where they often sat together. Nothing. Bakugou was nowhere to be found.
His panic grew with every passing minute. Where could Bakugou have gone? They always met up after school; they always made time for each other. But today, Bakugou had disappeared like a ghost, leaving Kirishima in the wreckage of his crumbling heart.
Desperate, Kirishima yanked out his phone again and dialed Bakugou’s number. He needed to hear Bakugou’s voice, to ask him—no, beg him—for the truth. Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe it was all some horrible misunderstanding. Maybe Bakugou could tell him the pictures were fake, and everything could go back to how it was before.
But when he pressed the phone to his ear, his hopes were shattered by the robotic voice that answered.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stared at his phone in disbelief, his vision swimming as the reality of the situation set in. Bakugou had changed his number. He hadn’t just disappeared from school—he had cut off all contact. The thought of Bakugou actively shutting him out tore through Kirishima like a blade.
Why? Why would Bakugou do this? Why hadn’t he said anything? What had Kirishima done wrong?
Tears stung the corners of his eyes as the full weight of the situation crashed down on him. He had trusted Bakugou with everything—his heart, his loyalty, his deepest feelings. And now, it felt like all of that had been for nothing. Kirishima had been left behind, discarded like he didn’t matter.
The hallway felt too bright, too loud. Students walked by, laughing and talking as if the world hadn’t just shattered beneath Kirishima’s feet. He stood frozen, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white, his legs refusing to move. His vision blurred as tears finally spilled over, hot and fast down his cheeks.
Kirishima leaned against the nearest wall, his head hanging low, his breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps. His chest ached, the pain spreading through him like wildfire. Bakugou had been the one person he thought would never hurt him, the one person he had believed in more than anyone else. But now, he was gone, leaving Kirishima with nothing but broken pieces of trust.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to stop, but it only intensified. Every memory of Bakugou—every laugh, every touch, every whispered conversation—was now stained by the uncertainty of their future. Kirishima didn’t know where they stood anymore. He didn’t even know if Bakugou cared at all.
Was it all in my head?
The thought echoed painfully in his mind. Maybe Bakugou had never felt the same way. Maybe Kirishima had been fooling himself, thinking they were something more. The weight of doubt pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe.
He wanted to scream, to shout Bakugou’s name until he came back, until this nightmare ended. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how fast his heart raced, Bakugou was gone.
And with him, Kirishima’s heart lay in pieces.
For weeks after Bakugou disappeared from school, Kirishima’s life became a constant loop of unanswered calls and dead ends. Each time he dialed Bakugou’s number, he was met with the same automated response: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” At first, Kirishima refused to believe it. He would call again and again, hoping against hope that this time would be different—that Bakugou would answer, that he’d explain everything, that the silence would finally break. But every ring stretched the gap between them wider, turning Kirishima’s hope into something fragile, brittle enough to snap.
Desperation pushed him to search for Bakugou in places he might be—the old neighborhood they used to ride through, the parks where they’d spent time, the dimly lit streets where Bakugou might’ve gone to clear his head. Kirishima spent hours wandering, tracing paths they had once walked together, but every step only confirmed his worst fear: Bakugou was gone. Nowhere to be found.
He reached out to anyone who might know something—friends, classmates, even distant family members he barely knew. His messages went unanswered. His voicemails, filled with worry and confusion, remained unreturned. It was as if Bakugou had vanished, leaving Kirishima with nothing but the echo of their memories.
Each day without Bakugou felt like losing him all over again. The weight of his absence grew heavier, pressing down on Kirishima’s chest, making it harder to breathe. Every morning was a battle to get out of bed, to face a world where Bakugou no longer stood by his side, where the bond they had shared—so raw, so real—had dissolved into nothing. Kirishima felt like he was drowning in his own grief, caught in a current that pulled him deeper with each passing day.
At school, everything reminded him of Bakugou. The empty seat next to him in class, the lockers they used to stand by, the quiet moments that had once been filled with Bakugou’s gruff voice. It was suffocating. Kirishima could hardly concentrate, his mind always drifting back to the boy who had made him feel alive in a way no one else had. But now, every memory was tainted with pain—because Bakugou wasn’t there anymore, and Kirishima couldn’t understand why.
