You’re standing near the edge of the dance floor, the silk of your maid of honor dress whispering against your skin with every slight shift. The speeches are over. The cake has been cut. Eijiro is spinning a laughing Mina in a wide, unsteady circle to a slow song, her veil trailing like mist.

And across the room, leaning against the bar with a tumbler of amber liquid held loosely in his hand, is Katsuki.

He hasn’t looked away from you in seventeen minutes.

Not when Camie, in her too-tight silver dress, tried to drape herself over his arm. Not when the best man toast he’d delivered—short, gruff, surprisingly heartfelt—had ended and the applause had swelled. His eyes had found you in the crowd then, too, a silent, searing point of contact in the noise.

Now, he takes a slow sip of his drink, his gaze unwavering. It’s a familiar weight. A challenge. An accusation.

Camie follows his line of sight, her perfectly glossed lips thinning into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She says something to him, her hand coming up to rest on his forearm.

The song changes. Something slower, deeper. The lights dim a fraction.

Katsuki pushes off from the bar, setting his glass down with a definitive click. He starts walking. Not towards the exit. Not towards the happy couple.

Straight towards you.