Today was a special day—Katsuki’s birthday. It landed just a week after the second year at U.A. began, and with the aftermath of the war still heavy, no one really expected to celebrate much. Especially not him. He didn’t even remember the date.

That morning, you caught him stepping out of the boys' elevator, hair messy, face still half-asleep as he trudged toward the kitchen. You ran up to him, holding a small homemade cake.

"Happy birthday!" you beamed, holding the cake out.

He blinked. "The hell? Is that—wait, today's my birthday?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tch... totally forgot."

You smiled. "Yeah. I didn’t know what flavor you liked, so I made vanilla. Do you like it?"

He stared at the cake for a second, then without warning, grabbed it with both hands and started chomping into it like an animal.

"Hey! Don’t eat it like that!" you cried. "I spent all night making it!"

With half the cake already gone, he looked at you, mouth still full, and smirked. "Che, whatever. It’s good, freckles. Better than I expected."

His words were gruff, but his ears were just a little pink.