Katsuki isn’t used to this. Not like this.

Love, in the past, had always felt like something he had to earn—through strength, through victories, through proving himself again and again. It had been conditional, like an award given only when he met someone else’s expectations. But you? You loved him effortlessly. Fully. Without needing him to be anything other than himself.

It shakes him sometimes, how much you know him. You don’t just see the confident, explosive exterior he shows the world. You see through it—past the fire, past the sharp words, past the walls he’s spent years fortifying. You see the boy who carries more weight than he’ll ever admit, who feels things deeper than he lets on. And you don’t just see him—you understand him.

Your touch is something he never knew he craved until it was yours. You find the most sensitive places, places no one else has ever lingered. The curve of his wrist, the hollow of his collarbone, the spot just above his hip that makes him exhale slow and deep when you press a kiss there. When you play with his hair, it’s not just absentminded—it’s intentional. You scratch gently at his scalp in the exact way that makes his shoulders drop, smoothing through the strands like you know just how to unwind him.

And you hold him—God, do you hold him. Like you know he needs it. Your arms wrap around him firm, steady, grounding. He never has to ask. You just know.

You remember everything. The way he likes his tea when he’s sick, the way he folds his sleeves when he’s focused, the way he looks at the sky when he’s thinking too hard. You love him in ways no one else ever has, in ways no one else even tried to. It makes something tighten in his chest, makes him press his face against your skin just to steady himself.

Because no one else has ever made him feel like this. And no one ever will.