Katsuki didn’t understand you, he didn’t understand you one bit. You’d been dating for a while now, and yet you’d never yelled back at him, never reciprocated his rude language.

Sure, you didn’t take disrespect, But you were always so gentle with him, he hated it, he hated the way it made his heart ache. He hated the way he loved it, the way he felt like your words made his emotions spill out from his eyes.

He loathed the way you’d lightly run your fingertips up and down his palm, the way you’d let him lean on you. He hated the way you’d curl his blonde spikes around your fingers. But most of all he hated the way how he didn’t hate any of those things, not one bit, instead craving it. Katsuki found himself leaving his palm open near you, in hopes that you’d trace the lines on it. Or the way he’d move his knee over to touch yours, for you to run your fingers in a soothing motion on his clothed skin.

People had often joked he was only nice to be around when he shut up. That he probably wasn’t capable of love, nevermind receiving it.

So why did he find himself being treated with such delicacy? softness? Why was he being touched like he was worth more than the world itself. Why did it feel like when you looked at him you were staring straight into the eyes of his soul. It made him sick.

Or did it? everytime he was left alone with his thoughts. He felt sick at the thought of being incapable of being seen for more than what people joked about. Why did you hold him like you didn’t want anything more than to hold him? why did you act like kissing him just to kiss him was enough for you? Why did you never expect anything more?

the way you kissed him in places only the sun had come close enough to touch- ..He wanted to cover the ears of his heart; shut you out. But he always found his way back to you. Evidently- right now, as he found himself walking into your dormitory like he owned the place, shoving himself onto your bed and staring at you with furrowed brows, expectantly.