Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

𝒲ℯ 𝒲ℯ𝓇ℯ 𝒩ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝒢ℴℴ𝒹 𝒫ℯℴ𝓅𝓁ℯ 

 ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

𓂃⋆｡˚ A/N: 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽. ◌𓈒𖡼

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

╭──────────.★..─╮

   "𝑊𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙."

"...𝑌𝑒𝑎ℎ. 𝑊𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒."    

"𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒, 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡?"

"𝑊𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ."

"𝐺𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡."

"𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡’𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔."

╰─..★.──────────╯

╰┈•┈୨୧┈•┈╯ 

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚

╭ ┈•┈୨୧┈•┈ ╮

Your eyes flutter open to the dim glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the sheer curtains of your condominium.

The air inside feels still, almost too quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside.

You lie motionless, staring at the ceiling, your body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that sleep never really fixes.

Classes are over. Finally. Not that it makes a difference.

You have no plans today. Not that you ever really do.

Your phone is somewhere nearby, buzzing every now and then with messages you have no energy to check. Probably one of your old friends sending you memes, or maybe a half-hearted "wyd" from someone who barely cares. It doesn’t matter.

Sighing, you turn your head toward the large window beside your balcony, the city skyline stretching out before you. 

The golden hues of the sun paint the buildings in a soft, melancholic light, and for a moment, something inside you stirs. Nostalgia. 

That strange, aching feeling that comes whenever you see something rare, something fleeting. Like this sunlight, beautiful, but she's temporary.

A gentle smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It reminds you of your childhood, of moments you’d rather forget but can never truly erase.

Fuck-ups and all.

You exhale deeply, rubbing your temples before pulling yourself up to sit on the edge of your bed. The hardwood floor is cold against your bare feet, grounding you in the present. You run a hand through your messy hair, glancing at the time.

4:17 PM.

Another day slipping away, another evening creeping in. And still, you feel... nothing.

You’re good at pretending, though. By the time you meet up with your friends later, you’ll be all smiles and goofy antics, the same Y/N they know. The one who jokes around, who acts like they have it all figured out. But here, in the silence of your own space, there’s no one to fool but yourself.

Your phone rings, loud and annoying. The name flashing on the screen kills your peaceful mood in an instant. Just like that, you're bothered.

Mom

You groan, rolling your eyes before finally picking up.

“What?” you answer, not even trying to hide your irritation.

“Y/N, is that how you answer your mother’s call?” your mom's voice is sharp, laced with that usual cold disapproval you’ve grown up with. It doesn’t even piss you off anymore. It’s just exhausting hearing them from her.

“I’m tired, what do you want?” you mutter, rubbing your forehead as you pace toward the window.

“I just wanted to check on you. You never call. You moved to Shizuoka, and suddenly, you act like you don’t have a family—”

“Oh my god, M/N. Stop acting like you care all of a sudden,” you cut her off, voice flat. “You didn’t care when I was rotting in Shibuya, so let’s not do this fake concern thing now. It’s cringe.”

...

Then, a sharp intake of breath from the other end. “What did you just call me?”

You already regretting it. “What?”

“Did you just call me M/n?” your mother’s voice turns cold “Are you out of your mind? You don’t disrespect me like that. I am your mother!”

You scoff, gripping the phone tighter. “Then act like one.”

More silence. Then, a click.

Call ended.

You toss your phone onto the bed and let out a long, tired breath. Whatever. It’s not like that conversation would’ve gone anywhere else.

You lean onto the balcony railing, the cool breeze hitting your face. Your mind wanders to your first day at UA University.

Unlike your previous school, UA is alive. The campus buzzes with activity, students from every department immersed in their crafts. STEM courses were always busy, Music majors setting up impromptu performances, Engineering students building weird contraptions in the quad. It’s a whole different world. A place where people have actual personalities.

But there’s one thing about UA that pisses you off to no end.

A BLOND FUCKING GUY WITH AN EGO BIGGER THAN THE DAMN UNIVERSITY.

It was just a stupid accident. A little spill. You had been cleaning your brushes, and unfortunately, the dirty water landed on his research papers. His fault for placing them right next to the fucking garbage.

You apologized. Offered money for the print. Tried to make up for it.

But no.

He had the fucking audacity to yell at you, in public, like you had just ruined his entire existence. Like you had done it on purpose. Humiliated you in front of everyone, made a whole damn scene about it.

Yeah, okay, you got it, It was a research paper. But it wasn't your intention to spill on it

۶ৎ

The campus is mostly empty by now, but Katsuki is still stuck inside the damn law library, furiously typing away on his laptop.

