Melody

Jason liked taking care of people. It was buried somewhere deep beneath the violence, the sarcasm, the helmet, the terrifying reputation, and the lifetime’s worth of anger issues, but it was there. Raw and instinctive. He liked memorizing what people needed before they asked for it. He liked patching wounds, carrying heavy things, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, checking locks twice before bed. Maybe it came from a childhood where nobody took care of him properly. Maybe it came from being Robin once upon a time, before the world had split him open and rebuilt him meaner. Whatever the reason, taking care of someone he loved felt as natural to him as breathing.

Unfortunately for him, y/n would rather throw herself into oncoming traffic than accept assistance gracefully.

Which was deeply inconvenient considering Jason Todd had money now. Not respectable money, obviously. Not “stocks and mutual funds” money like Bruce. Jason’s finances existed in a morally gray area populated by terrified drug lords, black-market deals, confiscated cash, and the occasional envelope Bruce shoved into his hands disguised as “mission funding” when they both knew it was guilt money.

Jason accepted all of it without shame.

And when he got a girlfriend? Jesus Christ.

He immediately developed the overwhelming urge to spend every cent on her.

Not in an obnoxious way. Not because he thought she couldn’t survive on her own. If anything, y/n surviving independently despite Gotham actively trying to eat people alive was one of the things he admired most about her. She worked herself ragged, paid her own bills, handled her own problems, and carried herself with this stubborn, infuriating pride that made Jason want to simultaneously shake her and marry her.

But he loved her. Of course he wanted to make her life easier.

Apparently that made him public enemy number one.

Every single attempt at paying for something turned into a war of attrition.

Coffee dates were the worst. Jason would buy their drinks with the smug satisfaction of a man fulfilling his divine purpose as a boyfriend, only for his phone to buzz ten minutes later.

Y/N SENT YOU $10.00

Jason would stare at the notification with pure resentment.

Once, after their fourth argument about it that month, he’d deliberately paid for dinner while she was in the bathroom, thinking he’d finally outsmarted her.

The next morning she’d transferred him exact reimbursement down to the tax.

Psychotic behavior.

Another time, he’d tried being direct about it.

“You know normal girlfriends let their boyfriends spoil them,” he muttered while leaning against her kitchen counter.

Y/n, sitting cross-legged on the counter eating a banana with the confidence of a woman impossible to embarrass, looked unimpressed. “Normal boyfriends don’t source their income like Batman’s most wanted.”

“That’s hurtful.”

“That’s accurate.”

Jason narrowed his eyes before pulling a thick stack of cash from his jacket pocket and tossing it onto the counter beside her. “Take it.”

She glanced at the money, then at him, then back at the money. “I don’t want your guilt money from your daddy.”

“It’s not guilt money,” Jason corrected immediately. “It’s drug money.”

Y/n stared at him slowly, banana halfway to her mouth, looking genuinely uncertain whether she should kiss him or book him a therapist.

Jason had shrugged like that clarified everything.

Because to him, honestly, it did.

Then there were the bills.

God, the bills argument nearly killed him.

It had been late evening, rain tapping softly against the apartment windows while Gotham drowned itself in neon and smog outside. Y/n’s apartment wasn’t terrible, but it was small in that distinctly Gotham way—thin walls, unreliable heating, pipes that screamed like dying animals whenever someone showered. Jason practically lived there anyway despite technically owning a much nicer place. Mostly because he preferred her cluttered little apartment over any penthouse money could buy.

She was sprawled on top of him on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies and soft sleep shorts, her cheek pressed into his neck while he worked on his laptop balanced precariously against her lower back. One of his arms rested around her waist automatically, hand underneath the hoodie, fingertips tracing absent patterns against her skin while he typed with the other hand.

“Ugh,” she groaned suddenly into his throat. “My landlord is up my ass about rent.”

Jason’s fingers paused over the keyboard instantly.

“How much?”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“You were gonna offer money.”

“I was gonna offer money.”

She made a triumphant sound against his skin. “Exactly. Denied.”

Jason clicked his tongue in annoyance, shifting slightly beneath her. “Baby, I basically live here anyway. Let me help with bills.”

“No.”

“You’re working doubles.”

“I’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t have to survive,” he muttered.

That made her lift her head slightly. Her expression softened around the edges when she looked at him, because no matter how much they argued about this, she knew where it came from. Jason wasn’t controlling. Wasn’t condescending. He wasn’t trying to own her.

He just loved hard. Recklessly. Like a man who never learned moderation.

“I wanna do things myself,” she said quietly. “I need to prove I can.”

Jason looked at her for a long moment.

Most people saw anger first when they looked at him. Violence. Volatility. But underneath all of that, Jason understood pride better than almost anyone. Understood what it meant to claw your own survival out of the dirt with bloody hands. Understood how humiliating dependence could feel.

So instead of arguing, he just sighed softly through his nose and kissed the top of her head.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Okay.”

Which should’ve worried her.

Because when Jason Todd stopped arguing, it usually meant he’d already decided to do something significantly worse.

The next afternoon, while Jason was in the middle of interrogating a weapons trafficker, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He glanced at the caller ID and immediately smiled beneath the Red Hood helmet.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“You paid my fucking rent?”

Jason leaned casually against the damp brick wall beside him while the criminal tied to the chair whimpered quietly in the background.

“For the next six months, yeah.” He checked his gun lazily. “Oh, and your car’s in the shop. Your brakes sounded like a dying walrus. Figured I’d get them replaced.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then came one long inhale that positively radiated fury.

Jason grinned harder.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Yeah?”

“You are insane.”

“You still love me though.”

“I’m considering arson.”

“That’s my girl.”

The line went dead with an aggressive beep.

Jason stood there for another second staring at the phone in his hand, helpless affection spreading warm through his chest before he could stop it. The kind that made him feel seventeen again. Human again. Soft in places he usually kept armored shut.

If anyone ever saw the look on his face right now, Jason would actually have to kill them.

With a sigh, he slid the phone back into his jacket and finally turned toward the terrified criminal still zip-tied to the chair in the abandoned warehouse.

“You know,” he muttered while pulling another zip tie tighter around the guy’s wrists, “I buy one woman six months’ rent and suddenly I’m the bad guy.”

The guy had apparently developed a death wish.

“F-females,” he laughed nervously, sweat dripping down his temple. “Am I right?”

Jason’s smile vanished instantly.

Gone was the lovesick idiot paying for brake repairs. This was the man criminals whispered about in panic.

Jason grabbed the chair sharply, yanking it forward until the man nearly choked on his own breath.

“That,” Jason said quietly, “is my girl you’re talking about.”

The criminal went pale.

“And trust me,” Jason continued, voice calm in the way that scared people most, “you do not wanna disrespect the woman willing to date me voluntarily.”

“R-right. I’m sorry. Sorry.”

Jason stared at him another second before sighing heavily and releasing the chair.

©𝓐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒂. do not copy, translate, or repost my work on any other sites without my permission. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

It started as a stupid impulse. You were bored in History of Magic — and Merlin, no one should be blamed for what they do while Binns drones on about goblin uprisings. So you did what any mildly lovesick teenage girl with a quill and a wrist would do.

You wrote his initials.

Small. Delicate. Right over the soft thrum of your pulse point.

H.J.P.

And then promptly forgot about it. Sort of.

Well, not really.

You tried to forget about it, but it was hard when every glance at your wrist made your heart do a stupid little jump, and when every accidental brush of Harry’s hand made the ink feel like it was burning.

And of course, life wasn’t satisfied with letting you pine in peace.

No, because Hermione noticed first.

“Did you write something on your wrist?” she asked, peering across the breakfast table.

You yanked your sleeve down so fast it was like you’d been caught with contraband. “Nope.”

“Definitely saw a letter,” Ron muttered, biting into his toast. “A J or a P or something. Is it... a crush?”

“I—no!” you choked, already planning your dramatic escape. “It’s just notes. For class. Revision strategy.”

“Right,” Hermione said, too knowingly. “Because when I revise, I always write my O.W.L. material directly over my arteries.”

Before you could swat her with a spoon, a voice drawled behind you—

“Oh? What’s this about arteries?”

Your soul briefly left your body.

Harry Potter—your Harry Potter, the one with the mess of dark hair and eyes that always softened when he looked at you like you were made of something more than bone and breath—plopped himself down next to you with a crooked grin.

