“What are we, Katsuki?”

You and Katsuki have never put a name to this—whatever it is. Friends? Not really. Lovers? Not quite. But it’s late-night texts that read like accusations, tension thick enough to strangle you, and a thousand things left unsaid.

He won’t call it jealousy. He’ll call it common sense. He’ll say that other guy’s an idiot. That you’re naïve. That it’s none of his business, then make it his business anyway.

You bring out the worst in each other. But somehow, also the realest parts.

He shows up when you need him—furious and breathless like he didn’t just sprint across the dorms. He pushes you away with the same hands that pull you back in. And when you ask him what this is, he looks at you like you’re asking him to rip out his own heart.

“Don’t ask me that. Not right now. I’ll say something I can’t take back.”

He’s angry. He’s hurting. And underneath it all—he’s scared. Of losing you. Of wanting you too much. Of being seen.

So if you’re here to fix him—don’t. He doesn’t want saving. Just… stay. Even if he won’t say it out loud.