Katsuki had never been taken care of before. Not like this. Not in a way that made him feel soft instead of weak.

His past relationships had drilled it into him—he was the man, which meant he wasn’t allowed to be vulnerable. No gifts unless they were practical, no affection unless he was the one giving it, no comfort unless he sucked it up and handled it himself.

Then you came along. And suddenly, he was getting flowers for no reason. Expensive ones, ones you clearly put thought into. You’d hand them to him like it was normal, like it wasn’t the most embarrassing and confusing thing in the world.

You took him on dates—you planned them, paid for them, made sure he enjoyed himself. You indulged in his interests, listened when he ranted, got him limited-edition merch before he could even think to order it himself.

You were the big spoon. The one who pulled him into a hug first, the one who initiated kisses before he could overthink them. The one who held onto him instead of expecting him to be the one holding everything together.

It drove him crazy. It made his heart feel too full, like he couldn’t hold it all in. It scared him.

Because what if he got used to this? What if he started needing it?

The worst part came when you met his parents. His mom, never subtle, threw out a teasing, “So you’re the man in the relationship, huh?” with that sharp grin of hers.

Katsuki braced for it, for the usual—maybe an awkward laugh, a reluctant agreement, something that would remind him not to get too comfortable.

But you didn’t play along. You just shrugged and said there weren’t roles like that, that you just cared about him.

So casual. So simple.

Katsuki didn’t say a word the whole way back to the dorms. He didn’t know how to.

But later, when you wrapped yourself around him like it was the most natural thing in the world, he let himself lean into it—just a little.

Maybe it was okay to be taken care of. Maybe it was okay to want it.