“Apparently,” Hermione said sweetly, “someone’s been doodling on her pulse point.”

“Oh?” he asked again, this time turning directly to you. “What were you doodling?”

You swore his voice dropped an octave.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly.

“Mm.” His eyes drifted to your wrist, half-covered by your sleeve. “So if I just... had a peek—”

You slammed your hand under the table.

“Harry James Potter, I swear on Merlin’s left sock—”

“Is it... my name?” he asked, and smirked.

That was it. That was the moment you realized you were doomed.

Hermione audibly gasped. Ron dropped his toast. Hedwig, wherever she was in the castle, probably looked up with a sense of psychic foreboding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered. “Shut up.”

“Oh, this is brilliant,” Harry laughed, practically bouncing in his seat. “You like me. You wrote my name on your skin.”

“Initials!” you hissed. “And I was bored!”

“You wrote my initials on your pulse point, sweetheart,” he said, absolutely reveling in your horror. “That’s, like, sixteen levels of emotionally unhinged. Are you planning our wedding, too?”

“I was bored!”

“I think I feel faint,” he said, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. “This is the best day of my life.”

You groaned and faceplanted into your arms, wishing for a time-turner so you could slap yourself three hours earlier.

And that should’ve been the end of it.

But no.

Because Harry Potter decided to become a menace.

“Hey,” he whispered in Charms, pulling your sleeve up. “Just checking if my name’s still there. Would be tragic if you moved on.”

“Hey,” he said again at dinner, resting his chin on your shoulder, “thinking about getting ‘(Y/N)’ tattooed. Right over the vein. Want to match?”

And the worst part?

He actually did it.

One evening in the common room, when everyone else had filtered out and the fire was flickering low, he sat beside you with a quiet smile, reached for your hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to your wrist. Right where the ink had faded.

Then, slowly, he unbuttoned his sleeve, turned his arm over, and showed you.

Your name. Right over his pulse point. Written in messy, inky letters.

“I figured,” he murmured, eyes on you instead of the ink, “if you’re going to walk around with my initials like that... I ought to return the favor.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re horrible,” you whispered, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

Harry looked utterly pleased with himself.

“I know,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “But I’m your horrible, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, cupped his cheek, and kissed him.

Somewhere in the corner, Hermione muttered to Ron, “Finally.”

Ron just said, “Took him writing on his own arm, huh?”

As a child, Harry had once stumbled across a series of books Dudley had received for his birthday—a gift he’d promptly discarded in a tantrum after declaring he’d wanted a new gaming system instead.

Harry hadn’t exactly known how to read at the time. He’d pieced words together slowly, sounding them out in whispers late at night beneath his cupboard blanket. But somehow, he’d managed to salvage one of the books from the rubbish bin, thankfully not too stained or torn.

That rescued copy had become one of his most prized possessions.

Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief.

He’d read it over and over again until the spine cracked and the pages softened at the edges. He remembered thinking, even at ten years old, how impossibly oblivious Percy was. How could someone be so blind? Annabeth’s feelings were practically written in flashing neon letters. Surely anyone with half a brain—or at the very least, a pulse—could sense what was happening around them.

Harry had thought it ridiculous.

Fate, apparently, had thought it hilarious.

By the time he reached his sixth year at Hogwarts, it seemed the universe had turned around, smacked him square in the face with that old paperback, and laughed.

Because he had somehow managed to fall hopelessly, painfully, irrevocably in love with one of the most emotionally intelligent people he knew—

And you were completely, utterly oblivious.

The irony was cruel.

You, who had noticed Ron’s ears turning red every time Hermione spoke too passionately about something. You, who had quietly pulled Harry aside months before anyone else caught on and said, “Ron’s falling for her, isn’t he?”

You, who had called Seamus out for his embarrassingly obvious crush on Lavender Brown, comparing him to a child tugging at pigtails during playtime just to get a reaction.

You, who could tell Hermione was in a foul mood simply based on the way she tied her hair that morning.

You—who read people like open books.

Couldn’t tell that your best friend was madly in love with you.

And had been for two years.

At first, Harry had thought he was doing a decent job hiding it. He wasn’t exactly known for emotional finesse—Hermione had smacked him upside the head more than once for being clueless—but he figured he could at least manage subtlety.

Apparently not.

Hermione had fixed him with a long, unimpressed stare one afternoon in the common room and said, very slowly, “Harry. You follow every word she says like a lap dog. You are not fooling anyone.”

He’d nearly choked on his tea.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ron had snorted. Hermione had rolled her eyes.

The worst part?

They were right.

Everyone had noticed.

Everyone—except you.

So Harry tried something different.

He stopped hiding.

He started calling group outings with Ron and Hermione “double dates,” saying it lightly, casually, as if it were a joke—but watching you carefully for any sign of understanding.

There was none.

He’d draped his arm around your shoulders whenever you sat beside him, heart hammering as you leaned into him without hesitation.

You’d only smiled and continued talking, completely unfazed.

Last Valentine’s Day, he’d even gathered the courage to give you a card.

Not anonymous. Not vague.

A proper Valentine.

You’d stared at it for a moment, eyes wide and soft, and then you’d hugged him tightly.

“That’s so sweet of you, Harry,” you’d said. “You didn’t want me to feel left out.”

He’d felt something in his chest cave in so suddenly he’d almost wondered if it would show on his face.

That was the day he’d given up.

You clearly weren’t interested. You clearly didn’t see him that way. Because surely—surely—no one could be that blind. Not you. Not the person who noticed everything.

And yet.

He still didn’t tell you.

He couldn’t.

Because losing you altogether was not an option.

He could survive loving you quietly. He could survive pretending. He could survive swallowing it down every time you curled into his side or stole his jumpers or whispered that he was your safe place.

But he could not survive you walking away.

That would undo him in ways even Voldemort never had.

So he chose silence.

He chose the quiet torture of it.

And he told himself that it was enough.

It had to be.

But Merlin—

You made it painfully, excruciatingly difficult.

It was one of those mornings where his uniform just didn’t want to listen. Harry had barely managed to get dressed. His shirt was wrinkled and stubbornly refusing to stay tucked into his pants, and his tie… well, his tie was acting like it had a mind of its own. No matter how many times he twisted and adjusted it, it refused to sit flat.

Part of him wanted to leave it in his dorm and run late, but he’d already lost two points for Gryffindor yesterday—leaving his robes behind because he was far too warm—and he’d be damned if he lost more, not when Slytherin was creeping up.

So instead, he kept undoing and redoing the insipid tie, the knot now looking like a wriggling little snake.

“Oh, this is driving me crazy.” You said, stepping up to him like you did any other day, batting his hands away from the tie.

Before he could respond, you were behind him, hands on his shoulders, fingers brushing the collar of his shirt. He froze.

“Stay still, Haz.” You reached around him, adjusting the knot with the precision of someone who had done it a hundred times before. Your fingers lingered at his throat, and Harry’s stomach decided to stop functioning altogether.

He watched your soft hands, then flicked his gaze to your face, keeping his breath shallow. He dared not move too much; one accidental graze of your hand on his chest and he was certain he would faint.

“There we go,” You said happily, smoothing down his shirt, “Now you won’t lose us points for being a slob.”

There was a moment of quiet after you stepped back. Harry adjusted his glasses nervously, feeling the faint ghost of where your fingers had been. He tried to focus on the tie, but all he could think about was how effortlessly close you’d been, how natural it had felt for you to reach around him, and how his heart was hammering in his chest for no reason he could explain.

Harry wanted to argue that he was not a slob—he was a fool. A fool for you. But all that came out was a breathless, “Thanks.”

You shrugged, smiling faintly. “Anytime.” And with that, you were gone, leaving Harry standing in the common room, sparks crawling down his body from where your hands had pressed against his shoulders.

It started with a bang.

Not a catastrophic one—not the sort that sent stone crumbling or Death Eaters Apparating—but the unmistakable crack of a spell gone wrong, followed by the shrill screech of something that definitely should not have been screeching at two in the morning.

Harry was upright in bed before he was fully conscious.

“What—?” Ron mumbled from across the dormitory, hair sticking up even worse than usual.

The corridor outside erupted into noise. Doors opening. Voices overlapping. Someone shouting, “Seamus, I swear—”

Harry shoved on a pair of joggers and grabbed his glasses just as the portrait hole burst open downstairs and Professor McGonagall’s voice rang up the staircase.