He couldn’t stop replaying their last conversation, the one where Bakugou had pushed him away, saying they were “just in the friends stage.” Had he missed something? Was there something he hadn’t seen, some crack in Bakugou’s armor that he should’ve noticed? Kirishima blamed himself, thinking maybe he hadn’t been enough—maybe Bakugou had grown tired of him, or worse, never cared as much as he had. The doubt gnawed at him, leaving him hollow.
Then, one day after another long, painful day at school, Kirishima found himself standing outside the doctor’s office—the same place he had been going to for months now, trying to hold onto the memories he cherished so deeply. But now, as he stared at the door, his heart was filled with something different: a desire to forget.
He walked in, the sterile scent of the office stinging his nose. The receptionist greeted him with a polite smile, but Kirishima’s expression was hard, determined in a way he hadn’t been before. “I need to stop the training course,” he said, his voice steady but strained. “I don’t want to remember anymore.”
The receptionist blinked in surprise. “Are you sure? You’ve been making such good progress. Are you sure this is what you want?”
Kirishima’s hands clenched at his sides. Progress? It didn’t feel like progress. It felt like torture. Every memory he held onto was like a shard of glass lodged in his heart, cutting deeper each day Bakugou remained gone.
“I’m sure,” Kirishima replied, his voice thick with emotion. “Please. Just cancel it. I don’t want to remember my first love anymore.”
The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but they were the truth. Bakugou had been his first love—whether either of them had said it aloud or not—and now all Kirishima could think about was how much it hurt to hold onto that love when it had been abandoned. When he had been abandoned.
Moments later, the doctor himself came out to meet him. His face was calm, but his eyes held concern. “Kirishima, why don’t you come with me? Let’s talk.”
Inside the quiet office, the doctor sat across from Kirishima, his voice soft. “You want to stop the course. I can understand that. But I want to know why.”
Kirishima swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost too big to speak around. “Because... because it hurts too much. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I don’t want to remember Bakugou anymore. Not like this. I can’t keep waking up every day and feeling this empty. He’s gone, and I’m stuck with these memories that just make everything worse.”
The doctor nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “I understand you’re in pain. But memories, even painful ones, are part of who we are. Forgetting them won’t take away the impact they’ve had on you. You need time to heal, but are you sure that erasing those memories is what you really want?”
Kirishima’s voice broke as he replied, “I don’t know how else to heal. Every time I think of him, it’s like... like I’m losing him all over again. And I don’t want to keep feeling this way.”
The doctor’s silence felt heavy, but not judgmental. “I won’t stop you from making this choice, but think about what you’re letting go of. Memories, even the painful ones, shape us.
They remind us of what mattered, of the connections we built, the love we felt. Are you sure you want to erase that?”
Kirishima’s heart wavered. He wanted to scream that he was sure, that the pain was too much, but deep down, he knew the doctor was right. Forgetting Bakugou wouldn’t erase the love he had felt, wouldn’t undo the impact Bakugou had had on his life. But what choice did he have when the weight of those memories threatened to crush him?
Tears welled up in Kirishima’s eyes as he sat in silence, his chest heaving with the effort of holding it all together. He thought about the boy who had once been his world, about the laughter and the closeness they had shared. And he thought about how it had all been ripped away, leaving him with nothing but heartache.
Maybe forgetting wasn’t the solution, but right now, Kirishima didn’t know how to live with the pain. “Yes, I’m sure.”
-
Months passed, and Kirishima’s life became a blur of routine. Without the weight of his past memories, he moved through each day unburdened, free of the heartbreak that had once consumed him. The ache that had torn at his soul was gone, replaced by a blank slate—one that held no trace of Bakugou, of their connection, or of the pain he had fought so hard to erase. The training had worked, as it always did. He no longer remembered the boy he had once loved so deeply.
But for Bakugou, those months were agony.
