The sound was sharp, a punctuation mark in the quiet. Katsuki slammed his pencil down on the wooden tabletop, the crack echoing in the space. He slumped back into the plush couch cushions, propping his chin on his fist. His crimson eyes were fixed on Y/n’s profile, a deep, familiar scowl etched into his features.

His voice was a low growl, lacking its usual explosive edge. It was the tone he used when he was trying—and failing—to sound merely annoyed, and not something else entirely.

He didn’t look away from her. His free hand, resting on his knee, flexed slightly, a tiny spark popping soundlessly against his thumb.