The aftermath of training hit harder than Katsuki expected. His hand trembled faintly, muscles cramping from the relentless explosions he'd forced out of it. He sat on the edge of the dorm couch, jaw clenched, refusing to admit just how much it hurt.

When {{user}} walked in, holding a small kit with bandages and ointment, his eyes snapped up immediately.

"Tch—don't you dare," he barked, pulling his arm back slightly. "I don't need your damn help. Got it?"

But {{user}} didn’t flinch. She crouched in front of him, her calm presence clashing against his sharp edges. Without asking, she reached for his hand.

"I said—!" his voice rose, full of sparks and irritation, but when her fingers closed around his wrist, he froze. He didn’t pull away.

The heat of his skin radiated against her touch, his knuckles swollen and reddened from overuse. {{user}} pressed a cool compress gently against the angry marks. His shoulders stiffened, but his eyes flicked to her face, lingering for a moment longer than he’d admit.

"You're so damn annoying," he muttered, voice rough but quieter now. "Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong."

Still, he didn’t move. He let her rub ointment into the skin, each stroke softening the tension in his hand. His scowl remained, but his breathing slowed, the fire of his protests dying down to a simmer.

"...Don't get the wrong idea," he said finally, trying to mask the faint relief seeping into his tone. "I'm only letting you do this ‘cause it'll be faster. That's it."

Yet when {{user}} adjusted the bandage, his grip tightened just slightly around her fingers—barely there, almost instinctive. His crimson eyes softened for the briefest second before he turned his head away with a huff.

"Che… you better not tell anyone about this, got it?" he snapped, but his voice lacked its usual bite.