Every day, Bakugou wrestled with the decision to stay away, feeling the guilt and frustration gnaw at him from the inside. His family’s financial troubles had taken him away from school, away from Kirishima, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the silence—the crushing absence of Kirishima from his life. He had stopped reaching out, afraid of hearing nothing in return, afraid of the confrontation that might come if Kirishima was still hurt or angry. Yet the thought of not seeing Kirishima again tore him apart in ways he couldn’t fully understand.
Finally, after months of battling his fears and insecurities, Bakugou made the choice to return. He missed Kirishima more than he could bear, and the hope of rekindling their bond, of making things right, drove him back to the place where it had all started.
That morning, Bakugou stood outside the school gates, waiting. His heart was a storm of anticipation and fear, but the moment he spotted Kirishima walking up with his usual brightness, everything inside him settled. Kirishima looked the same—his red hair gleaming in the sunlight, his easy smile lighting up the world around him. Bakugou couldn’t help but feel the familiar tug of longing, the sharp stab of affection that had only grown stronger with time.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Bakugou called out, “Eijirou!”
Kirishima turned, his eyes meeting Bakugou’s, but the light in them was different—colder, unfamiliar. Bakugou’s heart stuttered. Something was off. Kirishima’s expression didn’t soften with recognition. There was no smile, no warmth. Only confusion.
“Who are you?” Kirishima asked, his voice flat and distant, as if Bakugou were just another stranger on the street.
The words hit Bakugou like a punch to the stomach. For a second, he was too stunned to speak. His throat tightened, and his mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. Maybe it was a joke. Maybe Kirishima was messing with him. But deep down, Bakugou already knew.
“It’s me,” Bakugou forced out, his voice cracking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. “It’s Katsuki.”
But there was no flicker of recognition in Kirishima’s eyes, no spark of remembrance. He stared back at Bakugou with a polite smile, empty of the warmth they had once shared.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember who you are,” Kirishima said, his tone sincere, as if he truly wished he could offer more but couldn’t.
The finality of it, the cold, indifferent distance, shattered something inside Bakugou. His heart, which had been so full of hope just moments ago, now felt like it had been ripped apart. He had replayed this moment over and over in his head for months—what he would say to Kirishima, how they would laugh and reconnect, how things would fall back into place. But this… this was nothing like what he had imagined.
“Oh,” Bakugou breathed, the single word barely audible over the roar of emotions flooding him. His throat felt tight, his chest constricting painfully as the reality of his situation sank in.
Kirishima didn’t remember him.
Not the long afternoons they had spent together, not the secrets they had shared, not the deep bond they had built over time. It was all gone. Erased from Kirishima’s mind like it had never happened. And Bakugou was left with all of it—every memory, every feeling, every piece of a broken past that Kirishima no longer carried.
He stood frozen as Kirishima offered a small, apologetic smile and turned back to his friends, walking away without a second glance, leaving Bakugou standing alone in the middle of the crowd. The world around him moved on—students laughing, talking, oblivious to the devastation inside him. But for Bakugou, everything had come to a crushing halt.
The person he had cared about more than anyone—the person who had seen sides of him no one else ever had—was gone. Not physically, but emotionally, mentally, completely. The bond they had shared, the moments that had kept Bakugou going during the hardest times in his life, were meaningless now, reduced to nothing in the mind of the one person he had wanted to hold onto forever.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
He had pushed Kirishima away. He had distanced himself, kept his struggles a secret, believing that protecting Kirishima from his messy life was the right thing to do. And now, after all that time, after all the suffering, Kirishima had done what Bakugou could never do—he had forgotten. And Bakugou was left alone, haunted by the memories Kirishima had so easily erased.
Because Kirishima had moved on—his heart unburdened, free of the weight that still clung to Bakugou like a shadow. Every shared moment, every whispered confession, every touch—they had all been washed away, leaving Kirishima untouched by the past that haunted Bakugou’s every step.
And Bakugou? He stood there, rooted in the echo of a life that no longer existed, with the crushing realisation that the person who had once held his world in his hands now looked at him like a stranger. The boy who had been his anchor, his light, had forgotten him completely, leaving Bakugou adrift in the sea of memories that only he was left to bear.