“All students are to gather in the common room immediately!”

Brilliant.

Within minutes, the tower was chaos—students stumbling down in mismatched pajamas, half-awake and grumbling. Ron looked like he might fall asleep standing up. Dean was laughing. Seamus looked guilty.

Harry was scanning the staircase.

Hermione clambered down, hair in messy braids, Crookshanks tucked into her arms.

And then you appeared.

Sleepy. Disoriented. Rubbing at your eyes.

And—

Wearing his Quidditch jersey.

It swallowed you whole.

The hem brushed dangerously high against your thighs, revealing a pair of barely-there shorts beneath. One shoulder of the jersey slipped lower than the other, the collar stretched from wear. Your hair was a mess, curling around your face, and you looked so soft and warm and real that for a second Harry forgot how to breathe.

You padded over to him barefoot, squinting blearily as you offered him a sleepy smile, and he felt butterflies slam their insistent wings against his diaphragm. No one should look this beautiful straight after waking up.

Heat crawled up his neck.

“I—” He cleared his throat, trying very hard not to look at your legs. Or the way the fabric clung to you, “I don’t remember giving you that.”

You blinked at him, still half-asleep.

“Oh. Yeah,” You said casually, glancing down at yourself as though you’d forgotten what you were wearing, “I think I stole it, like… a year ago or something. It’s my favourite sleep shirt.”

You yawned.

Actually yawned.

As if you hadn’t just detonated something inside his ribcage.

Harry wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

But you didn’t notice.

You shuffled closer without thinking—because you always did—and leaned lightly into his side, your head brushing his shoulder as you crossed your arms against the chill of the stone floor.

It was instinctive.

Unthinking.

Comfort.

His entire body went rigid for half a second before he forced himself to relax.

For one reckless, dangerous second, something warm and foolish bloomed in his chest.

You fit far too perfectly there.

It was hard to believe you weren’t meant to be.

His arm twitched at his side, resisting the urge to wrap around you. To make the picture complete.

Instead, he swallowed.

“You could’ve asked.” He muttered.

You smiled without opening your eyes.

“Like you would’ve said no.”

His gaze drifted down before he could stop himself—the oversized jersey, the way it brushed your thighs, the faint outline of his old Quidditch number pressed against your chest.

His.

And yet not.

You tugged absently at the hem, “Don’t worry. I’ll give it back one day.”

He forced a shrug, “Keep it.”

You hummed contentedly and leaned into him more fully, completely unaware of the war waging inside his skull.

McGonagall was still lecturing Seamus about reckless spellwork. Students whispered. The common room buzzed with irritation and half-suppressed laughter.

Eventually, detentions were handed out and it was declared safe to return to bed. One by one, people began climbing the stairs again.

You murmured a sleepy goodnight and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek before heading up.

Harry watched your retreating figure.

And the name stretched across your back.

Potter.

Something in his chest clenched painfully.

This—this was it.

As close as he would ever get.

The only way he would ever see you with his last name.

On the back of an old, worn jersey.

Harry had been wandering the castle corridors with a tray in his hands—two steaming mugs of tea and a small plate of treacle tart he’d grabbed from the kitchens—because honestly, you looked completely drained, buried under a mountain of books in the library, and he couldn’t just leave you like that.

“Here,” He said softly, setting the tray beside you, “Thought you might need… something.”

You looked up from your notes, hair tumbling across your face, eyes half-lidded with focus. “Haz,” You murmured, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips, “You’re a lifesaver.”

Harry felt his chest warm at the soft praise, giving a small, almost embarrassed shrug, “Well… someone had to. You’ve been at this for hours.”

You took a careful sip from your tea, and your eyes flickered up at him, almost surprised. “Exactly how I like it,” You murmured, setting the mug down with a satisfied hum. You leaned back, stretching languidly, hair falling messily over your shoulders, and reached for a tart, “Honestly, you’re amazing, you know that?”

Harry blinked, trying to keep his composure. “The flies are starting to gather here because they think you’re a corpse, you know.” He teased lightly, but the truth was harder to hide. Even like this—bare-faced, hair tousled from running your hands through it constantly, lips soft and slightly bitten—you looked gorgeous. Effortless. Bright. Dangerous in a way that made his chest tighten.

He tried to act casual, sitting on the edge of the table, but his mind refused to cooperate. Every movement you made, every tilt of your head, every lazy stretch—it all pulled his attention like gravity.

Then, as if the universe were deliberately cruel, you looked straight at him. Your eyes softened, warm and unguarded, and you spoke like you weren’t even thinking about the weight of your words.

“You know,” You said casually, almost absentmindedly, “anyone who ends up with you is going to be really lucky.”

Harry froze. His stomach dropped.

“Haz?” You blinked, tilting your head slightly, noticing his silence, “Are you even listening?”

“I… yeah.” He croaked. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to throw the treacle tart at the wall. He wanted—he wanted everything that was impossible.

You smiled softly, leaning back against the table, entirely casual, completely unaware of the storm you’d just unleashed. “You’re such a great friend, you know. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

Friend.

Harry’s chest tightened painfully, his throat constricting, a lump rising that refused to go down. Of course. Of course that’s how you saw him. All this praise, all this warmth… and none of it was for him in the way he longed for.

You can’t possibly say all this if you don’t have an idea, he thought bitterly. You must know… and you’re saying it anyway.

He remembered all the little ways he had shown he cared—ways no one else would notice. When Hermione had nearly ended up in the hospital wing while cramming for her OWLs, he had stayed behind in the dorm with you, drilling you with flashcards, quizzing you until your eyes drooped. You should have known that this wasn’t ordinary. That this was special treatment.

He swallowed hard, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Right. Yeah. Of course. You’re… right.”

You hummed, picking up your tea again, completely oblivious, eyes returning to your notes, leaving Harry sitting there, trembling slightly, heart racing and shattering all at once.

As soon as February first hit, Valentine’s Day decorations began infecting the castle like a rash—pink banners strung across archways, enchanted cherubs flitting through corridors with tiny golden bows, heart-shaped confetti drifting lazily from the ceiling.

Harry had never thought he’d hate the color red.

But here he was, absolutely detesting the sight of the red paper hearts hanging from every doorframe in Gryffindor Tower.

He should’ve told that blasted Hat to sort him into Slytherin.

At least then the common room wouldn’t look like it had been violently attacked by romance.

He was sitting in an armchair, pretending to read, when Ron dropped heavily into the seat across from him. Seamus sprawled on the sofa, hands tucked behind his head.

“So,” Seamus began casually, like he was commenting on the weather, “Valentine’s Day coming up.”

Harry didn’t look up from his book, “Fascinating.”

Dean snorted, “You finally going to confess your undying love this year, or are we continuing the proud annual tradition of pining in silence?”

Harry’s head snapped up, “Sod off.”

Ron grinned wickedly, “Oh, come on, mate. We’ve got bets going.”

“You have bets?” Harry demanded.

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding seriously, “Whether you’ll confess, or just stare at her like she’s the last slice of treacle tart on earth.”

Ron shrugged, “My money’s on the staring.”

Harry threw his book down, “I do not—”

“You absolutely do,” Seamus cut in, “Every time she laughs, you look like someone’s cast a Patronus straight into your ribcage.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue.

And then closed it again.

Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “So? You gonna tell her?”

Harry hesitated.

Just for a second.

Because part of him wanted to.

Merlin, he wanted to.

The thought had been clawing at him ever since that afternoon in the library.

He wanted to drop to his knees. To tell you he loved you and always would. That he would do whatever it took to make you feel like the most special girl in the entire world. That he would adore you until the end of time if you let him.

No one else would ever love you the way he was willing to.

With every single fiber of his being.

With a kind of devotion so limitless, so boundless, so unconditional that it scared even him to recognize it. The kind that made him feel like every cell in his body would willingly come apart if you asked him to.

And then—

Dean laughed lightly, “She probably wouldn’t even realize, to be honest.”

That one landed wrong.

A sharp, painful twinge in his chest that seemed to connect to his stomach, to the tips of his fingers, to his jaw.

Ron nodded, “Yeah. You could get down on one knee and she’d just go, ‘Haz, are you feeling alright?’”

The boys burst out laughing.

