You don’t talk much. Not that he cares. Really. You’re just… quiet. Calm. The opposite of him in every damn way. And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because when you do speak? It throws him off. Every time.

Today, everyone’s on the training field. Light drills. Partner work. Nothing fancy.

Katsuki’s already running hot. Maybe adrenaline. Or maybe it’s the way you’re standing across from him, glancing up with that shy little look that hits harder than a punch.

Then Aizawa pairs you two together... Fantastic. He sees you walk over, fidgeting with your sleeve.

Katsuki stands there like an idiot before grumbling,

“Tch. Let’s just get started.”

The drill’s easy: evasion, light contact, switch roles. Should be nothing.

Except it’s something.

Every time your hand brushes his, or you get just a bit too close, his brain short-circuits. He’s slower, clumsier, completely off.

And then it happens.

He sees you move in quick, palm pressing lightly to his chest to stop his momentum. You stumble, just a little, and your head falls against his chest.

That’s all it takes.

BOOM.

A sharp, panicked spark bursts from his palm like a firecracker.

Everyone turns.

Kirishima coughs a laugh. “Bro… did your quirk just-”

“It was a MISFIRE!” he snaps. “My hand slipped!”