Katsuki wasn’t the type for romance. He never really saw himself in a relationship, and he didn’t feel as if he was missing out on anything. But his third year at U.A. changed that. Because that was the year he met you.

He didn’t quite like you at first. Too much of a smartass, too witty, too unafraid to call him out. Annoying. But somehow, even when you weren’t around, you lingered. In his head, in the spaces between conversations, in the silence of his room.

He caught himself scrolling through his own social media, trying to see what you’d see if you went looking. Wondering if you’d ever do the same.

His room started to feel different. He wanted pieces of you there—your jacket slung over his chair, your handwriting on a post-it stuck to his desk, your scent in the air. It pissed him off how much he missed you when you weren’t around. How much he wanted you to be.

He was beginning to get irritated over it before he heard you knock at his door.“Katsuki?”

Fuck.