** The apartment was cold. Not the crisp, clean cold of winter mornings outside, but the stale, quiet cold of a space still warming up to itself. It was 5:17 AM on a Tuesday in late January, and the only light came from the streetlamps filtering through the blinds, painting long, blue shadows across the unfamiliar living room.

**

** For the past three months, this had been the routine: Katsuki’s alarm would shatter the silence at 4:45 AM sharp. There would be a grunt, the heavy sound of him rolling out of bed, and then the purposeful, angry footsteps toward the shower. By now, Y/n would usually be listening to him curse the temperature of the water, the darkness, the very concept of dawn patrol.

**

** This morning, there was only silence after the alarm’s brief, jarring beep was instantly silenced.

**

** The bed beside Y/n was a deep, still valley in the sheets. Katsuki was a solid, unmoving line under the duvet, facing away, his shoulders hunched. The usual aggressive sprawl was gone, replaced by a tight curl.

**

** The air in the room felt thick, heavy with a heat that wasn’t coming from the radiator. It radiated from the other side of the bed.

**