Harry didn’t.

Because that was the worst part.

They weren’t wrong.

His jaw tightened.

Ron tilted his head, studying him now instead of teasing, “You ever think maybe she doesn’t know because you let her not know?”

Harry’s stomach twisted.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” He muttered.

“It does,” Ron said, quieter now, “You do everything for her. You look at her like she hung the moon. But you never say it. So she doesn’t have to face it.”

Dean leaned back, voice softer than before, “Or maybe she does know. And she’s pretending.”

That one felt like a punch to the ribs.

So hard he felt his breakfast crawl up his throat.

Harry stood abruptly, “You’re all mental.”

“Just saying!” Seamus called as Harry headed toward the stairs, “Valentine’s Day’s a good excuse!”

“Yeah,” Ron added, “Worst she can say is no.”

Harry paused at the bottom step.

He didn’t turn around.

Worst she can say is no.

But that wasn’t what terrified him.

What terrified him was the moment you’d realize how deep his feelings actually ran.

Because you—kindhearted, careful, endlessly thoughtful you—would pull back.

You’d grow cautious.

You’d stop sitting so close. Stop stealing his scarves. Stop crawling into his bed when you couldn’t sleep.

You’d feel guilty for ever letting it look like he had a chance.

And he would lose you.

Not just the possibility of you.

You.

His best friend.

The girl he had loved quietly for longer than he dared admit.

And that—

That was a risk he wasn’t sure he could survive.

The knock on Harry’s dormitory door was soft.

Too soft for this hour.

He looked up from where he was sitting on his bed, glasses slipping halfway down his nose, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open, and you slipped inside, already in your sleep clothes, glancing at him to make sure he was awake. When your eyes met his, your shoulders relaxed, and you stepped fully into the room.

“Hi.” You said quietly.

Harry’s stomach dropped at once, “What happened?”

You sighed, shutting the door behind you. “Ron and Hermione had a row. It started over something stupid and turned into something not stupid. They’re both pacing like caged animals, and I figured…” You shrugged, “They might need space.”

Harry nodded slowly. That made sense.

“And?” He asked gently.

“So I was wondering if… if it’s okay if I sleep here tonight.” It sounded like courtesy more than a real question—you were already walking toward the bed, looking tired and small in a way that made it impossible to say no.

His heart skipped.

“Course,” He said instead, softer now, “You know you don’t have to ask.”

Your shoulders relaxed immediately. “Thanks, Haz.”

You climbed into his bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world, lifting the blankets and sliding beneath them.

The air shifted.

This wasn’t new. You’d done it before—after nightmares, after late-night talks that blurred into sleep, after studying until your eyes burned.

It wasn’t new.

But something about tonight felt different.

Harry swallowed.

For the first time, the thought flickered through his mind before he could stop it—

Why not Ron’s bed?

Why here? Why were you so comfortable beside him that you didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even consider the empty bed across the room that would stay empty all night if history had anything to say about it?

The question burned at the back of his tongue.

But he bit it down, watching as you settled into his pillow, getting comfortable. He lay down more slowly, painfully aware of every inch of space between you, of the warmth your body gave off in the cool room.

The dormitory was quiet except for the distant whisper of wind against the windows.

You turned onto your side, facing him, “Night, Haz.”

“Good night.” He said quickly.

You hummed softly in response, already drifting off.

It took less than five minutes.

Your breathing evened out. Your body went slack with sleep. One of your hands shifted unconsciously, brushing his shirt before coming to rest there.

Like it belonged.

Harry stared up at the ceiling.

Wide awake.

Every nerve in his body felt lit. He could feel the warmth of you beside him, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the faint scent of your shampoo clinging to his pillow.

You were so close.

So close he could have counted your eyelashes if he’d turned his head.

And you slept.

Just like that.

No tension. No hesitation. No awareness of what this might mean.

Because to you, it didn’t mean anything.

That was what hurt.

You could fall asleep beside him without a second thought, while he lay rigid, afraid to breathe too deeply in case he woke you, afraid that if he didn’t move at all he’d never make it through the night.

He wanted to wrap an arm around you.

He wanted to pull you closer.

He wanted to know what it would feel like to hold you properly, to fit against you the way his body seemed to insist it was meant to. To bury his face in your hair. To memorize the shape of you by heart.

He wanted to ask why him.

Why always him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed perfectly still, staring into the dark, listening to the soft sound of your breathing.

That should have been enough.

But as the minutes dragged on and sleep refused to come, a cruel thought crept in—

If you knew.

If you knew how badly he wanted you…

Would you still sleep this easily?

Would you still crawl into his bed without thinking twice?

His throat tightened.

Beside him, you shifted closer in your sleep, your forehead brushing faintly against his shoulder.

And Harry finally closed his eyes.

Not because he was calm.

But because it was easier than letting himself cry.

Harry didn’t remember falling asleep.

If he had at all.

Grey morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and cold, painting soft lines across the dormitory ceiling. For a few seconds, he didn’t move.

Then he became aware of the weight against his chest.

You.

Your back was pressed to his front, your body curled slightly toward him as if you’d shifted in your sleep without thinking. Your hair brushed his chin with every breath. One of his arms was trapped beneath the pillow; the other had somehow slipped around the dip of your waist, pinning you to him.

He released you at once.

And your hips—Merlin help him—were pressed far too close.

He froze, blood rushing from his face and so far south he felt dizzy as his heart began to pound like he’d just finished a Quidditch match. He stared at the wall, terrified that if he moved even an inch, you’d wake up and realise how close you were.

But you didn’t.

You only shifted, nestling back into him, completely unconcerned.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

Of course you don’t notice, he thought bitterly. Why would you?

A moment later, you stirred properly. You stretched, arms reaching forward, back arching slightly—still pressed against him.

“Mmm… morning.” You murmured.

Harry swallowed, “Morning.”

You didn’t jump away. You didn’t gasp. You didn’t even hesitate.

You just rolled onto your back and rubbed your eyes.

“Thanks for letting me sleep here.” You said easily.

He forced a laugh that didn’t sound right even to himself, “Yeah. No problem.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, perfectly at ease, as though you hadn’t been curled into him moments ago.

It hit him then, sharp and humiliating.

You weren’t embarrassed because, to you, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

You saw him as safe. Familiar. Harmless.

Not someone whose chest was still tight from the way you’d fit against him. Not someone who’d lain awake for hours listening to you breathe. Not someone who had imagined—stupidly, foolishly—that maybe this meant something more.

You slid out of bed and tugged on his jumper from where it lay across his trunk, “I’m starving. Want to go down to breakfast?”

“Yeah.” He said automatically.

There it was again.

That warm, affectionate smile.

And then you were gone.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Harry stayed where he was, staring at the empty space you’d left behind. The bed was still warm. Your pillow still indented.

He pressed his palm into the sheets where you’d been.

You could curl into him in the middle of the night and wake up tangled in his arms.

And it still didn’t mean what he wanted it to mean.

He fell back against the mattress and covered his eyes with his arm.

Valentine’s Day was a week away.

And he was running out of ways to survive this.

It started with the heat.

Not the warm kind he’d grown used to. Not the soft, almost pleasant flutter that came when you laughed too hard at something stupid he’d said. Not the quiet nerves that lit up under his skin when you linked your arm through his.

This was different.

This felt like something crawling up his spine and settling at the base of his skull.

You were walking beside him after Charms, talking animatedly about something Flitwick had said. Your hands moved when you spoke, brushing his sleeve, tapping lightly against his arm.

Usually he loved that. Usually he leaned into it.

Today, every touch felt like friction.

He nodded along, not really hearing you. The corridor felt too narrow. Too loud. Too bright.

You bumped his shoulder playfully, “Are you even listening?”

“Yeah.” He muttered.

He wasn’t.

He was watching the way your fingers lingered on his sleeve a second too long before dropping away. Watching the way you smiled up at him without hesitation, without thought.

You didn’t think about it.

You never thought about it.

By lunch, it had gotten worse.

The heat had spread — up his neck, across his cheeks. He could feel it burning there. He kept tugging at the collar of his shirt like he could air himself out.

Across the Great Hall, you were laughing with some boy from Hufflepuff. Leaning toward him. Head tilted.

Harry told himself it didn’t matter.

You laughed like that with everyone.