Again.

His research paper was supposed to be done.

Was done. 

He had been so fucking sure he submitted it, but no. He had deleted the damn document by accident. Thought it was finished, cleared out his files, and now? He’s redoing the whole fucking thing.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, some dumbass freshman ruined the hard copy of it earlier today.

He clenches his jaw, fingers flying over the keyboard. His eyes flick to the time on his screen: 2:00 PM. The paper is due at 5 PM.

If he hadn’t been forced to redo the whole thing from scratch, he wouldn’t even still be here. But no. That dumbass Fine Arts girl.

what’s her name? 

He doesn’t fucking care. You had to go and spill your nasty-ass paint water all over his printed submission.

Who the fuck cleans paint brushes near important documents?

And then you had the nerve to just hand him money. Like what? Like he was some broke idiot who just needed cash to print it again?

Oh, fuck you.

He had shouted at you, yeah. Humiliated you? Maybe. But does he feel bad about it?

Not even a little.

You needed to learn to watch where the fuck you were going.

Katsuki exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders before cracking his knuckles. Whatever. He isn’t about to let some freshman’s carelessness ruin his GPA.

With a deep breath, he goes back to typing, the screen’s harsh light reflecting in his narrowed crimson eyes. He’ll finish this paper. He always does. And next time he sees you, that reckless Fine Arts girl? You’d better stay the fuck away from him.

“FUCKING HELL!”

The library is dead silent. Now? Every damn student in here is staring at him like he’d just thrown a chair at someone. Which, honestly, he’s considering doing. Not his fault these extra rejects can’t mind their own business.

He slams his laptop shut, digging his fingers into his hair as he tries really fucking hard not to lose his shit. Again. But how could he not? His research paper—THE research paper, his entire goddamn life’s work for the past two weeks is gone. Deleted.

And the worst part? It was his own goddamn fault too.

He grits his teeth, cracking his knuckles as if he could physically fight his stupidity. Why the fuck did he think he was done? Why did he delete the original file like some smooth-brained dumbass? And why the fuck did he even print a hard copy and leave it so conveniently near the trash can in the first place?!

Oh, right.

Because he didn’t expect some reckless, airheaded, no-brain-cell-having freshman to waltz in and dump paint water on it. 

Not gonna lie, If he hadn’t left his research folder over there, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. 

But he was stressed and forgot about the paper after getting into an argument with his mom.

His eye twitches at the memory. You had the actual audacity to look at him all dumbfounded before handing him money.

Money. 

Like he was some broke-ass fool who just needed a few coins to reprint his entire individual thesis-level research paper before the 5:00 PM deadline.

Yeah, fuck you.

Katsuki cracks his knuckles, rolling his neck with a sharp exhale. Whatever. A little setback like this? Child’s play. He’ll bang out this paper better than the first one, and he’ll do it with time to spare. That’s just how he rolls.

“OI, SHITTY HAIR!” Katsuki’s voice booms through the library, making every head in the room snap toward him. He doesn’t care. Let ‘em stare. “You got a charger? My laptop’s about to die, and I’m not wasting time hunting for an outlet in this dump.”

Kirishima, who’s been chilling beside him, looks up from his own work, unfazed by the outburst. “Yo, Bakugou, chill. Yeah, I got one. You good, though? You’re looking extra pissed today.”

Katsuki yanks his bag open, tossing it onto the table with a thud. “Tch. Some idiot newbie trashed my research paper. Spilled paint water on it like a goddamn moron. And now I’m rewriting the whole thing"

Kirishima raises his hands “Sounds like a rough day. Who was the freshman?”

Katsuki scoffs, dropping into a chair and cracking open his laptop again. “Some Fine Arts loser or whatever. Don’t care. She’s lucky I didn’t blow her head off right there.”

Kirishima’s eyebrows shoot up. “oooooh that's rude,” Kirishima laughs, unfazed. “Sounds intense, though. You gonna finish it in—” he checks his phone, “—three hours?”

Katsuki smirks, a sharp, cocky edge to it. “three hours? I could do this in an hour if I wanted. This is nothing. I’m not some half-assed extra who chokes under pressure.”

Kirishima shakes his head, still grinning. “Alright, man, whatever you say. But you’re still just sitting there glaring at the screen. Maybe less yelling, more typing?”

Katsuki shoots him a death glare. “Watch it, or I’ll use you as a punching bag to warm up. I’m working, alright? Just need to–fuck–get this shit outta my head first.”

His mind keeps circling back to you. The way you just stood there, blinking like he was the one being unreasonable. 

