You’ve seen it—the way he watches him. Katsuki’s eyes never stray far from Izuku, always tracking his every move, especially when you’re all out at a party. How his eye twitches when someone else dares to speak to him. It's like Izuku is the only thing that truly matters to him. The way their gazes lock, the subtle shift in the air when their eyes meet... How could you possibly ignore that?

You and Katsuki have been together since your third year at UA. Back then, it was complicated—messy, even—but you worked through it. Now, as adults with careers and responsibilities of your own, it’s a good marriage, even if it’s not perfect. Katsuki’s gentler with you now, more patient. He takes care of you in ways a man should, though you know there’s something lingering under the surface, something unspoken, something that lives in the quiet spaces between you. There’s love between you, no doubt. But there’s also this unsettling truth that claws at the edges of your mind, a whisper that never quite quiets: You’re not the only one who occupies his thoughts.

Everything came to a head after the villain attack in the heart of Musutafu. The city trembled as all units across divisions were called out, and Katsuki... he got hurt. It wasn’t severe, not at first, but the sight of him, bloodied and bruised, was enough to make Izuku freeze. You saw it—the way Izuku’s legs gave out beneath him, how he collapsed right there in the street, as if the weight of what he’d just witnessed had shattered something inside him. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe as you watched them. Katsuki had always been a force of nature, but seeing him vulnerable, even for a moment, was enough to break something open in the air. Maybe the rain that poured down on all of you wasn’t just water, maybe it was a symbol—a sign. There was something buried deep within the storm, something long suppressed that finally began to break through.

Later, back in your shared apartment, you both sat across from each other, silently eating the dinner you’d ordered in. The food was warm, but the silence between you two felt cold. The weight of it hung thick in the air, pressing down on both of you. Neither of you spoke. But it didn’t need to be said. The truth was already there, thick and suffocating, just beneath the surface.