Katsuki had fallen for you long before either of you ever admitted it. He liked that you were smart in ways he wasn’t, that you were calm where he was sharp, that you didn’t flinch at his explosions or his attitude. You were strong, independent, and still somehow caring without ever pitying him. It grounded him. It scared him. It made him stay.

After the war, his world was slower. His stitches and the bandages around his head were still healing, his right arm barely moved, and the doctors told him to avoid anything that would spike his heart rate. So he didn’t yell anymore — not the way he used to. He was quieter now, controlled in a way that came from necessity, not personality.

You helped him with the things he couldn’t do: tying his uniform, buttoning his collar, fixing the way his jacket hung off the injured arm. He didn’t like being dependent, but he let you do it. That alone meant everything.

Then the fight happened.

It was small — stupid, honestly. You made a comment about him ignoring his limits. He snapped back, not loud but sharp. You walked out before it could get worse.

And just like that, he stopped asking for help.

His tie was uneven every morning. His collar twisted. His bandaged head made it harder for him to see what he was doing, and his left hand couldn’t manage everything alone. But he didn’t look at you. Didn’t come near you. It wasn’t attitude. It was distance.

Like he was waiting for something.

Then came the “planning activity” in class — pair up, build a tactical outline for a rescue mission.

You didn’t choose him.

You hesitated, just a second, then went to sit beside someone else. Kirishima looked confused. Midoriya glanced between you and Katsuki. Even Aizawa raised a brow.

Katsuki didn’t say anything. Didn’t look mad. Just…blank. Like he expected it.

Later, when the class emptied out and you were packing your things, he walked up to your desk. His expression was tight, jaw locked, bandages still peeking beneath his hair.

He didn’t raise his voice — couldn’t, really — but the edge was still there.

“…You really didn’t pick me.”

You didn’t look up immediately. “You haven’t asked me for anything since the fight.”

His breath hitched just slightly. “I didn’t wanna—” he stopped, restarting in a quieter tone, “…didn’t wanna piss you off again.”

“So instead you ignored me?”

His fingers flexed against the desk. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

You met his eyes then, and he looked away for the first time.

“…I just didn’t wanna make you feel stuck with me,” he muttered. “I know you hate when I rely on you too much.”

Your chest dropped. “Katsuki… I don’t hate helping you.”

He swallowed, jaw tight enough to hurt.

“…Then why’d you pick someone else?”

That wasn’t him accusing you. That was him trying not to sound… hurt.

“Because you seemed like you didn’t want me around,” you answered. “You didn’t even let me fix your tie. You never don’t let me fix it.”

He stared at the ground for a long moment before finally admitting, voice barely above breath:

“…I wanted to see if you’d come back on your own.”

You blinked. “Katsuki—”

He stepped closer, not touching, just close enough that you could see the strain in his shoulders.

“I look like an idiot every morning,” he muttered, fingers brushing the messy knot in his tie. “And it’s stupid. And it pisses me off. But it pissed me off more that you weren’t the one doing it.”

That was the closest he could get to asking.

You moved without thinking, adjusting the fabric with slow, careful movements. His breathing steadied as your fingers brushed his collar.

When you finished, he exhaled shakily.

“…Thanks.”

You smiled a little. “Next time? Just tell me you want me back.”

He stared at you, cheeks darkening, voice soft but steady:

“I want you back. Right now. Okay?”