And that MONEY tossing it at him. Like he couldn’t print ten copies if he wanted.

Tch. You’re gonna regret crossing him.“Yo, you’re zoning out,” Kirishima says, snapping his fingers. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” Katsuki snaps, refocusing on the half done chapter 1 document. “Just pissed I even have to deal with this. That dumbass is gonna learn to stay outta my way.”

Kirishima leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You know, you could just let it go. Accidents happen.” 

Katsuki’s eyes narrow. “Let it go? You serious? She fucked with my work. My work. Nobody gets away with that.”

Kirishima sighs, but there’s a knowing glint in his eye. “Alright, fair. So, what’s the plan? You gonna finish this or-”

Katsuki smirks, cracking his knuckles again. “Plan? I’m gonna crush this paper, submit it early, and make sure everyone knows I don’t need some paint-splashing idiot to slow me down. She’s irrelevant. I’m better than that.”

Kirishima nods, clearly used to this. “That’s more like it. Get to it, then, ‘cause you’re down to, like, three hours now.”

“Tch. Don’t need you to tell me that,” Katsuki mutters, but he’s already typing, the words coming faster now. His brain’s kicking into gear, the anger fueling him instead of holding him back. He’s got this. He always does.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You stand outside the massive building, arms crossed, trying not to look as lost as you feel. But who are you kidding? You’re lost. This university is so fucking huge it feels like you accidentally wandered into a small city instead of a school.

You check your phone again. Fine Arts Building. Building C. Okay. Cool. Where the fuck is that?

A group of students walks past, laughing about something, completely unbothered by the maze of this place. Meanwhile, you’re stuck here looking like an idiot. Typical.

You let out a slow breath, trying to fight off the familiar feeling creeping up your spine. That same old dread. The same one you had in Shibuya when everything fell apart. When life decided to chew you up and spit you back out, sending you here, to Shizuoka, to start over. Not that it feels any different.

You run a hand through your hair, your fingers still stained faintly with dry paint from class earlier. You should ask someone for directions. But do you want to? No. Absolutely fucking not. Talking to people means effort. And effort means using energy you don’t have.

You exhale sharply, adjusting the strap of your bag, when suddenly…

“Hey! You okay? You look a little... lost.”

You turn around and immediately tense up. A girl with bright pink hair and a friendly smile stands there, her head tilted slightly like she’s trying to figure you out. Mina Ashido. You’ve seen her in passing, but you’ve never spoken.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, looking away. 

She looked at your ID “Sooo... why are you standing in front of the Science Building like you’re waiting for it to magically turn into your building?” she asks, amused.

You blink. Science Building? Oh. OH. You groan internally. Of course, you’re in the wrong place.

Mina laughs, not in a mean way, but like she actually finds it entertaining. “C’mon, newbie. I’ll show you where it is. You’re in Fine Arts, right? What year?”

You hesitate before answering. “First. Just transferred.”

“Ooh, mysterious transfer student! That explains a lot. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to this place. Eventually.” She grins. “By the way, I’m Mina.”

You don’t respond right away, still debating whether you want to engage in conversation. But she’s helping you, so ignoring her completely would be a dick move. “Y/N,” you mumble

"Nice to meet ya!” she chirps, walking beside you like you’ve been friends forever. “So, how’s your first week been? Making any friends?”

You snort. Friends? Yeah. Sure. Like that’s gonna happen. 

“Nope. Just been... dealing with shit.”

“Ah, ‘dealing with shit’ phase. We’ve all been there,” she says dramatically. “But hey, at least you haven’t pissed off the wrong upperclassman yet. That’s a bonus.”

You scoff. “Yeah. About that...” Your mind immediately goes to that asshole from the other day.

That blond fucker with the sharp eyes and the loud mouth. Pineapple Head. You still don’t know his name. Don’t care, honestly. But you do know that he’s a raging asshole who had the actual audacity to yell at you in front of everyone because of a stupid accident.

“Who? UA is full of interesting people,” Mina says, glancing at you with a knowing smirk.

You debate whether to say it, but the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “Yeah. Some blond guy with an ego bigger than this whole damn campus.”

Mina gasps dramatically. “Oh no. Who?”

You shrug. “I dunno his name. Pineapple Head. Looks like he’s constantly pissed at life. I accidentally spilled water on his research paper”

Mina blinks, then bursts out laughing. Actually laughs. “Oh my god! You mean Bakugo?!” She clutches her stomach, struggling to breathe. “I can’t—You really called him Pineapple Head?”

You frown. “You know him?”

