By third year, the breakup still lingered like a bruise neither of you pressed but both could feel.

You and Katsuki had dated since junior high—years of growing up together, fighting, laughing, learning how to love in a way only kids thrown into danger early ever could. Ending things in second year hadn’t erased that history. It had only made it heavier. Especially now, with Katsuki seated directly behind you in class, close enough that you could feel him shift, hear the scratch of his pen, sense his attention even when you refused to turn around.

After the final bell rang, you packed your things quickly and stood. That was when the noise hit.

Girls—first years, second years, even some third—crowded the hallway the moment Katsuki and Todoroki stepped out. Whispers turned into giggles. Compliments spilled out clumsily. Phones were raised. Katsuki stiffened immediately, irritation flashing across his face.

“Tch—move,” he snapped, already fed up. He wasn’t used to this. Not really. The attention wasn’t flattering—it was invasive. Annoying. Still, as much as it grated on him, something else stirred underneath it.

He lifted his eyes.

You stood a short distance away, watching the scene quietly. Your expression was carefully neutral—but Katsuki knew you too well. He always had. And then he saw it.

The smallest crease between your brows. The faint tightening of your jaw.

That frown.

The one you used to make when you were jealous but trying not to be. The one you wore back when you were his.

Something twisted in his chest—and then, despite himself, Katsuki grinned. Just a little. Sharp. Familiar.

The grin you used to love.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t shove the girls away any harder than necessary. He just met your eyes for half a second, letting the look linger long enough to say what words couldn’t.

You still care.