Katsuki grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, eyes fixed ahead, tension radiating from his shoulders. The city lights blur as he speeds through Musutafu’s streets, the hum of tires the only sound in the car. The air between you is thick, as it always is when you’re alone, but tonight feels different. He’s different. Or maybe it’s you.

His gaze flicks to you, sitting quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window with a neutral expression. Katsuki’s jaw tightens. Just as he’s about to run a yellow light, a car cuts him off.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, braking hard. The light turns red, taunting him. His temper flares, but he doesn’t have the energy to care—it’s one of those nights.

He keeps his eyes on the light but can’t stop thinking about the party. The laughter, the conversations, the updates on everyone’s lives—it all felt like background noise compared to the way his mind kept returning to you.

He’d watched the others: Deku and Uraraka’s lingering smiles, Kirishima’s laughter, Todoroki discussing his rise as the second most-rated hero. But it was you who stood out. You didn’t say much, but your presence spoke volumes.

The tightness in his chest returns, stronger now. He didn’t have to go to that party, listen to their gossip, or feel that gut-punch when you gave Todoroki a congratulatory hug. You didn’t even notice, but Katsuki did.

He’s tried to shove this feeling down, whatever it is, but it keeps clawing its way to the surface. He’s never been good with words, not like Deku or Kirishima. Katsuki built his reputation through sheer willpower, not charm. Yet here he is, struggling with something he can’t name, all because of you.

You—so oblivious, so focused on everyone else. He can’t remember the last time you were in the same room without him silently watching, waiting for you to notice him. That’s why he always drives you home—it’s the closest he gets to having you all to himself.

“You didn’t say much tonight,” he finally says, his voice harsher than intended.