Mina's bar was dim, the kind of place where light came to die. Low voices hummed in the background, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the distant hiss of something frying in the kitchen. Cigarette smoke drifted in from the open door, curling in lazy spirals toward the ceiling. It smelled like ash and beer and desperation. Fitting.

Katsuki slouched in the booth, glaring at the chaos of photos, notes, and crime scene reports spread across the sticky table. It was a mess—organized, sure, but still a goddamn mess. Across from him, Izuku hunched over his notepad, his pen moving in sharp, decisive strokes like they hadn't been staring at the same shit for hours.

"This is pointless," Katsuki growled, fingers tapping the edge of the table before clenching into a fist. His patience had officially hit zero. "We've been over this crap a hundred times already. What the hell are we missing?"

Izuku's hand paused mid-stroke, his green eyes flicking up to meet Katsuki's. The light caught the edge of his glasses, but his expression was unreadable. Calm. Controlled. Annoyingly so. "Maybe you're too close to it." His voice was quiet, cutting. "When you stare at the same thing long enough, you stop seeing it."

Katsuki scowled, leaning forward. "I'm not too close. I actually give a shit about this town, unlike—"

"Unlike me?" Izuku interrupted, his tone mild but his eyes sharp. "That what you were gonna say?"

The tension between them simmered, but neither raised their voice. It wasn't that kind of argument. Katsuki gritted his teeth and looked away first, snatching a photo from the pile to shove the conversation back on track. "Let's go back to Nana."

For once, Izuku didn't push. He leaned back slightly, watching as Katsuki stared down at the photo.

It was the same one as always. Nana's body, posed against the town's old fountain like some kind of sick display. Katsuki's chest tightened as he looked at it, her teasing voice echoing in his head: "You're too serious, Katsuki. Lighten up, will you?"

He pressed the photo face-down on the table, jaw tight. Izuku didn't say anything, but Katsuki could feel his eyes on him, studying him, like he was cataloging every crack in his armor.

"The ribbons still don't make sense," Izuku said finally, his voice quieter now.

"They don't have to," Katsuki snapped, more out of habit than anything. He tapped the edge of the photo against the table. "Mom used to say Nana was resilient. Always rebuilding, pulling people together. But what the hell do ribbons have to do with that?"

Izuku tilted his head slightly, considering it. "Symbolism, maybe? Or the killer's way of controlling the narrative. The ribbons mean something to them, even if they're meaningless to us."

Katsuki growled under his breath, flipping through the autopsy reports. "Nana was strangled. The only physical marks were bruises on her neck and broken nails from trying to fight back. Clean. Precise."

"And Ibarra?" Izuku asked, reaching for another photo. His hand brushed Katsuki's, but neither acknowledged it. "The report said exsanguination, right?"

Katsuki's grip on the table tightened. "Yeah. Arterial blood loss. Slow. They found needle marks." His voice dropped, sharp with frustration. "Like the bastard took his time."

Izuku's hand trembled slightly as he flipped to another photo. "And Ochako… Oleander poisoning."

"Oleander?" Katsuki echoed, raising a sharp eyebrow.

"It's a flower," Izuku explained, his tone almost clinical, but there was a hitch in his voice. "Pretty. Pink. Poisonous."

Katsuki glanced at him, frowning. "You say that like you've got a whole garden of it."

Izuku raised an eyebrow, and there it was—that faint smirk, barely there, but enough to make Katsuki's blood heat. "You think I'm poisoning people now?"

Katsuki bristled. "That's not what I—"

"It's fine," Izuku interrupted smoothly, his teasing gone as quickly as it came. His tone turned serious again. "Let's focus on what ties them together."

"Hell if I know," Katsuki muttered, leaning back in his seat. "They're all women. They all worked for their communities. They all went missing for three days before turning up dead. And the bastard cleaned them up afterward, like he was taking care of them."

"Or worshipping them," Izuku said, tapping his pen against his notebook. "He's not just killing them. He's honoring them, in his own twisted way."

