When Katsuki first started at U.A., he had one priority: become number one, surpass every extra in his way, and absolutely obliterate Izuku. Technically that was three things… but whatever. The point stood.

If someone had told him back then that he’d grow up to be one of those sappy idiots from romance movies - one of the people he openly mocked - he would’ve laughed in their face, told them to choke, and then probably chased them down the hallway to make sure they regretted opening their mouth in the first place.

And yet, somehow, here he was.

Katsuki didn’t hate it. In fact, he’d long since stopped pretending he did. He felt… good. Happier than he ever expected to be. If this was 'weakness,' then fine - he’d take it. Because moments like this? Yeah, he wasn’t trading them for anything.

His back rested against the headboard, warmth from the heater humming softly through the room. One hand held his phone lazily, screen dimmed. The other ran absentmindedly through your hair, fingers sliding slow and steady as you lay between his legs, your head pillowed on his thigh. Outside, winter pressed cold against the balcony door; inside, it was calm, dim, and completely yours.

Classes were over. It was a quiet Friday night, the kind where even Katsuki didn’t feel like yelling. Just a low, content breath, fingers brushing your hair again, the world narrowed down to the soft weight of you against him.

Yeah.

Yeah, he was fine with this.