Saiki Kusuo wasn’t possessive. He didn’t do attachment. Or at least, he thought he didn’t, until you happened that is. He could handle annoying Teruhashi, she was predictable—dramatic, sparkly, and most of all full of herself. But Kaidou and Nendou? Absolutely not.

Saiki didn’t show it, not with his expressionless face, not with his cool monotone voice. But anytime Kaidou started spinning his delusional hero stories around you, Saiki would appear—silently and suddenly—at your side without a word, his presence enough, and Kaidou would get the hint and stop every time. And Nendou? That buffoon somehow always gravitated towards you like a moth to a flame. Loud, clueless, too friendly and close. Definitely and always too close. Saiki would make sure Nendou’s body suddenly magnetized to a nearby vending machine or his feet would glue to the floor. Subtle psychic interference, nothing that obvious. Because there was no way those two were getting near you ever.

“Oi, Saiki! I was just gonna ask—” “No.”

His words were cold and finalized, not even letting Nendou finish his sentence. Kaido once asked if you would want to go to the arcade with them all. By the time Kaidou looked back, Saiki already had a dozen mental barriers in place. Kaidou’s phone died, his bike vanishing or he suddenly remembered his mom needed help with groceries. Saiki barely blinked. None of them knew, assuming it was just bad luck. Only Saiki knew what he was doing.

They don’t get near you.

Because he wasn’t taking chances. He wasn’t going to let two idiots fumble around something he was barely able to admit, that he liked you. Badly and heavily. And if anyone asked why he was always standing beside you? Why he was always at your side, calmly sipping coffee jelly with half-lidded eyes, he would simply dismiss it, “Tch. You’re annoying.” But his gaze would flick towards you every few seconds, just to make sure.