"Yeah, 'cause that's not twisted as hell," Katsuki snapped, shoving the Nana photo back onto the pile. "What kind of freak—"

Inasa's voice cut through, loud and intrusive. "I've got an update."

Katsuki hadn't even noticed him walk over, but now the bastard was standing there. Inasa set a folder down on the table and gave Izuku a quick, wary glance. Katsuki caught it, felt the flicker of irritation rise in his chest, but ignored it.

"What is it?" Katsuki asked, already reaching for the folder.

"New suspects," Inasa said. "Two names: Goto and Yuichi Ota. Both connected to the church's rehab program."

Katsuki flipped the folder open, skimming the profiles. Nothing stood out—not yet, anyway. "Did you find out anything new?"

Inasa pointed to Ibarra's crime scene photo. "Non-native plants found near her body. Herbs, specifically. Not from the garden where she was found, but common in the church's herb garden."

"So basically a dead end," Katsuki said flatly, tossing the folder back onto the table.

"What about the bite mark?" Izuku asked, leaning in. "Was it the killer?"

"It was canine, like a dog most likely," Inasa replied. "Probably during captivity or just before she was taken."

Katsuki rubbed the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing thin. "And Yuichi Ota? What's his connection to Ibarra?"

Inasa flipped through the papers, his brow furrowed. "They were seen together a lot before she disappeared. Outside of church grounds. A few people noticed, but nothing about it raised alarms at the time."

"Then start there," Katsuki snapped, slamming the folder shut with enough force to rattle the glasses on the table. "Find out what the hell they were doing together."

Inasa sighed, straightening the papers Katsuki had crumpled in his frustration. "I'll go speak with Yuichi. I can question him directly. If he's hiding something, we'll know soon enough."

Katsuki sat up straighter, his voice firm. "I'm coming with you."

The room seemed to still for a moment. Inasa's sharp gaze shot to Katsuki, his lips pressing into a thin line. "No, you're not."

"Like hell I'm not," Katsuki growled, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "If this guy knows anything about Ibarra, I'm not sitting here while you play twenty goddamn questions. I've got a right to—"

"You don't," Inasa cut in, his tone firm but not angry. "This isn't your case, Katsuki. You're already too close to it. You think Enji's just gonna look the other way if he finds out you're getting more involved?"

Katsuki's eyes narrowed at the mention of his stepfather, heat simmering under his skin. "Enji doesn't run my life, and if this leads somewhere, I'm not gonna sit on my ass waiting for you to screw it up."

"I'm not screwing anything up," Inasa said sharply, leaning forward. "What I am doing is trying to keep you out of trouble. You want to help? Fine. But do it like you've been doing—feeding us information, keeping your hands clean. If you show up in that room with me, you're crossing a line. A line you can't come back from."

Katsuki opened his mouth to argue again, but Izuku's calm voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Then let's compromise."

Both men turned to him. Izuku didn't look up from the notes he was flipping through, his voice level and steady. "Inasa takes the lead. Katsuki and I tag along, but we stay quiet unless he needs us. That way no one can say you're stepping on any toes."

Inasa frowned, his gaze flicking between the two of them. "That's not how this works."

"It's the best way to make sure everyone gets what they want," Izuku said evenly, finally looking up at Inasa. His green eyes were steady, calm, but there was an edge to them—a quiet challenge that Katsuki recognized. "You don't trust me. That's fine. But you trust Katsuki. And if Katsuki's with me, you know he'll keep me in line."

Katsuki scowled. "I don't need you talking for me, new comer."

"I know," Izuku said without missing a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile. "But I figured you'd appreciate getting what you want without having to argue about it all night."

Inasa exhaled heavily, crossing his arms. "Fine," he muttered. "But if this goes sideways, it's on you."

"It won't," Izuku said smoothly, already turning back to the pile of papers.

Katsuki leaned back in the booth, his arms crossed, shooting a glare at both of them. "Damn right it won't."

