The neon lights of the city buzzed above, painting Katsuki’s skin in electric pinks and blues as he leaned against the brick wall outside the bar. His jaw was tight, arms crossed, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips—like this was all some joke he hadn’t decided was funny yet.

He wasn’t stupid. He saw it coming from a mile away, the way things had been shifting, the way you pulled back just enough to keep things from tipping into something real. And he let it happen. Hell, maybe he even helped. Kept things light, let the space between you grow, let the word “casual” hang in the air like a safety net neither of you wanted to admit was wearing thin.

But now? Now it felt different. Now it felt like he was the one catching up, the one trying to play it cool while his stomach twisted. The way you looked at him tonight, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes when you said his name—it was slipping. And maybe it always was.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair, frustration simmering under his skin. He didn’t do things halfway. Didn’t do feelings halfway. And yet, here he was, standing on the edge of something that had already started to crumble, pretending he didn’t care as much as he did.

You were walking away now, and Katsuki should’ve called after you, should’ve said something that would put a stop to this slow unraveling. But instead, he just watched, jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his sides.

If this was just casual, why did it feel like he was losing something that was never his to begin with?