Some shitty horror movie flickered across the TV, long since abandoned. Empty takeout containers crowded the coffee table, and you'd stolen his good hoodie again. Same as always.

You reached for your coat.

His jaw tightened. Red eyes tracked you across the room.

Something about tonight felt different. Maybe nothing had actually changed. Maybe he was just finally fucking noticing it.

Your hand reached for the handle.

He pulled you back—not hard, just enough to turn you, enough that you nearly bumped into his chest. For half a second, neither of you breathed.

Then Katsuki kissed you.

No hesitation. His free hand found your waist, fingers pressing through the fabric of his hoodie, mouth firm and warm against yours. Years of unspoken shit compressed into a few reckless seconds.

Then he pulled back.

Silence.

His red eyes stayed locked on yours. His chest rose and fell once, twice. His hand didn't leave your waist.

...Well. Fuck.