But something about today — something about the way the morning had felt, about the way you’d curled into him two nights ago and slept like you belonged there — made it twist wrong.

You sat across from him, smiling over your pumpkin juice, “You okay, Haz? You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine.” He said too quickly.

You tilted your head, “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t push. You never did.

And that made it worse.

Because you trusted him to be honest. You trusted him to be steady. You trusted him to always be there without ever asking why he was there.

The frog in the pot, he thought bitterly. The water heating so slowly he hadn’t realized he was being boiled alive.

By the time you reached the staircase after classes, his nerves were shot raw.

You bumped his arm playfully, “You’re walking like you’re being marched to your execution.”

“Can you—” He started, then stopped himself, “Never mind.”

You blinked, “What?”

“Nothing.”

He took the stairs two at a time.

You followed.

“Harry.”

He didn’t answer.

“Harry, wait.”

He turned at the landing, irritation flashing in his eyes. “What?”

You stopped short. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’ve barely looked at me all day.”

“Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

Your face fell slightly. “Did I do something?”

That question hit him like a jab to the ribs.

“No,” he said, harsher than he meant. “It’s not about you.”

“Then what is it about?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

He walked away.

But you didn’t let him.

You followed him up the staircase, your steps quickening to match his longer strides. He was climbing like something was chasing him — like if he didn’t put enough distance between the two of you, he might actually combust.

By the time he reached his dormitory, his chest was heaving — not from exertion, but from the pressure building behind his ribs. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

You followed.

Now it was just the two of you.

The room felt smaller than usual. The late afternoon light slanted through the windows, dust drifting lazily in the air, completely unaware that something catastrophic was about to happen.

You shut the door gently behind you.

“If there’s something you want to tell me,” You said, trying to steady your voice, “just go ahead and say it, Harry.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

He stared at everything else in the room but you.

At his trunk. At Ron’s unmade bed. At the crack in the stone wall. Anywhere but your face.

He wasn’t sure if he was avoiding your gaze because he couldn’t bear to see the hurt there — the kind that would extinguish the flames raging in his chest.

Or because looking at you would only pour oil over them.

You hesitated.

Then you reached for his hand.

The contact was gentle. Familiar.

It felt like static shock.

Like a spark struck from flint. Like something small and bright landing in a room full of gasoline fumes.

His entire body reacted before his mind did.

He jerked away.

“Just—stop it.”

Your hand froze midair.

“What?”

“Stop touching me like that,” He snapped, “Stop acting like everything’s normal.”

Your brows pulled together, “Harry, I don’t—”

“That’s the problem,” he said, abruptly, raking his hands through his already messy hair, “You don’t.”

You stood too, confused, hurt beginning to bleed into your expression, “Don’t what?”

“You don’t think. You don’t notice. You just… do things. You hold my hand, you take my jumpers, you sleep in my bed like it’s nothing—”

Your breath caught, “We’ve always—”

“Yes,” He said sharply, “Exactly. You’ve always done it. And I’ve always let you.”

“Why are you acting like it’s a bad thing?”

“Because you don’t see how it’s killing me!”

The words ripped out of him before he could stop them.

They echoed in the quiet room.

You stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered.

He let out a hollow laugh that didn’t hold even a trace of humor, “You really don’t know.”

“Know what?”

He dragged a hand through his hair again, pacing now, restless and unraveling. The heat in his chest felt unbearable — like something burning through muscle and bone.

“I thought I could handle it,” He said, “I thought I could just… be whatever you needed. Your safe place. Your spare bed. Your extra person.”

His voice wavered, but he pushed through.

“I thought I could ignore the heat. The nerves. The way my stomach drops every time you look at someone else. I thought I could handle wanting you when there’s no possible future where you want me back.”

His throat tightened.

“But I was wrong.”

You stepped toward him, instinctively, “Harry—”

“No,” He said softly, “Let me say it.”

And finally — finally — he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

“I love you.”

Silence swallowed the room.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long,” He continued, voice shaking now, “that I can’t remember a time I didn’t feel like this. When I’m around you, I can’t think straight. It’s like everything else blurs out. Like I’ve gone blind to the world except for you.”

His hands trembled at his sides.

“And for a while… that was okay. I didn’t want to see anything else. I was perfectly content only looking at you."

His laugh was brittle.

“But it’s not easy, (Y/N). It’s not easy just hoping. Just waiting. Yearning for every single touch like it’s a gift. Taking whatever scraps of affection you hand me and pretending it’s enough.”

His voice cracked.

“I feel like a stray dog sometimes. Grateful for any little piece of love you throw my way.”

Your eyes filled with something as your throat began to ache.

“And I can’t keep pretending it’s not killing me,” He said, quieter now, but more raw than before, “I can’t keep smiling through it. I can’t keep acting like I’m not falling apart every time you don’t see me the way I see you.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“You’re my everything,” He whispered, “But I’m just one of your things.”

The words nearly undid him.

“And that’s all I’ll ever be to you.”

The room felt too still.

Too tight.

He stood there, stripped bare, like he’d finally set down something he’d been carrying for years and didn’t know how to stand without it.

The heat in his chest wasn’t a flutter anymore.

It was a burn.

And it hurt.

Harry didn’t raise his voice when he told you to leave.

That might have been easier to bear.

He didn’t shout. Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t say anything cruel.

He just looked at you with that exhausted, hollow expression — like he had finally emptied himself of something he’d been carrying for years and didn’t have the strength to hold anything else.

“I think you should go.” He said quietly.

Not angry.

Not cold.

Just… spent.

For a moment, you stayed where you were. Your body refused to move, as if waiting for him to soften. To sigh and rake a hand through his hair and say he didn’t mean it. To reach for you like he always did when things felt wrong.

He didn’t.

He stepped back instead.

And that — that was what made your chest crack open.

You left without another word.

The corridor outside his dormitory felt longer than usual. The torches along the walls flickered gently, unaware that the world inside you had tilted off its axis. Students passed you on the stairs, laughing, arguing, whispering about homework and Quidditch and weekend plans.

Everything sounded distant. Muffled.

You couldn’t quite feel your feet touching the stone as you walked.

By the time you reached your own dormitory, your hands were trembling.

The room was empty when you entered. The late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, soft and golden, dust drifting lazily in the air.

You shut the door behind you and leaned back against it, staring at the opposite wall.

Your heart was still racing.

Harry’s words hadn’t simply echoed — they had embedded themselves somewhere deep inside you, reverberating in slow, relentless waves. Every time you tried to steady your breathing, to anchor yourself in something solid and familiar, his voice would surface again.

I’m in love with you.

The way it had cracked in the middle. The way it sounded less like a confession and more like a wound finally tearing open.

You could still see him — pacing like a caged animal, hands dragging through his hair, shoulders tight with years of something he’d never let himself say. You had memorized his mannerisms over time. The subtle twitch in his jaw when he was frustrated. The way his fingers flexed when he was holding something back. The restless energy that clung to him whenever he didn’t know what to do with his emotions.

You’d thought you knew him.

But tonight had been different.

Tonight he had looked raw.

You pushed yourself away from the door slowly, your back peeling from the cool wood. Your nose burned from the effort of not crying, and when you blinked, the tears spilled over anyway. You didn’t trust your legs to carry you very far, but somehow you made it to your bed before your composure gave way entirely. You sank down onto the mattress and bent forward, pressing your face into the nearest pillow as though you could smother the sound of your own thoughts.

The confession replayed again.

And again.

And then—

You inhaled.

And froze.

That wasn’t your pillow.

You lifted your head, blinking through the blur, and realized your fingers were fisted in black fabric.

Harry’s jumper.

Slightly oversized on you. Sleeves too long. The collar stretched just enough from where you’d tugged it absently while studying.

You hadn’t meant to keep it.

It had been one of those cold nights in the library when the wind rattled the windows and the castle felt more like stone than shelter. You’d shivered once — just once — and he’d noticed. Of course he had.

He’d shrugged it off his shoulders without hesitation, draping it over yours with that casual sort of gentleness that was so uniquely him.

Keep it as long as you want, he’d said.

You never gave it back.

Your throat tightened painfully.

Would you have to return it now?

The thought felt unbearable.

You sat up slowly, the jumper clutched to your chest, your gaze drifting around your dorm room as if you were seeing it for the first time.

Your eyes landed on your nightstand.

