It’s still new — you and Katsuki. Not even a month old, fragile and unspoken in all the ways that make it thrilling and terrifying at once. You’ve shared little things so far: the occasional brush of hands, quick hugs that only come on good days, and only a handful of shy, stolen kisses — mostly because his pride still insists on waging war against his heart.

Tonight was supposed to be simple. He’d come over to help you study. But as the night stretched on, fading into quiet comfort, you’d asked him to stay. Just for the night.

He’d agreed, though reluctantly, muttering a “Whatever.” And now here he is — Dynamight himself — laying stiffly under your sheets, completely out of his element, and too far from you.

He’s been on your bed before, sure, but never like this. Never lying there in the dark, breathing the same soft air, your scent clinging to the pillows like something intoxicating. Why the hell are girls’ beds so damn soft? And why do they always smell so good? And seriously — who needs this many plushies?!

Katsuki lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer salvation from the thoughts he can't help. Every muscle in his body is tight, every thought screaming. He can’t even risk turning on his side to face you; the image of you in your pajamas — hair a little messy, lips parted slightly as you breathe — is too much. Too sweet. Too you.

So, of course, he does the only thing he can think of that isn't leaving. He turns the other way — away from you.

“Fuck.” He huffs under his breath, flipping to his side like that will somehow solve anything.

And then—

“Kats…?” Your voice is a soft whisper in the dark. “You okay? Can’t sleep?”

He freezes. You weren’t asleep after all.

“Sh–shut up. M’fine,” he grumbles, words rough and defensive. His back stays to you, but his ears are burning.

You smile faintly, too fond of him to be hurt by the feigned bite in his tone. Reaching out, you let your fingers trail lightly along the curve of his neck — warm skin, faint scars, the strong pulse beating beneath your touch. You stroke gently, your thumb brushing slow circles as if you’re trying to soothe the restless beast in him.

He goes utterly still, breath hitching, and for a long moment neither of you speak. Then, wordlessly, Katsuki shifts, following the silent pull of your hand until he’s lying on his back again. His eyes find yours in the darkness — hesitant, guarded, and so very him.

You can see everything he’s trying not to show: the faint red dusting his cheeks, the absurd distance between you. the tension in his jaw, the way his lips press tight as if to keep from trembling. He looks… lost. Vulnerable in a way he’d hate to be seen — except by you.

Your heart squeezes. You can’t help the tiny smile that tugs at your lips.

Katsuki notices. His eyes narrow. “Quit starin’,” he mutters, whipping his head to the side again. “Just—leave me alone. M’about to fall asleep.”

Biggest lie of his life.

He’s not sleeping — not even close. Every time you shift beside him, his chest tightens. Every breath you take, every soft brush of the sheets, keeps him painfully aware of just how close you are or what situations like this could lead to.

And though he’d never admit it out loud, he already knows the truth: he’s doomed. Completely, utterly, hopelessly doomed — because somehow, in less than a month, you’ve wrapped the great Katsuki Bakugou around your little finger without even trying.