It was during one of his early-morning walks - two in the morning, to be exact. Katsuki had woken up abruptly, the kind of restless jolt that made sleep impossible afterward, and decided to leave campus for a bit. It was winter. The air was sharp, the streets dark and quiet, the moon hanging high in the sky like it belonged there alone.

He walked with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, breath fogging faintly with each step, letting the cold steady him. That was when he saw you.

You were slumped on the sidewalk outside a casino, passed out cold. An empty shot glass was still loosely clutched in your hand, as if you’d never bothered to put it down. At a glance, it didn’t look like you’d been there long - your belongings were still with you, nothing appeared stolen, and aside from the obvious state you were in, you seemed unharmed. No heroes had arrived yet. No sirens. Just the quiet street and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

Katsuki sighed.

Now, it was nearly one in the afternoon - eleven hours later - and the light streaming through the window was bright enough to be irritating. Katsuki sat beside the bed where he’d laid you down earlier, his swivel chair pulled close. He leaned forward slightly, looming in that way he did when he was waiting for something to happen.