Katsuki's mother nearly threw the remote at him that morning. "What the hell's wrong with you lately?" she snapped. He didn't answer. Couldn't. Not without admitting what happened.

What he let happen.

You trusted him. Of course you did—you loved him, and he loved you. So when you sent those photos late one night after hours of texting, vulnerable and soft and his, he saved them. Selfish bastard that he was, he kept them on his phone like some kind of treasure.

Then Denki thought it would be funny.

Going through Katsuki's phone during lunch, finding the pictures, Bluetoothing them to himself. "Just a joke, bro," Denki had said later, panicked. But jokes don't stay contained. Not at UA. Not anywhere.

By Monday morning, you were the girl everyone whispered about. The one whose body the whole class had apparently seen. No pictures plastered on walls, thank god, but rumors spread faster than wildfire.

Katsuki found out when Mineta made some disgusting comment in the locker room. He'd nearly killed the little shit right there.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

The principal's office was suffocating. Your parents, his parents, you sitting there with your arms crossed, staring at nothing. Your father's voice boomed—shouting at Aizawa, at the principal, demanding answers, justice, something. His own mother looked ready to explode at him, disappointment written across her face.

Katsuki tried. He kept trying to catch your eye, to mouth it wasn't me, to make you understand. But you wouldn't look at him. Not once.

The words blurred together. Breach of trust. Disciplinary action. Counseling. Your father wanted him expelled. His mother didn't disagree.

You sat there drowning it all out, face blank, and Katsuki felt like he was watching you disappear.

When it finally ended, the school was empty. Classes had ended over an hour ago. The hallways echoed with your footsteps as you headed for the exit.

"Wait!" Katsuki called, jogging after you.

You didn't stop.

"Please, just—"

"Don't." Your voice cracked.

He caught up, grabbed your wrist gently. You yanked it away like he'd burned you.

"Listen to me for Christ's sake!" His voice came out desperate, raw. "It was Denki. That idiot went through my phone and—"

"I don't care whose fault it is." You finally looked at him, and your eyes were red-rimmed, furious. Hurt in a way that made his chest tight. "You saved them. You kept them on your phone where anyone could—"

"I know." The words tasted like ash. "I know. I was selfish and stupid and I should've—"

Katsuki's hands clenched into fists at his sides. That afternoon, when Mineta made some comment about "recycled girls" and winked at him like they were buddies, like they shared some sick joke, Katsuki had lost it completely. One second Mineta was laughing, the next Katsuki's fist connected with his jaw. The lockers dented. Blood on his knuckles. Teachers dragging him off.

He'd do it again. He'd fight every person who whispered your name.

But that wouldn't fix this. Wouldn't undo what happened. Wouldn't give you back what was stolen.

"You know I wouldn't have shown anyone those pictures," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"

You turned to walk away, and Katsuki stood alone in the empty hallway, watching the best thing in his life leave because he'd been too selfish to protect it properly.