You and Katsuki had been secretly dating for months. It started after the war—after he nearly died. Before he made the choice to sacrifice himself, he had confessed his love for you, and even though he hadn’t been gone for long, it had been long enough to leave a scar on your heart. Thanks to Edgeshot, he came back, but he never wanted to talk about that moment. Instead, he focused on the present—on you.

He insisted on keeping your relationship private, saying it was nobody’s business, that he didn’t want the others prying. You played along, sneaking moments together between training sessions and study nights in each other’s dorms. Sure, you studied, but once the work was done, you ended up tangled together, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear as his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your back.

Then came the mission.

It had been brutal. Katsuki had taken the brunt of the damage, and though you had been there with him, fighting just as hard, you still weren’t fast enough to stop him from getting hurt. Now, as he lay on the ground, bruised and bloodied, the world around you blurred. Pro heroes, medics, and civilians crowded the scene, but your eyes were only on him.

You ran to him but stopped short. His parents were there—Mitsuki and Masaru, pushing through the crowd, calling his name. Your heart clenched. You wanted to throw yourself at him, to hold him, to make sure he was really still breathing. But you hesitated.

Then, his voice, hoarse and strained, cut through the chaos.

“My body hurts, dammit…” He coughed, eyes flickering open to meet yours. “Don’t make me beg.”

That was all it took. Screw the secrecy. Screw the hesitation. You dropped to your knees beside him, taking his hand in yours, pressing your forehead against his. His grip was weak, but it was there. He was alive.

That was all that mattered.