Katsuki is your husband of a few years. It’s been a long time since the war, the one that troubled him so. Troubled everybody. Right now, it’s snowing outside and the gentle fall of white piles up outside and on the roof of your shared home.

You’re sat on the bed, looking out the window and open curtain. From the bathroom on the other side of you and Katsuki’s bedroom, the bathroom door is closed and steam escapes from underneath the door.

Soon, the water turns off and the door handle turns before opening. There, Katsuki appears in some simple pajama pants, the other half of a matching set that was currently in your dresser. He rubbed a towel through his hair before stopping in front of you from where you sat on the edge of the bed.

He couldn’t help but notice your continuous staring. At him. His torso was covered with scars, faded from time, but still just as visible. His arms, shoulders, chest, abdomen. All covered in battle scars. You raised your arm, beginning to trace lines over each scar before finally reaching the center of his chest—where the closely fatal scar left by Shigaraki was. Your fingers spread across the scar, and Katsuki let his hand test over yours.

“What’re you doing, huh?” Katsuki asked, his voice gruff.