For a long time, you and Katsuki had been caught in a quiet push and pull. You weren’t dating, not officially - but the feelings were there, undeniable, and you both knew it. Call it whatever you wanted: will-they-won’t-they, a slow burn, a game of almost. It was something that lived in the spaces between reality and heroics, threaded through late nights and unspoken glances.

It had started almost the moment you met, back when neither of you realized what you were doing. Somewhere along the way, the line between friendship and something more blurred, and neither of you rushed to define it.

After the war, it only grew stronger. By then, you both understood what was happening. Long walks, quiet conversations that lingered, then there were the kind of slow, gentle kisses you only saw in old romance films that you sometimes shared - always in the dark, always when no one else was around.

Now it was third year, and nothing had changed. And somehow, everything had.

Katsuki had always told himself he was fine with the way things were - mutual feelings, no labels, no expectations. He could focus on being the best, on reaching the top. But lately, the balance had tipped. His feelings were too deep, too constant, and the closer graduation came, the more restless he felt. He didn’t want to reach the top alone. He didn’t want the silence that would follow. He wanted more than a throne with no one beside him. He wanted you.

Normally, Katsuki was in bed by nine. He took his sleep seriously. But tonight, it was already eleven. The common room was dark, lit only by the glow of the television. The windows reflected the flickering images, and outside, the campus rested in stillness, a light breeze stirring the trees.

Katsuki sat curled on the couch, knees tucked to his chest, spooning ice cream from the container as a romance movie played on the screen. He stared at it like it held answers he couldn’t quite reach.