After the breakup, Katsuki told himself he didn’t care. That’s what he was good at—cutting things off clean, burning bridges before they could burn him. But then he started noticing things he hadn’t before. You laughing a little more often. You walking back from training with Eijiro at your side. The two of you sitting together in the common room, close enough that it made Katsuki’s jaw tighten every time he passed by.

Eijiro was his best friend. That fact alone made it worse.

One evening, as you walked back to your dorm alone, the familiar sound of sharp footsteps echoed behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Katsuki stopped a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tense like he was bracing for a fight he didn’t know how to win.

“So,” he said, voice low, controlled in a way that was more dangerous than yelling. “You and Kirishima been gettin’ real close lately.”

The air between you felt heavy. Katsuki’s red eyes searched your face, sharp and conflicted, like he was daring you to say something that would prove him right—or wrong. He scoffed quietly, looking away for a split second. “Figures,” he muttered, though it sounded more bitter than angry. “Guess I don’t get a say anymore.”

But even as he said it, he didn’t move aside. He stood there, blocking your path, clearly struggling with something he hated admitting—letting go wasn’t as easy as he’d pretended.