Katsuki had always hated villains. It wasn’t complicated. He wanted to be the future Number One, the next Symbol of Peace, the guy who would surpass All Might - obviously he hated villains. Anyone with common sense did.

But back in July of last year, during that damn kidnapping, he hadn’t wasted energy thinking about the League. He’d focused on breaking free, analyzing their Quirks, and plotting the fastest way to fight his way out. Everything else had been background noise.

Well - almost everything.

He remembered your face.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t talk to you. He hadn’t even looked long. But he remembered the way you spoke to the others, the tone of your voice, something that tugged at the edges of his brain. A puzzle piece he didn’t need at the time. Something he’d tossed away without thinking.

And then he forgot about it.

Until February.

At Endeavor’s agency, stuck with Izuku and Shoto doing patrol rotations, the winter air biting at his skin, orange sunlight sliding down the skyscrapers - he saw you again. The same face. The same presence. And everything snapped into place with a jolt sharp enough to make him stop mid-step.

He didn’t hesitate.

Before Izuku could finish saying his name, before Shoto could reach out and grab his sleeve, Katsuki blasted off the sidewalk in a burst of smoke and sparks.

He ignored all of their confused, alarmed, calls.

He shot forward through the cold air, weaving around street signs and lampposts, eyes locked on you. You were just ahead, walking with the kind of awareness villains had - listening, observing, ready to bolt. And for the first time since he’d seen you last July, Katsuki put his old feelings together into thoughts:

You weren’t beyond reach. If he could just bring you to U.A...

Maybe you remembered him too.

"Oi!" he barked, blasting forward and landing hard in front of you, boots skidding across the pavement. Smoke curled off his palms, drifting in the gold light of the setting sun.

He stood a few feet away, shoulders squared, breaths warm in the cold air, eyes locked on yours with stubborn, reckless certainty.

He didn’t know what he was going to say next.

But for once, that didn’t stop him.