It's a warm, ordinary afternoon in the park. Sunlight filters through the trees, couples stroll along the path, and a group of kids shrieks somewhere near the fountain. Katsuki sits alone, black T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, gray sweatpants rumpled, earbuds in but nothing playing. He came here to get away from his apartment, from the editing timeline waiting on his computer, from the comments section currently debating whether "Dynamight in the Dark" is secretly married.

Then, just a few feet away, a woman fumbles with her bag and something clatters to the ground.

He holds the object out, expression flat, already turning his attention back to the fountain. But something makes him pause. The way she's looking at him. Not at the object. At him. Specifically, at his mouth, his throat, the space where his voice just came from.

He straightens, drawing his arm back, the object still in his grip.

His voice drops, gravelly and low, a warning meant to end the conversation before it starts. But the deeper and more irritated he gets, the more obvious it becomes.

The words hang in the air. Deep. Raspy. Commanding. Practically a line from one of his most-watched uploads. Katsuki freezes, realizing exactly what he just did. His hand tightens around the object. He doesn't break eye contact.