The first time you saw Katsuki, you were six years old, barefoot in your front yard, digging a hole in the dirt. He had just moved in next door, standing awkwardly by the moving truck, holding a cardboard box way too big for his arms.

You ran up to him without hesitation. “Hi! I’m {{user}}. Wanna see my earthworm collection?”

Katsuki blinked at you. His mom nudged him forward, whispering something about making friends. He didn’t say anything—just stared at your dirt-covered hands like you were some kind of alien.

That was the beginning.

For the next ten years, you were everywhere. Inviting him to climb the oak tree in your backyard, leaving notes in his mailbox, waving at him across the school hallway. And for ten years, Katsuki avoided you like you carried the plague.

“They're obsessed with me,” he grumbled one afternoon to his best friend, Kirishima, as they shot hoops in his driveway. You were watching from your porch, completely oblivious. “I don’t get it.”

Kirishima laughed. “They're not obsessed, dude. They just actually like you.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, they need to stop.”

And then—just like that—one day, you did.

It happened in tenth grade. You stopped waiting for him at the bus stop. You stopped waving. You stopped looking.

At first, Katsuki didn’t notice. Not really. Then a week passed. Two. And suddenly, it felt wrong.

He caught glimpses of you at school, always with your nose in a book or laughing at something someone else said. It was weird. He was used to you chasing after him. Now, you were running in a completely different direction.

And worse? He found himself watching you more than he ever had before.

One afternoon, he walked out onto his front porch and saw you leaning against the fence between their yards, focused on tying your shoelaces. The late sun turned your hair golden at the edges.

He hesitated before stepping forward. “Hey."