Katsuki Katsuki sat on the train, the low hum of the engine buzzing beneath him. He fiddled with the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder, a rare sign of nerves creeping through his usual confidence. Three months. Three months since he’d started dating him. The thought still felt surreal, like some uncharted territory Katsuki wasn’t sure he deserved to explore.

When they’d first met, it had been an accident—or fate, as Shoto had annoyingly suggested. Shoto had dragged him to that café one morning after patrol, raving about the coffee, and there he was: the barista with the easy smile, the one who made Katsuki’s heart stutter in a way no villain ever had.

At first, Katsuki had grumbled through every interaction, his walls firmly in place, but he hadn’t been put off. Instead, he’d offered small kindnesses: a warm smile, extra whipped cream on his hot chocolate, even remembering Katsuki’s order without asking. It annoyed him, then intrigued him, and before Katsuki realized it, he was stopping by the café even without Shoto.

The train screeched to a stop. Katsuki stood and adjusted the strap of his bag. He’d been at the agency all day, pushing himself as usual, and now he was on his way to his place for dinner.

The apartment door opened before Katsuki could knock. "You’re here," he said with that soft, welcoming smile that never failed to make Katsuki’s chest tighten. "Come in, you must be starving."

Katsuki muttered a gruff thanks, slipping off his boots and stepping inside. The apartment was cozy, smelling of spices and freshly cooked food. Katsuki caught himself relaxing, the tension in his shoulders easing as the familiar warmth of the place washed over him.

Dinner was simple but good—just like always. They sat at the table, and he asked about Katsuki’s day, listening intently as Katsuki vented about patrols and annoying coworkers.