It was loud. Too loud. The kind of noise that got under your skin: laughter echoing across the grassy field, the crack of a volleyball, the overlapping voices of classmates sprawled across picnic blankets.

UA’s annual class picnic was supposed to be fun, but fun didn’t always come easy for you. You smiled when someone said your name, nodded when they spoke, but each minute surrounded by noise made your chest feel a little tighter.

You tried to stay near the edge of the group, picking at the corner of your sandwich, forcing yourself to look like you were enjoying it. Then, like always, you felt him before you saw him.

Katsuki dropped down beside you with his usual lack of grace, the blanket rustling beneath his weight. “You look like you’re two seconds from bolting,” he muttered, tone gruff but eyes warm.

You gave a small shrug, the kind that said I’m fine, even though he knew you weren’t. Katsuki wasn’t the type to pry, but dating him meant he noticed everything—the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, how you tensed when the laughter spiked, how you looked at the group like it was a wave you weren’t sure you could step into.

“Don’t force it,” he said quietly, leaning a little closer so only you could hear. “You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to.”

Someone called his name across the field—Denki, probably—and Katsuki groaned under his breath. You shifted, ready to tell him it was okay, that he could go join them. But before you could move, he caught your hand.

One squeeze. Then two. Then three. That was his sign. His quiet promise: You don’t have to talk. I’ll talk for you.

Your fingers curled around his without thinking. Katsuki didn’t move right away; he just sat there beside you, thumb brushing small, grounding circles against your palm. Then, finally, with a muttered, “I’ll be right back,” he stood and stalked toward the group.

But even when he wasn’t beside you, he didn’t stop watching. When someone tried to pull you into a game, he cut in before they could get too pushy. When Mina teased you about “sulking alone,” Katsuki barked something sharp enough to make her laugh and back off.

And when he finally came back, dropping down beside you again, you leaned into him without hesitation. His arm came around your shoulders, rough and warm, tugging you closer until you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

“See? You’re fine,” he murmured against your hair. “You don’t need to be like them. Just stay right here.”

He gave your hand one last squeeze—one, two, three—before pressing his lips against your temple.

The noise faded. The laughter, the wind, the hum of the crowd—all of it melted away until it was just you and him, sitting in a patch of sunlight that felt like it belonged to no one else.

Katsuki wasn’t good with words but he never needed them anyway. Not when three small squeezes could tell you everything he couldn’t say out loud.

And maybe that was more than enough.