Kirishima spent the next week pretending that he wasn't desperate to find the ash blond. He pretended that he could get through work without glancing at the door every time somebody came in, and that he could walk home without his ears perking up at the sound of any motorcycle.
He pretended that he could get to sleep at night without tears falling onto his pillow or his heart feeling like an empty hole in his chest.
And every morning, as he got out of the shower, he pretended that he wasn't in there picking at the tattoo on his wrist, wanting it to be an illusion.
When Saturday came, he blew off his plan to go to the club, choosing to stay in his room and cover the tattoo in concealer while he watched old romantic comedies. His friends promised to get the ash blond's number if they ran into him, but Kirishima doubted they would.
By the third movie, the tatto had an entire bottle's worth of concealer covering it. His arm looked like a fleshy disaster, but at least there was no reminder that the one person he was meant to be with, didn't even want him.
He cradled his arm to his chest and stumbled out of his room for something to eat.
When he opened the fridge. Nothing looked good to him. In a typical house filled with twenty somethings, a fridge filled with leftover takeout and expired milk was normal. But it wasn't what Kirishima needed to fill this empty void in his stomach.
He called for pizza, ordering the greasiest kind their favourite place offered, and sat in front of the door to wait for it. When it came, he paid and dug into it like an animal who hadn't eaten in months.
About halfway through the pizza, he started to taste salt and realized that he was crying. 
He finished off the meal before shuffling to the bathroom, falling onto the floor to sob like the mess he was.
As much as he didn't want to admit this, it tore him up inside. His confidence hadn't been this low since his middle school days.
He found his energy fading and his eyes fell shut.
Sleep was an excellent distraction.

"Kiri? Ei? Come on, dude. Wake up."
Kirishima cracked open an eye, seeing Mina leaning over him, concern on her face.
"What?" The redhead blinked, sitting up.
"Oh thank god. I was worried you were hurt."
"I just fell asleep after eating too much pizza."
Mina laughed. "You're such a dumbass."
"Yeah. I guess I am." Kirishima joined her in laughing.
"You've got pizza sauce all over your face."
"Damn."
"Lemme help." She covered a washcloth in sink water and started moping at Kirishima's face.
"I'm sorry about this."
"Don't be. You're having a rough time. We're just sorry we can't help you out more." She started mopping the mess off his face, leaving a warm feeling all over his cheeks from the water.
"Remember when we were little and you were convinced we were soul mates so you kissed me and then got mad when neither of us had tattoos."
"That was so stupid. I didn't talk to you for a week."
"Yeah." Kirishima looked down at his wrist, at the mess of concealer he had made on it. Mina took notice of it and started to wipe that clean too.
"Sometimes I wish you had been. It would have made things so much easier."
"Man, me too. But look..." She grabbed a stick of eyeliner off the counter and drew a little crooked blob on her wrist.
"What is that?"
"A rock. Like that shitty music you always listen to."
"It's a really bad rock."
"Just like the music you listen to."
"Rude!"
Mina laughed again, wiping the rest of the concealer away. "Now if you just pretend this is a weird looking alien," she poked at Kirishima's tattoo, which was covered in light scratch marks from Kim scratching it, "we can pretend we're soul mates until you find blondie."
"But we're not..."
"Sometimes friends are better than soul mates, you know?"
Kirishima nodded, leaning into his best friend and closing his eyes. "Yeah. I do."