The tension eased slightly, but the frustration still lingered, heavy in the air. Izuku tapped his pen against the edge of the table, his gaze dropping to one of the maps spread across the surface.

"How'd you figure out the killer would be here anyways?" Katsuki asked, his tone more bark than question.

Izuku didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled the map closer, smoothing it out with his hands. It was worn, covered in lines and marks that Katsuki hadn't noticed before. "I've been tracking the killer for years," Izuku said finally, his voice quieter now. "Or at least trying to."

Katsuki frowned, leaning forward slightly. "Tracking him how?"

Izuku's fingers brushed over the map, tracing a faint line that cut across several towns. "I found murders near my hometown that fit the pattern. Same kind of precision. Same kind of symbolism. But the timeline's erratic. Sometimes months between them, sometimes years. I started piecing them together, and eventually, I realized they were moving in a direction. It's not perfect, but…" He gestured to the map, tapping their town with the tip of his pen. "It brought me here."

"You guessed," Katsuki said flatly.

Izuku shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "I made an educated guess. This town fit the pattern: struggling neighborhoods but a strong community base. It wasn't the only possibility, but it was the best one." He glanced at Katsuki, his expression unreadable. "Turns out, I was right."

Katsuki processed this, his mind racing. It made sense, but there was something about it that didn't sit right. "And Camie and Toga?" he asked suddenly. "Did you find any victims like them before?"

Izuku shook his head, his expression darkening slightly. "No. It's a first, as far as I know. But I can't say for sure."

Inasa scribbled some of the places on Izuku's map in his notebook, his brow furrowed. "I'll look into it," he said, his tone distracted. "If there are any similar cases, I'll find them."

"It didn't help much in the end. We haven't gotten any closer to identifying the killer," Izuku murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Other than locations most of their murders were different. Different ages, appearances, personalities. I can't find anything they have in common."

Katsuki sighed thinking over it over. "We all grew up here so they would most likely have frequented the same places. Same schools, local hang outs. What about the victims from your town? Like Ochako?"

"Soup kitchen," Izuku said, his voice almost mechanical. "They all volunteered there. But they never crossed paths since it was at different times. Anywhere specific for Nana and Ibarra that would be the same for Camie and Toga?"

Inasa's eyes narrowed in thought. "Church. They were regulars, but Camie only went with for her parents occassionally."

Katsuki snorted. "Half the damn town goes to church. Even Toga goes because mom drags her with us. That's not a lead—it's a fishing net."

Izuku tapped his notebook. "But it's something. If it's not the person itself that makes them unique maybe it's the location, like the killers hunting ground that connects them."

Katsuki's mind raced, his jaw tightening. "Then who's next?" His voice was a low growl. "We need a list. Now."

As names were tossed around, Inasa's voice cut through with one that stopped Katsuki cold: "Rei Todoroki."

The air left his lungs. His mother. He slammed his hands on the table. "No."

"Katsuki—" Izuku started.

"I said no!" Katsuki's voice was sharp, final. His hands were trembling, so he shoved them into his pockets to hide it. "I'll handle it."

Izuku leaned closer, his voice quiet but firm. "We're just being cautious."

Katsuki glared at him, heat rising in his chest. "Fine," he bit out, his voice tight. But his gut churned. If this bastard even thought about touching his mom…

Inasa glanced between the two of them before speaking. "I think we're done here so I'll head out to talk to Yuichi. If we can figure out his connection to Ibarra, maybe it'll give us something new to work on."

"And we're coming with you," Katsuki added firmly.

Inasa sighed, but he didn't argue this time.

The garden around the church didn't feel serene to Katsuki—it felt fake. The kind of peacefulness that made your skin itch. The neat flower beds, the sound of a fountain bubbling away in the distance—it was like the place was trying too damn hard to make you forget that someone had been murdered. That Ibarra had died. Katsuki's eyes flicked to the ex-convicts scattered around the garden, tending the plants with sluggish, mechanical movements.

