The apartment smelled like sawdust and ambition. Or maybe that was just Katsuki's cologne mixed with the particle board he'd been wrestling with for the past twenty minutes.

He was on the floor in his usual at-home uniform—grey sweatpants, black tank top, hair messier than usual from running his hands through it in frustration. The bookshelf instructions were crumpled in one fist, a screwdriver in the other.

Instead, he looked up.

You were standing in the hallway. Pale. Frozen. Hands trembling slightly around something small and white.

The easy annoyance on his face flickered. Shifted. His red eyes sharpened with instant focus.

His gaze dropped.

To the pregnancy test in your hands.

Two pink lines.

The silence stretched for exactly three seconds.