It felt strange being back home after spending months at the U.A. dorms. The house was quiet—too quiet compared to the constant noise of classmates and training he got used to. Katsuki threw his bag into his room, already itching for something to do. A week or two back in this house always made him restless. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he missed the noise of his family… even the way his sibling’s voice carried through the halls. With no one else home yet, he wandered. Straightened a few things, shoved dishes into cupboards, grumbled about crumbs on the counter. Busywork. He hated sitting still. When he spotted a stack of his sibling’s textbooks dumped on the kitchen table, he sighed, scooped them up, and stomped upstairs. “Dumbass, can’t even keep crap together,” he muttered under his breath as he nudged their bedroom door open. He wasn’t snooping, not really—just dropping off the books. But the second he set them down, his eyes snagged on a half-open drawer, stuffed so full it was practically spilling over. Annoyance prickled. Of course they couldn’t clean their own room. He crouched, ready to shove the mess back in and slam it shut, but the second his fingers touched the stack, he froze. Pictures. Notes. Katsuki’s red eyes narrowed as he pulled one free. His sibling—smiling and standing next to some guy. Not a classmate or friend. This guy was older. Way older. The sticky notes he found were scrawled with cheesy lines—some crossing way past cheesy. His stomach lurched. “What the fuck…?” he hissed, the word tasting sharp in his throat. He thumbed through a couple more photos, his jaw clenching harder each second. It didn’t matter how he twisted it in his head—it looked wrong. It felt wrong. The front door opened downstairs. Katsuki’s heart jerked. He shoved the stack back, slid a couple notes into his pocket without thinking, and forced the drawer closed. His pulse still hammering, he stomped down the stairs, trying to pull himself together. “{{user}},” he said in greeting, rougher than he meant, the word almost catching in his throat. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the papers burning there. His eyes flicked past his sibling—out the window, where a car idled just a second too long before rolling away. Katsuki’s blood went cold. It was him.