Even from a distance, he could see it: Ibarra's death was hanging over this place, poisoning it.

It seemed the only thing that gave the place hope was Pastor Heron.

The man stood waiting for them at the garden's entrance, hands clasped loosely in front of him, his tall frame relaxed but not slouched. His face was as welcoming as ever, but there was a faint shadow in his expression—a weight in the lines around his eyes that hadn't been there the last time Katsuki saw him. Probably because of Ibarra. That death had shaken everyone in the community, but it clearly hit the pastor harder than most. Katsuki had no doubt the guy was blaming himself somehow—seemed like the kind of thing a guy like Heron would do.

"Inasa I wasn't expecting you today," Heron greeted warmly as they approached. His voice was calm, the kind of calm that put people at ease without even trying. Then his gaze flicked to Katsuki, and his smile softened into something more personal. "Katsuki. It's good to see you again."

Katsuki resisted the urge to look away, guilt curling low in his chest. He'd made his choice—he didn't regret it—but standing here in front of Heron still made something twist uncomfortably inside him. "It's nice to see you too," he muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

Heron seemed pleased as his attention turning to Izuku. "Izuku, you look in better sorts this time around. It's good to see you."

"Sure," Izuku said shortly, his expression unreadable but his voice clipped. He didn't offer anything else, his green eyes sharp and assessing as they flicked over Heron.

If the pastor noticed the coolness, he didn't let it show. He simply nodded, his smile still intact, before turning back to Inasa. "What brings you all here today?"

"We need to speak with Yuichi Ota," Inasa explained, his tone lighter than Katsuki had heard all morning. Even Inasa, who was normally all business during a case, seemed to relax a little in Heron's presence. "It's about the investigation."

Heron's brow furrowed slightly, the only crack in his calm demeanor. "Yuichi? I see. May I ask why?"

Katsuki opened his mouth, ready to snap something about how this wasn't the time for questions, but Inasa cut in smoothly. "We're just following up on some information. It's sensitive, but we'd appreciate your help, Heron."

Heron studied them for a moment. If he was curious about why Katsuki and Izuku would be with him he didn't voice it. "Of course. I'll take you to him." He gestured for them to follow, turning toward the garden path.

As they walked, Katsuki's attention drifted, his sharp eyes scanning the garden. His gaze caught on one of the statues along the path, a marble figure half-hidden by a rose bush. It was a saint—probably one he'd passed by his entire life without a second glance—but today, it stood out. The figure's face was serene, her hands raised in what looked like a gesture of surrender. Katsuki couldn't figure out why it pissed him off.

"Are you familiar with the Saints?" Heron asked, his voice pulling Katsuki out of his thoughts.

Katsuki blinked, his gaze snapping back to Heron. The pastor was watching him with an easy smile, his hands resting lightly at his sides.

Katsuki grunted. "Not really. Just looks familiar."

Heron's smile widened slightly. "That's Saint Cecilia. She's known for her unwavering faith and devotion, even in the face of death. It's said she sang hymns during her martyrdom, refusing to let go of her virtue until her final breath."

Katsuki frowned, his gaze flicking back to the statue. "Didn't do her much good, did it?"

Heron chuckled softly, the sound warm but not patronizing. "No, it didn't save her. But her example inspired countless others to stay true to their beliefs."

Katsuki didn't respond, but the words lingered in his mind longer than he wanted to admit. He glanced at Izuku, half-expecting some kind of reaction, but Izuku wasn't even looking at the statue. His sharp green eyes were locked on Heron instead, his expression unreadable but his posture tense.

Some part of Katsuki couldn't help hoping it was jealousy.

"Saints are chosen for their struggles and their virtues," Heron continued as they walked, his tone sliding easily into something more reflective. "They're ordinary people who are admired for their faith, their sacrifices. That type of devotion can be awe inspiring to many."

"Sounds twisted if you ask me. To find inspiration in someone struggle," Katsuki muttered.

