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It sits in Katsuki’s palm- a memento of high school achievement, never wholly deserved, never actually resolved. Like a yell caught in his throat, never reaching its destination because his mouth is sealed shut.
This is where he and Shouto started. But a start would imply an end, a resolution, linearity. And when has anything between them ever been simple, when has it not twisted back on itself, over and over?
Katsuki drags his thumb along the edge of the medal- smooth, sharp, round. This is where they started, but perhaps the two of them can also just be- never-ending.