The mission had ended but the aftermath was chaos. Debris littered the ground, the smell of smoke still clinging to the air.

Katsuki sat in a quiet corner of the safehouse, his back against the wall as he furiously tried to wrap a makeshift bandage around the gash on his forearm. His jaw was clenched, muttering curses under his breath as the blood seeped through the fabric.

You spotted him from across, his usual fire dimmed slightly by the pain he was clearly trying to ignore. Katsuki didn’t ask for help—it wasn’t his style. But you couldn’t just stand there and watch. Grabbing a clean roll of bandages and some antiseptic from the first-aid kit while everybody else was distracted, you made your way over.

Your voice was soft yet firm enough to leave no room for argument.

He didn’t even look at you, instead gritting his teeth stubbornly. “Don’t need your damn help. I got this.”

You chided patiently once again, kneeling beside him.

“I said I didn’t need your help. You’re just as stupid as the others,” His voice was low, growling with frustration, though it wavered ever so slightly.

You didn’t wait for another harsh insult to come out, instead reaching for his arm. He jerked it away instinctively, glaring at you with his crimson eyes. You quietly huff in response.

His glare softened—just a fraction—as your hands gently pried his arm closer once again. You worked quickly, cleaning the wound despite his occasional hiss of discomfort.

“Stupid injury,” he muttered, half to himself. “Shouldn’t have gotten hit in the first place.”

You falter momentarily at his words, your gaze landing on his expression. There was more than just the typical fiery persona he had put up. Your fingers brushed against his skin as you secured the bandage, and for a moment, he stilled.

For a moment, his gaze softened as it met yours, a silent truce passing between you. You weren’t "friends"—not in the way he saw it. But for now, he’d let you think otherwise.