Heron smiled. "Perhaps. But their stories remind us that even in the face of tragedy, there's hope for something greater." He paused, gesturing toward the herb garden just ahead. "I often use the saints as examples in my sermons and in the rehabilitation program. Their sacrifices resonate with many of the men I work with who struggle to stay true to their chosen path."

Katsuki hummed in response, not trusting himself to say more. The way Heron spoke, so steady and certain, made something twist in his chest again. He couldn't tell if it was guilt or something else entirely.

Izuku's voice broke the silence, sharp and direct. "Does Yuichi work here often?"

Heron nodded. "Every day. He's one of our most dedicated participants. He spends most of his time here in the herb garden."

As they approached, Katsuki caught sight of Yuichi standing near a row of plants, slouched against the rake in his hands. He looked up as they approached, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw the group.

"Yuichi," Heron said gently, his tone as calm as ever. "These men need to speak with you."

Yuichi straightened, brushing dirt off his hands. His gaze flicked between Inasa, Katsuki, and Izuku, his expression guarded. "What's this about?"

With that, Heron excused himself, his footsteps soft on the gravel path as he disappeared into the church.

As soon as the pastor was gone, Yuichi straightened, his grip on the rake tightening. "This about Ibarra?"

"It is," Inasa said, his tone steady but firm. He wasn't pulling the badge act this time—Yuichi already knew who he was. Who Katsuki was too, for that matter. It wasn't like you could grow up here and not know everyone's business.

Yuichi's jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his posture guarded. "I don't know anything," he muttered.

"We're not accusing you of anything, Yuichi," Inasa replied. "We just want to understand what happened. That's all."

Katsuki wanted to cut in already, but Izuku's fingers brushed against his wrist—a small, firm gesture that grounded him. Katsuki clenched his jaw and stayed quiet, though it killed him to do it.

"I told you, I don't know anything," Yuichi repeated, his voice rough.

Izuku, standing slightly behind Inasa, tilted his head slightly. "No one's saying you do," he said quietly, his calm, steady voice drawing Yuichi's eyes for a brief moment. "But you and Ibarra were close, weren't you?"

Yuichi's head snapped back toward Izuku, his eyes narrowing. "Why do you care?" His voice was sharp, defensive, like a cornered animal.

Inasa stepped forward again, cutting through the tension before Katsuki could react. "Yuichi, we're just trying to get the full picture. We heard that you were around her a lot."

For a moment, Yuichi didn't respond. He looked down, his grip tightening on the rake until his knuckles turned white. "We liked each other's company," he said finally, his voice low. "More than anyone else in this place ever did. She gave a damn about people like me. Believed in me when no one else did." He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. "I owe her everything."

Katsuki's sharp eyes flicked over Yuichi's face, catching the slight tremble in his hands and the roughness in his voice. The guy wasn't lying. At least not about that.

"How close were you?" Inasa pressed, his tone professional but not unkind.

Yuichi hesitated, his gaze flicking between the three of them like he was weighing his words. "We liked each other, we didn't do more than a few dates though," he admitted after a long pause, his voice strained. "I didn't think I had a chance, not with my history, but she didn't care about any of that."

"Maybe you thought it was more than it was, Ibarra was always too nice to everyone," Katsuki muttered under his breath, his tone sharper than it needed to be.

Yuichi's head snapped toward him, his eyes blazing with something that looked more like bitterness than guilt. "She confessed first, wanted to make it official." he snapped. "I was the one holding back. I told her I needed to get my life together first. That I needed to make sure I was good enough for her."

The rawness in his voice caught Katsuki off guard. There was regret there, and not the kind you could fake. Katsuki glanced away, clenching his fists. He wasn't about to apologize for pushing, but… he understood what Yuichi meant. More than he wanted to admit.

Inasa, unfazed by the outburst, kept his focus. "What about Goto?" he asked. "Did he get along with Ibarra too?"

