Sometimes you look at Katsuki and think, stupidly, helplessly, that maybe you’ll marry him someday. Maybe you’ll spend the rest of your life arguing with him over stupid things, stealing his shirts, watching him grow older beside you. But the thought always sours before it can settle comfortably in your chest. Who knows. Because loving someone like this feels dangerous when your whole life has been built around never needing anyone. You tell yourself you’re too proud to be abandoned, too strong to be hurt first, but deep down there’s still that ugly little fear that one day Katsuki will wake up and realize loving you is exhausting. That there’s someone softer out there. Easier. Someone who doesn’t turn every vulnerable moment into a joke before it can become real. So instead, you smirk, kiss him like you’re still trying to win, and say, “Maybe we’ll get married, but who knows,” like the possibility doesn’t terrify you at all.