The half-open chocolate orange from Honeydukes — the one he’d brought back after noticing you’d been chewing your quill during exam week. He hadn’t made a big deal of it. Just dropped it beside you and muttered something about you needing proper sugar instead of ink.

Next to it, a folded scrap of parchment in his messy handwriting. Practice questions he’d written out to quiz you before Transfiguration. You’d teased him for highlighting almost every sentence.

A tiny golden snitch keychain rested beside your wand. He’d pressed it into your palm in Hogsmeade last winter, cheeks pink from the cold.

Reminded me of you, he’d said, eyes refusing to meet yours.

You’d laughed.

You hadn’t asked why.

It was everywhere.

He was everywhere.

Not in grand, sweeping gestures.

Not in dramatic declarations.

But in the quiet, steady way he had slipped into the empty spaces of your life and made himself at home there.

Your gaze lifted to the moving photographs above your bed.

There were dozens.

Most of them were group pictures—laughing, chaotic, alive. But your gaze snagged on the one from Christmas morning last year. You were mid-laugh, half-hidden by torn wrapping paper. Harry stood beside you, watching.

Not the gift.

You.

At the time, you had thought his smile was simple excitement, pride in having chosen well. Now, with the knowledge of his confession lodged painfully in your chest, you saw something else layered beneath it—something softer, something unguarded. A kind of careful devotion that made your eyes sting all over again.

Now you could see the way his expression softened at the edges. The way his eyes lingered, unguarded. Earnest.

Longing.

How many times had he looked at you like that while you were too busy looking somewhere else?

Your vision blurred again.

You slid off the bed and crouched by your trunk at the foot of it, fingers trembling as you rummaged through folded clothes and books until you reached the small wooden box at the bottom — the one you kept tucked away for things that felt too important to leave out in the open.

You brought it back to the bed and opened it slowly.

Inside were ticket stubs from Hogsmeade weekends. A pressed flower from the lake shore. A few scraps of parchment with inside jokes scribbled in ink.

And then—

You found it.

A modest piece of white cardstock, slightly bent at the corner.

Your favorite flowers charmed along the edges, frozen mid-bloom.

Be my Valentine?

The memory hit you all at once.

A sob broke free before you could stop it, the sound raw in the quiet room. You pressed your hand to your mouth, but it did little to steady you. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You hadn’t even realized there was something fragile to protect.

But now that he had spoken the truth aloud, your memories rearranged themselves with startling clarity. The way his jaw would tighten when you laughed too brightly at someone else. The subtle shift in his expression whenever another boy lingered too long in conversation. The way his hugs always lasted a fraction of a second longer than necessary, as if he were memorizing the feeling.

You had seen the signs.

Some quiet part of you had always known.

It’s been like this for years.

Sneaking down to the kitchens together. Late-night study sessions that dissolve into whispered confessions about fears neither of you would tell anyone else. Sitting shoulder to shoulder at Quidditch matches, your knee pressed against his because neither of you ever moves away.

You always thought it was just that.

You and him. Best friends. A matched set.

Your chest tightens painfully.

The realization did not strike like lightning. It did not feel dramatic or explosive. Instead, it settled slowly into place, like something ancient and inevitable finally aligning inside you. You tried, for a moment, to imagine your life without him woven into it so seamlessly—the absence of his steady presence beside you in the Great Hall, the lack of his quiet warmth at your side during long nights, the empty space where his voice should be.

The thought hollowed you out in a way guilt never could.

This wasn’t simply remorse for hurting him.

It was grief at the idea of losing something you hadn’t realized you wanted.

You drew his jumper back into your arms and pressed it against your chest, breathing in the familiar scent as your tears slowed into something softer, more certain.

You loved him.

Somewhere along the way, your heart had chosen him quietly and without ceremony.

And now that you finally understood it, the only thing more terrifying than admitting it was the possibility that you had realized too late.

You hadn’t meant for it to stretch into days.

At first, it was only supposed to be a night. One evening to let the shock settle. To let his words stop echoing quite so violently in your chest. But the more you turned them over in your mind, the more you realized you couldn’t simply run back to him with something half-formed and call it love.

You needed to know.

You needed to be certain that what you were feeling wasn’t guilt twisting itself into something softer. That it wasn’t fear of losing him masquerading as devotion. That you weren’t just trying to patch the wound he’d opened with whatever words would make it stop bleeding.

So you kept your distance.

And it seemed Harry had no problem respecting that unspoken boundary.

He avoided you with a precision that would have been impressive if it hadn’t hurt so much.

He left the Great Hall early. Sat at the opposite end of the Gryffindor table, shoulders angled deliberately away from you. Took longer routes between classes, choosing staircases that added minutes to his walk if it meant not crossing yours. When you entered a room, he found a reason to leave it. When you tried to catch his eye, he found something intensely fascinating to study just over your shoulder.

It wasn’t cruel.

That was the worst part.

He wasn’t punishing you.

He was protecting himself.

Careful not to brush against you in passing. Careful not to linger too close in crowded corridors. Careful with his voice, as though speaking to you too long might crack something open again that he’d only just managed to stitch shut.

You caught him watching you once—only once—during Charms. Professor Flitwick had turned to the board, and for a fleeting second, Harry’s guard slipped. His gaze found you with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs.

There was no bitterness there. It wasn’t resentment.

It was restraint.

And that made your chest ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

By the time Valentine’s Day arrived, the castle was absolutely drenched in pink and glitter from the highest spires to the stone floors below. The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall shimmered a soft rose-gold, petals drifting lazily down from an illusion of endless sky. Pink ribbons curled around every banister. The air smelled overwhelmingly of roses and sugar and something sparklingly artificial.

Harry hated it.

He sat rigidly through breakfast, jaw tight as the owls descended in a flurry of wings and parchment. Bouquets, boxes of chocolates, glittering gift bags—packages thumped down across the tables in rapid succession. Laughter erupted every few seconds as someone unwrapped something elaborate or embarrassing.

It was almost comical that Valentine’s Day had fallen on a Hogsmeade weekend this year.

A miracle.

Or some divine joke at his expense—Harry hadn’t quite decided which.

Dean presented Ginny with her bouquet in person, attempting nonchalance and failing spectacularly. Ron, flustered and pink-eared, kept checking his reflection in the back of a spoon before bolting off to meet Hermione. Even Seamus—Godric, even Seamus—had a date and left with an air of nervous triumph.

One by one, his roommates disappeared, pulled eagerly toward waiting hands and planned afternoons.

Harry remained behind.

He told himself he didn’t care.

He’d endured far worse than a holiday built on pink paper hearts and saccharine declarations.

But something about the exaggerated romance of it all scraped at him today. The floating hearts. The couples walking just a little closer than usual, fingers intertwined as if they were guarding something precious. It pressed against the hollow space in his chest and made it ache more sharply than he’d anticipated.

Stupid, really.

He was the one who had confessed. He was the one who had drawn the line. The one who had told you to leave.

And yet he hadn’t realized just how much it would hurt—not only to spend Valentine’s Day alone—but to spend it carrying the quiet understanding that whatever you had been before could never quite be the same again.

He pushed back from the table abruptly, appetite long gone, and made his way up to Gryffindor Tower. The corridors were noticeably quieter now, most students already filtering toward Hogsmeade or secluded corners of the castle.

The Fat Lady gave him a knowing smile as he muttered the password.

He didn’t return it.

By the time he reached his dormitory, exhaustion weighed heavy behind his eyes. He was fully prepared to throw his bag aside and collapse face-first into his mattress, to sleep the day away and wake up when the castle had returned to normal.

He pushed the door open.

And froze.

The room was dimmer than usual, bathed in the steady glow of candlelight. Flames flickered softly along the mantle and windowsills, casting warm gold across the stone walls. The usual clutter—Quidditch gear, discarded socks, scattered parchment—had been tidied away.

And there you were.

Hands clasped tightly around a small arrangement of flowers, as though you weren’t entirely sure what to do with them. Your shoulders were drawn back in visible determination, but your expression wavered somewhere between courage and terror.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Harry’s first instinct was disbelief.

His second was fear.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said automatically, though the words lacked any real sharpness.

“I know,” You replied softly, “But I had something important I needed to ask you.”

His gaze flicked around the room again, as if confirming that this wasn’t some elaborate trick of exhaustion. The candles. The cleared space. The deliberate care in every detail.