Yuichi's face darkened immediately. His grip on the rake tightened again, and for a moment, Katsuki thought he might snap it in two. "Anything but," Yuichi repeated bitterly. "Goto hated her, thought that she looked down on them, like she was better than him. It wasn't true. Ibarra never acted like that. She was just…Kind. And he couldn't stand it. So I made a point to keep him away."

"Was there an altercation between them?" Inasa pressed.

Yuichi exhaled sharply, his expression pained. "I don't know exactly. She wouldn't tell me. But whatever it was… it shook her. I've never seen her like that. I told her to consider kicking him out of the program, but Ibarra didn't want to turn anyone away, but she promised to speak with the Pastor."

"Do you know where Goto is now?" Izuku asked, stepping forward slightly.

Yuichi shook his head. "No idea. He stopped showing up to the garden not long after that, not that he was ever consistent to begin with. I haven't seen him since."

The air in the garden felt heavy, the peaceful facade cracking under the weight of the conversation. Katsuki's frustration simmered just under the surface, but Izuku's hand on his wrist kept him grounded. Barely.

Inasa nodded, stepping back slightly. "Thanks for your time, Yuichi. If you think of anything else, let me know."

Yuichi nodded stiffly, his gaze flicking to the side as if he couldn't bear to look at them any longer. "Yeah. Sure."

As they turned to leave, Katsuki couldn't help glancing back at Yuichi. He didn't trust him—not completely—but there was something about the guy's broken expression that stuck with him.

"We're running out of time," Katsuki muttered as they walked back toward the church.

"We're getting somewhere," Inasa replied, pulling out his phone. "I'll have your dad push to bring Goto in. His name has come up too many times to ignore."

Katsuki didn't respond, his mind still turning over Yuichi's words. Something about this wasn't adding up.

The gravel crunched under their boots as they made their way back to the car. Katsuki's head was spinning, replaying Yuichi's words on a loop: 'She promised to speak with the Pastor.'

Goto. Ibarra. The pastor. It wasn't coming together—not yet—but the pieces were all there, scattered just out of reach. Katsuki hated it.

As they reached the parking lot, Katsuki's sharp eyes caught movement near the church's entrance. Pastor Heron stood on the steps, hands clasped loosely in front of him, his expression calm but watchful. He looked like he'd been waiting for them.

"Wait here," Katsuki said abruptly, cutting through the silence as he turned to Inasa and Izuku.

"What for?" Inasa asked, his brow furrowing.

Katsuki ignored him, already heading for the church. "Just wait," he said.

He heard Inasa mutter something under his breath.

Izuku didn't move immediately. His gaze lingered on Katsuki for a moment longer before he turned and walked away, his posture tense.

Katsuki exhaled sharply and turned toward the church, his boots scuffing against the stone steps as he made his way up. Pastor Heron stood waiting for him, his usual warm smile firmly in place. Blond hair neatly combed, sharp blue eyes catching the faint candlelight from inside—Katsuki would've been blind not to notice the guy was attractive. He always had been. It wasn't the pastor's looks that had made their one and only date a disaster. No, that had been all Katsuki.

"Katsuki," Heron greeted, his tone as calm and inviting as ever. "Was there anything else I could do for you?"

"Got a question," Katsuki said, cutting straight to the point. Pleasantries weren't his thing—they never had been. "Yuichi said Ibarra wanted to talk to you before she died. About Goto. You know anything about that?"

Heron's smile faltered just slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. "Ibarra was always very private about her worries," he said carefully. "She never mentioned anything specific about Goto. Only that she was concerned for him. She always worried about the people in her life, you know."

Katsuki's sharp red eyes narrowed, studying Heron's face. He didn't look like he was lying—if anything, he looked genuinely regretful—but Katsuki had learned not to take things at face value. People could smile and lie just as easily as they could breathe. Still, his instincts weren't screaming at him, and right now, that was all he had to go on.

"Fine," Katsuki said finally, stepping back with a grunt. "If you think of anything, let Inasa know." He turned toward the door, ready to leave.

