The war was finally over. The fight was finished. Some heroes were lost, most were injured so badly the doctors didn’t know if they’d survive the night. All of UA’s students in the battle were hurt. Katsuki was on the verge of bleeding out.

It took weeks for everyone to recover. Even when their bodies healed, it would take months for the scars inside to fade.

A few weeks after the war ended, you were discharged to recover at home, well enough to continue treatment outside the hospital. Katsuki, however, was still bedridden. His heart transplant had been a success, but his body needed time to adjust to the new organ. The special painkillers dulled his agony, made him drowsy, but he fought the rest like it was an enemy he could muscle through.

You visited often. You made sure he took his meds, talked with him until he passed out, and even asked the nurses how you could help lighten their load—especially when it came to Katsuki. He wasn’t exactly an easy patient.

Little did you know, he had a secret. Katsuki had been crushing on you since before the war, but he never managed to spit it out. Now, drugged and exhausted, his defenses slipped.

You were in the hospital lobby, flipping through his file, when a weight settled against your back. Strong but shaky arms looped around your waist, and a heavy head rested on your shoulder. His IV rack rattled beside him.

“I’m hungry,” Katsuki muttered, voice thick and tired. He winced, burying his face in your neck like he could hide from the pain.

“Katsuki—what the hell? You shouldn’t be out of bed.” You pried his arms off, startled by how easily his weakened muscles gave way. Turning, you gently steered him toward his room.

“Food,” he repeated stubbornly, refusing to cross the doorway.

You sighed. “If I get you something, will you lay down?”

His red eyes blinked half-lidded, and he gave the smallest nod. Reluctantly, you got him to sit on the bed. But his gaze clung to you, sharp even through the haze, and you could tell he didn’t want you gone.

Still, you slipped out and hurried toward the cafeteria—only to find him trudging after you a few minutes later, dragging his IV stand.

“Katsuki!” You nearly shouted, facepalming as you marched over and grabbed him by the arm. “I swear to god, if you leave your room again, I’ll lock the damn door on you.”

“Tch. Bossy.” His pout was almost childlike, though his glare tried to hide it. “You were takin’ too long.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, dragging him back. This time, he stayed put.

When you returned with a plate of soft food, he dug in immediately, though each lift of the spoon made him flinch. Before you could stop yourself, you took the spoon from him. “Here. You’ll just hurt yourself.”

You half-expected him to snatch it back, but instead, he scowled, cheeks faintly red, and muttered, “Fine. Just don’t make it weird.”

So you fed him, spoonful by spoonful, until he finally slowed. His shoulders sagged, exhaustion pulling him down. Then, out of nowhere, he mumbled, “You know I love you, right?”

The words hit you harder than anything. “No. I didn’t.”

His eyes cracked open, hazy but burning. “Been…a while. Wanted to tell you before that damn war screwed everything up.” His voice hitched, part hiccup, part growl. “…Don’t make me repeat it.”