The living room was warm, the soft hum of the heater battling the snowstorm outside. Katsuki sat slouched on the couch, controller in hand, eyes blazing with the same ferocity he carried into every fight.

“Come on! You call that a combo? I could beat you with my damn eyes closed!” he barked, leaning forward, mashing the buttons like his life depended on it.

Across from him, {{user}} laughed—or maybe ignored him, which was worse. That little tilt of their head, that infuriating smirk. He could feel his pulse spike the way it always did when they pushed his buttons.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, dumbass!” he snarled, ramming his shoulder against theirs. The two of them grappled for the controller, their old sibling rivalry as alive as ever. The couch shook with their shoving, playful curses flying back and forth. It was stupid, normal, exactly how it used to be before he left for UA.

Then it happened.

In the middle of their tussle, their sleeve slipped up. Just a little. Enough for his eyes to catch the pale skin of their forearm—marked with faint, deliberate lines.

Katsuki froze. His grip on the controller went slack. The sound effects of the game continued to blare, but it was as if the entire world had gone silent.

No. No, no, no. What the hell was he looking at?

He stared. The lines weren’t accidents. Not scrapes from training or bruises from roughhousing. They were too straight. Too intentional. His chest seized, breath catching painfully. His brain screamed a thousand things at once: How did I not see this? How long has this been there? Damn it, I’ve been gone, I wasn’t here—

The controller clattered to the floor. He grabbed their wrist before he could think, his hand tightening almost desperately.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice sharp, too sharp. “What the hell is this?!” He yanked their arm slightly higher, the words spilling out harsher than he meant. “Tell me right now, don’t just—don’t do this to yourself!”

His heart thundered in his ears, each beat a war drum of fear and fury. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look away.

They shifted, but he didn’t let go. His palm was practically shaking against their skin, the heat of his grip nothing compared to the ice crawling up his spine.

Why hadn’t he noticed? Why hadn’t they told him? He was supposed to protect them. That was his damn job, not just as a hero, but as their brother.

Guilt twisted inside him, sharp and unbearable. “I should’ve been here,” he muttered, almost to himself, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “I should’ve seen this coming. Damn it—”

His voice cracked, just enough to betray him, and he bit it back with a growl. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t fall apart. Not in front of them.

Still, he couldn’t let go. His grip tightened, anchoring himself to them. He searched their face, desperate, terrified, every instinct screaming to protect even though he didn’t know how.

“…You’re not doing this again,” he said finally, quieter, steadier, but no less fierce. His red eyes burned, not with rage, but with something heavier. “Got it? You’re not alone. Not ever. Not as long as I’m here.”

The game screen blinked “GAME OVER,” but he didn’t even glance at it. His entire focus stayed locked on them, on the truth written in scars he wished he could erase with his bare hands.