“What is this?” He asked, his voice quieter now.

You swallowed, then stepped forward carefully—like you were approaching something skittish, something that might bolt at the wrong movement.

“You gave me a Valentine last year,” You said, the slightest tremor betraying you, “I thought I might return the favour.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes but it was swallowed almost immediately by something harder.

He let out a short, humorless breath, dragging a hand down his face, “Do you realize how cruel you’re being?”

The words hit you square in the chest.

“Harry, I—” You stopped yourself, forcing in a steadying breath, “I came to a couple of… epiphanies since we last spoke.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t interrupt you either.

You took another breath, slower this time, willing your thoughts to line up properly instead of scattering the way they had been all morning. Harry watched you closely, and you could tell he was fighting the instinct to step in, to calm you the way he always did when you spiraled. He knew the signs—the way your fingers twisted together, the way your gaze drifted when you were trying to find the right words.

He let you have the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were small when they finally left you.

And he felt his stomach drop.

There it was, he thought. The careful tone. The softness. The prelude to rejection dressed up as kindness. He’d imagined this exact moment in the worst hours of the night—imagined you standing in front of him with pity in your eyes, explaining gently why you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

His shoulders went rigid without him meaning to. Something inside him began quietly folding in on itself.

“I’m sorry for taking so much time to think about this,” You continued, your voice trembling but determined, “And I’m sorry that you’ve felt this way for—God knows how long—and I was so blind to it. I’m sorry for keeping you at arm’s length and dangling something you wanted in front of you for so long. God, I can’t even imagine how that must have felt, because I’ve only just come to this realization a couple days ago and not being able to be around you has been killing me, and I’m such a terrible—”

“(Y/N), hold on.”

He stepped forward suddenly, closing the space between you before he could think better of it, his hands coming up to gently but firmly wrap around your wrists. Not restraining—just grounding. Anchoring you before you could spiral yourself into something cruel and untrue.

You stopped mid-breath.

Your chest was heaving slightly, eyes bright with unshed tears, and for a second neither of you moved. You had forgotten what it felt like for him to touch you. The warmth of his hands. The steadiness of his grip. A small, frightened part of you had begun to wonder if he ever would again.

Harry swallowed.

He hadn’t expected you to look like this—wrecked and earnest and terrified in equal measure.

You opened your mouth, and he nodded his head faintly, urging you to keep going.

“I—” You drew in a steadier breath this time, “You’re my first thought when something happens. You’re the person I look for in every room. When I’m tired, I want you next to me. When I’m overwhelmed, I look for you without even realizing it. And I kept telling myself that was just friendship. That it was normal.”

Your lips curved faintly, sadly, “But I realized that no matter what label I tried to place on it, what I feel for you, Harry, is not just friendship.”

His grip tightened—barely, but enough that you felt it.

Harry’s breathing had gone noticeably slower. Measured. Like he was forcing himself not to interrupt, not to hope too quickly.

“You’re not just some sort of placeholder,” You continued, your voice steadier now, “Or a spare bed. Or my extra person. Or my safe place because you were convenient.”

The room seemed to still entirely.

The candles crackled softly. Somewhere outside, a burst of cheers rose and fell again, distant and irrelevant to the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Harry stared at you as though you’d begun speaking in a language he desperately wanted to understand but was afraid to mistranslate.

“If it’s not you,” You said, your voice breaking slightly despite your effort to keep it steady, “then I don’t want anyone else.”

His heart thudded once—hard enough it almost hurt.

“If that’s what love is,” You whispered, blinking away the dampness gathering in your lashes, “then I suppose I’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

For a moment, he didn’t react at all.

It was as though the words had struck him somewhere too deep to process immediately.

You watched it happen—the disbelief first. The instinct to protect himself from false hope. His eyes searched your face desperately for hesitation, for guilt, for anything that might suggest this was born of obligation.

He didn’t find it.

Something in his expression changed then. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But the tightness around his mouth eased. The guarded set of his shoulders softened. His hands, still wrapped around your wrists, shifted—sliding down until he was holding your hands properly now.

Reverently.

“Say that again.” He murmured, his voice rougher than before.

You let out a shaky breath, “I love you.”

The words didn’t tremble this time.

They landed between you solid and undeniable.

Harry’s eyes closed for half a second, like he needed that brief darkness to steady himself. When they opened again, they were shining in a way you’d rarely seen—unguarded, almost overwhelmed.

“You have no idea,” He said quietly, almost helplessly, “how long I’ve wanted to hear that.”

There was no accusation in it. No bitterness.

Just awe.

Blinking quickly to keep your tears from spilling over, you lifted the bouquet again with trembling hands. The gesture felt suddenly very small compared to what had just been said, but it mattered to you.

“Harry,” You asked softly, your voice braver than you felt, “will you be my Valentine?”

For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you.

Like he was memorizing this version of you—the one standing in front of him choosing him openly.

His hands left yours only long enough to take the bouquet, setting it carefully aside on the nearest surface as though it were something fragile and precious.

Then he stepped forward.

Hesitantly.

Cautiously.

As though he were afraid that one wrong movement might shatter the moment entirely.

He lifted his hands and cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes where tears still clung to your lashes. His heart was pounding so hard he was certain you must feel it. He had imagined touching you like this more times than he could count, never truly believing he would be allowed to. Some part of him still waited for the illusion to break, for him to wake up from this dream all alone.

But you were real.

Warm beneath his palms. Trembling slightly where your bodies hovered just short of touching.

The way you looked at him—earnest, anxious and filled with anticipation—anchored him in the moment more surely than anything else could have. If this was a dream, then he decided he would stay in it. He would cling to it as long as it let him have you.

The restraint he had lived with for years finally gave way.

He pulled you into him, not roughly, but with a fierce, aching tenderness, arms wrapping around you as though he feared you might disappear if he loosened his hold. His forehead brushed yours, breath unsteady, and then he kissed you.

It was soft at first. Almost uncertain.

But when your lips moved against his, fitting together like divine puzzle pieces, the rest of the world seemed to dissolve. The candles, the room, the noise of the castle beyond the walls—none of it mattered.

All that existed was the warmth of his hands, the steady press of his chest against yours, and the quiet realization that you were no longer standing on opposite sides of something unspoken.

You pressed closer to him, and he held you as though he had been waiting his whole life to do exactly that.

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Walking through the halls of the dorms, you were trying to find your boyfriend. You spot his friends, Nejire and Mirio. Walking up to them with a smile, you ask about Tamakis whereabouts.

“Hey guys! You know where Tamaki is?”

You ask with a small smile. Mirio nods.

“Yep! He’s having floor time in his dorm.”

Your head tilts.

“Floor time…?”

By the time you had said the words, they had already walked away.

What in the world was floor time? You make your way to Tamakis dorm to do your own investigating.

Knocking softly on the door of his dorm, you’re met with no reply. You should have expected this much as you didn’t let him know you were coming beforehand and he doesn’t answer the door for strangers. Luckily, he had given you a spare key. You gently open the door…

“Tama..?”

You say softly. His eyes open and look at you, his expression unchanging.

“Hi..”

He says softly. You stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds then purse your lips in a thin line before you decide to speak.

“What.. what are you doin?”

He blinks at you.

“I’m having floor time.”

“Floor time?”

“Floor time.”

You both exchange another awkward stare.

“Would you like to join me?”

He asks, sounding almost hopeful.

A moment of silence passes until you finally move your feet, walking into the room and shutting the door behind you. You move towards him, lying down on the hard yet surprisingly comfortable floor. More silence, you chose not to disturb it. Tamakis pinkie slowly reaches out and interlocks with yours, you could practically sense the blush on his face. Closing your eyes, you feel yourself start to relax. Focusing on the feeling of the floor beneath you, the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling outside, you wrap your pinkie around your boyfriends just a little tighter.

⟡

the first time sero hanta ever decides to show up early, he’s stuck waiting at a theatre with an angry bakugo at his side.

not to say the fiery blond isn’t usually angry. but this time said anger comes with heat: he’s grinding straw between his molars so hard plastic cracks between his teeth. his feet tap like it’ll make time go by sooner. it doesn’t.

“i’m gonna kill that damn shitty hair.”

“we’re the ones who’re thirty minutes early.”