"Wait a moment, Katsuki," Heron called after him, his tone light and almost playful.

Katsuki paused mid-step, shoulders tensing as he glanced back over his shoulder. "What now?"

Heron's warm smile returned, but this time, there was something teasing in it—something that sent a flicker of heat to Katsuki's face before he could stop it. "Your friend, Izuku," Heron said smoothly. "Have you worked things out with him yet?"

Katsuki blinked, caught off guard by the shift in topic. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Heron chuckled softly, taking a step closer. The candles inside the church flickered behind him, casting faint shadows across his face. "You look... uncertain. And you're not the type to leave things unresolved."

Katsuki's scowl deepened instantly, his arms crossing over his chest in defense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Heron said with a knowing smile, "that you're still undecided. And if that's the case, maybe I still have a chance."

The words hit Katsuki like a punch to the gut—not in a bad way, but in a 'what the hell just happened? kind of way.' He stared at Heron, dumbfounded for a moment, the heat on his face creeping up his neck.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Katsuki muttered, his voice a low growl. "I thought we were done with that."

"I didn't realize we'd started keeping score," Heron said lightly, tilting his head. "But maybe I spoke too soon. You're clearly still sorting things out."

The scent of cloves hung faintly in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of the church's old stone walls. Katsuki didn't know why it stood out so much to him, but it made his head spin in a way he didn't entirely like. Heron wasn't just confident—he was damn confident. Too much so.

Katsuki's fists clenched at his sides, though the irritation bubbling under his skin wasn't directed at the pastor. It was at himself. He had sorted things out—or at least, he thought he had. Whatever interest he'd had in Heron before was long gone. He couldn't deny the guy was attractive, sure, but Katsuki's feelings weren't here.

They were with Izuku. As much as he hated admitting it, even to himself.

"That's not happening," Katsuki said firmly, glaring at Heron. "You're wasting your time."

Heron didn't flinch at Katsuki's sharp tone. Instead, his smile softened—not in retreat, but as though he'd expected the answer and wasn't fazed by it in the slightest. "You're sure about that?" he asked, his voice almost disarmingly calm. "I'm not the type to give up so easily, Katsuki. Especially when I think there's still room for you to change your mind."

The words hung in the air, heavy but not threatening. Heron's confidence wasn't aggressive—it was steady, unyielding, like he knew he could outlast Katsuki's stubbornness. For a moment, Katsuki couldn't tell if he was irritated or impressed. Maybe both.

Heron stepped back, clasping his hands loosely in front of him once more. "Just a friendly reminder of where I stand," he said with a soft chuckle. "I hope you'll think about it."

Katsuki scowled, heat rising in his chest again. "I don't need to think about it."

Heron's smile didn't waver, but he didn't press further. "Fair enough," he said lightly. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Katsuki didn't bother responding. He turned on his heel and stomped out of the church, his boots clacking hard against the stone floor. The cool evening air hit him like a slap to the face as he stepped outside, but it did nothing to calm the heat still simmering under his skin.

Izuku and Inasa were already waiting by the car, both of them looking up as Katsuki approached. Izuku's green eyes narrowed slightly, and Katsuki could feel the unspoken questions hanging in the air between them.

"Find anything useful?" Inasa asked, his tone casual as he leaned against the car door.

"No," Katsuki snapped, yanking the passenger door open. His face was still hot, and he knew it was probably giving him away, but he didn't care. "Waste of time."

Izuku tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp as it lingered on Katsuki. "Didn't take you long."

"I was only checking on something, so of course it didn't take long." Katsuki said.

Izuku thankfully didn't press. Not yet. Instead, he slid into the back seat without a word, though Katsuki could feel the weight of his silence like a second presence in the car.

As they pulled away from the church, Katsuki stared out the window, his jaw tight. The faint scent of cloves still clung to the edge of his senses, irritating him in a way he couldn't quite shake. Something about Heron's confidence, his calm certainty, wouldn't leave Katsuki's mind.

And that just pissed him off even more.