“shut the fuck up.”

dumb dog sero hanta does as he’s told. katsuki stews a little longer, neck rash red, phone clicking locked & unlocked till he decides he’s had enough—or till the anger reaches his bladder. “‘m going to the bathroom, watch my shit.”

katsuki doesn’t bother waiting for a reply. his hands shove in his pockets as he makes his way to the bathroom, phone tucked firm between sero’s palms. sero hanta knows better than to hold it with anything less than an iron grip. but then it buzzes—& almost cartoonishly, the phone hops & skips before settling between his fingers

sero sees the notification before he can pretend otherwise.

mine🫀: mina and i are otw

mine🫀 : hope we’ll make it. this girl can NOT drive.

sero muffles a snort. the text holds truth, mina cannot, in fact drive. he recalls the time she picked him up to go to the beach and—wait.

is that text from y/n?

he’s quick to take a picture, send it to the ‘inBESTigators 🕵️🔍’ GC. before he can even close his phone & resume playing saint, kiri’s response comes in.

ripped riot 🔥: could be a typo

ripped riot 🔥: like ‘mine’ could be short for miner

pikachu ⚡️[replying to ripped riot 🔥] : are we deadass

sero’s about to type a response of his own before the familiar heavy steps of steve maddens sag at his ears. katsuki’s back, jaw tight & angrier than ever.

further investigation will have to wait.

BAKUSQUAD CASE FILES — CASE STUDY #3.

observed by — denki kaminari

‘when the fuck did bakugo get funny?’

⟡

autumn break means thanksgiving shopping & black friday sales that make twelve dollar products drop to eleven ninety-nine. denki’s shopping for snacks, kiri needs energy drinks & you’re here for produce. katsuki is here because you all need his membership to get into costco.

something isn’t right.

& denki’s not talking about how the price of cheetos have somehow gone up. he’s talking about the fact that katsuki stands firm behind you, hands in pockets as you show him fruit. that’s fine—bakugo’s always been able to tell which apples are good & which aren’t.

but no apple evaluation requires katsuki to lean in that close.

and denki’s pretty sure there’s nothing funny about granny smiths either.

so why the fuck are you giggling ?

kaminari’s eyes flit to katsuki’s. if he was any other classmate, he’d say katsuki was bored. lips tight, eyes neutral, jaw slack. but denki’s no other classmate. he recognizes that twitch in his brow. the bob in his jugular.

katsuki is pleased. at least, denki thinks—no, swears he is. but just to be safe, he chooses to call in an actual katsuki expert. kirishima’s fatass is trying yet another free sample. for the sake of peace, denki chooses not to comment & instead goes straight to business.

“yo, kiri—i’m not seeing stuff, right? is bakugo not smirking and making y/n laugh??”

kirishima, in true fatass fashion, responds with a mouth filled with mini tacos. “I down’t see ‘t”

“bro. chew.”

“I don’t see it,” kiri gulps. “don’t you think we should respect their privacy?”

“we’re at a costco??”

but kaminari drops it. if the katsuki expert himself says there’s nothing, there’s obviously nothing.

right ?

BAKUSQUAD CASE FILES — CASE STUDY #4.

observed by — literally everyone

‘katsuki and y/n are definitely dating. oh, and kiri’s getting kicked from the group chat.’

⟡

mina ashido is not playing around.

the rest of the gang isn’t either. kaminari’s flipping through a scrapbook titled ‘PHOTOGRAPHICAL EVIDENCE.’ sero’s screenshotting group chat messages that sound too fond to not be affectionate. kirishima’s got his laptop open, looking over ‘evidence spreadsheets’ he swears aren’t empty.

but they are. and mina, rivaled only by sherlock himself, notices.

“kirishima, cell B-4. what’s written in there ?”

“I—uh, cell? what do you—“

“aha—” mina shuts her book. she’s towering over eijiro now, hands on her hips & glare so sharp it melts kiri like—well, acid.

“you’re not really doing anything.”

sero lifts a brow. kaminari gives the stink-eye.

“matter of fact…” mina continues, “you haven’t done anything. compiling evidence. listening in on on their convos. you haven’t done anything we’ve asked you to.”

“yeah,” sero quips. his phone’s in his lap now. “matter of fact, you always had some excuse about why you couldn’t.”

“matter of fact,” denki joins, “you’re always trying to deny evidence. talking about us ‘being delusional’.”

oh, kirishima’s in trouble now. blood in his jugular. tar in his throat. “I—“

mina can’t make up what happens next.

The door opens. It’s katsuki—not surprising—they’re literally all seated in a circle on the mat in his dorm. plans to hang out & just chill today—the usual. kiri is bakugo’s roommate. getting in isn’t a fuss.

but you’re right beside bakugo.

and your finger’s in his belt loop.

mina blinks. you haven’t noticed them yet. you look all calm and pretty, lashes low, eyes glued to your phone screen. your finger’s looped around the belt-hole like you’ve done it a thousand times before, and—

is that katsuki’s hoodie?

“what the fuck are you losers doing here?”

kiri’s already scrambling to defend the situation—something about she & the others showing up an hour early, he didn’t know, don’t blast us all—but mina’s not listening. she’s wondering if the refractive index of light is so strong it somehow made it look like katsuki gave your hand a light squeeze before tapping your hand off his jeans.

you’re still quiet behind him. hair all cute, jam-pink cheeks, fawn freckled & doe-eyed. kiri and katsuki are going back and forth. sero’s joined in. kaminari’s farted because he thinks no one will notice.

“y/n, is that bakugo’s hoodie?”

you can hear a pin drop. and another fart from kaminari.

“no, it’s—“

“it’s mine.” katsuki steps forward, hands in pockets & posture lazy like he didn’t say something scandalous. “got a problem, pinkie pie?”

“i could never.”

katsuki hums. he tugs you gently by the palm, door clicking shut behind him with the kick of his shin. he trudges toward the group, right hand in his pocket, left in yours—and he murmurs a quiet sit in your ear before doing a once-over.

“what’s all this?”

“evidence.”

“homework.”

“not evidence.”

tongue click. “evidence of ?”

“the refractive index of light.”

“you and y/n dating.”

“not you and y/n dating.”

“uh-huh,” katsuki picks up a photograph. he recognizes the scene: you’re tucked in his side, showing him something on your phone while he leans too close to be considered casual. you’re giggling here. cute.

he pockets it. “you guys are a bunch of fuckin’ idiots. and you—“ he turns to kirishima,

“no, no bro listen,” kirishima’s palm rests on his neck, an apologetic glance in your direction before he answers, “I did try to get them to leave you guys alone. they wouldn’t listen!”

“aha! so you were a traitor!”

bakugo glares. mina shrinks.

a muffled giggle pierces the silence. then a snort. & now you’re full on laughing—

“oh my god,” you sniffle, “you guys know we were literally gonna tell you, right?”

“tell us when?” sero speaks up, long moved away from kaminari. “it seems kiri here already knew about it.”

bakugo grunts. “why do you idiots think you’re here?”

oh.

bakugo takes a seat beside you. sero’s avoiding eye contact. kaminari’s avoiding the cheetos. mina bites her lip. you’re leaning over katsuki’s thigh now, photo evidence flip-book in your hands. you’re pointing out familiar photos while laughing & shaking your head, and bakugo’s looking back with a gaze so soft that mina doesn’t know how she didn’t see it sooner.

“i think we owe you two an apology.”

katsuki’s got his fingers twisting your knuckle. “y’think?”

sero, mina, and denki all look towards each other.

“we’re sorry.”

“for what?”

“for stalking you guys.”

“and not trusting that you’d tell us.”

“and being idiots.”

katsuki hums, satisfied. but he’s not done yet. he leans back on his palms before gently poking your hip. “should we forgive ‘em?”

“maybe. if they can send some of these photos.”

bakugo nods, turns to mina. “you heard the missus.”

“girl, take the whole book. like—seriously. omg.”

you hug it towards your chest, and mina can tell bakugo’s fighting a smile.

“right. and since you guys know now, you can all leave.”

the three protest. kiri interrupts. “i think it’s for the best. it’s been a long day.”

“that includes you, shitty hair.”

“huh—what?! this is my room too!”

“don’t care,” katsuki tugs you up with him, grip gentle, palm flat against your back as he steers you towards his bed.

“and didn’t ask,” he glances over his shoulder, “all of you, out.”

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

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