“oh hell yeah, I do! Bakugo’s been my friend since high school. He was our class valedictorian, handled STEM like a prodigy.” She shakes her head. “You seriously pissed off Katsuki Bakugo? That’s kinda impressive, honestly.”

You stare at her, processing the name. “Katsuki Bakugo,” you repeat slowly, letting it roll around in your head. It sounds familiar now that she says it, but you still like Pineapple Head better.

Mina grins. “Yep. Top student back in UA High. Total perfectionist. Also, my boyfriend’s best friend.”

You narrow your eyes. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Kirishima! Eijiro Kirishima. You’ll probably meet him soon. He’s, like, Bakugo’s emotional support extrovert.” 

You huff. “That guy needs emotional support? Seems like all he needs is a punching bag.”

Mina snickers. “Yeah, well, that’s just Bakugo. He’s intense, but he’s not all bad.” She gives you a playful nudge. “Although, from what you’re saying, he was definitely an asshole to you. He can be like that sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” you deadpan. “That man was ready to end my whole existence over some paper.”

Mina sighs. “Yeah, he takes academics way too seriously. Always has. But hey, at least now you know his name! Pineapple Head is gonna love that nickname.”

You scoff. “Yeah, not happening. I’ll keep calling him that until he stops being a dick.”

Mina laughs again as you finally reach Building C. “I like you, Y/N. You’re gonna fit in just fine here.”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Finally, you make it to the second floor, your backpack slung over one shoulder, exhaustion already creeping up your spine. 

You scan the doors as you walk, muttering under your breath. “201... 202... 203...” Your steps slow as you reach the end of the hall.

“Wait. 320?” Your eye twitches. That means your class is on the third floor. 

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temple. “Of course. Of course, it fucking is.”

With a resigned sigh, you turn toward the stairwell, already dreading the climb. But before you can take a step, something catches your attention, a movement in the corridor ahead.

At first, you think someone dropped something, but then you notice the way the shadows shift, the sound of heavy breathing mixed with hushed giggles.

You turn your head slightly—Oh. My. God.

Two people. Making out. Scratch that, on the verge of straight-up fucking against the lockers.

The guy has the girl pinned, his hands gripping her waist like she’ll disappear if he lets go. She’s moaning softly against his lips, fingers tangled in his hair. His shirt is already halfway unbuttoned, and you’re one second away from throwing yourself down the stairs just to unsee this.

You stand frozen for a second before your brain goes into full rule-freak mode.

Without hesitation, you swing your book against the nearest locker HARD. The sharp BANG! echoes through the hall.

Both of them jump like they got caught committing a felony. The girl yelps, shoving the guy off her, while he nearly stumbles back, 

You don’t say a word. Just give them the most judgmental stare known to mankind before casually tucking your book under your arm and walking toward the stairs.

DO UA STUDENTS SERIOUSLY ACT LIKES THIS!?

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

Great.

Second day of school and guess what? You’re late. Again.

It’s not your fault this university is built like a maze. Seriously, who designed this place? Satan? Because you swear these hallways shift when you’re not looking.

Anyway, you finally reach your classroom, panting slightly as you yank the door open.

Bad idea.

The second you step inside, a booming voice nearly blows your eardrums out.

“Oh? So you’re the new student.”

You barely have time to blink before you’re greeted by the sight of your professor... A huge, balding man with a mustache that looks like it could suffocate a small child. He stands at the front of the class, arms crossed, looking way too excited to make your life miserable.

For a second, you consider slamming the door and running.

“Uh... yes sir.”

He scoffs, scanning you up and down like you’re some stray cat that wandered in from the streets. “And you’re late.”

No shit.

You force a smile, gripping your bag strap tighter. “Sir, I got lost.” The whole class is staring now, their eyes bouncing between you and the professor.

The professor lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “A transferee and a latecomer. We’re off to a great start.”

You clench your jaw, already regretting waking up today. Just let me sit down, old man.

“Take a seat.” He waves a hand dismissively, turning back to the whiteboard. “And try not to make tardiness a habit. I don’t tolerate slackers.”

Oh…

The old man, Tanaka, is exactly the kind of professor you’d expect to hate your life. His gut stretches against his beige button-up, making it look one wrong move away from popping open. His thinning hair is slicked back, probably with the same gel he’s been using since the ‘90s, and his glasses sit at the tip of his nose as if he wants to glare at students over them for extra intimidation points. He looks like the type who has nothing better to do than make students suffer. And unfortunately for you, you’re already on his shit list.

You’ve barely even sat down when his booming voice makes you freeze. “You there! The new student. Stand up.”

Keeping your expression blank, you stand up, adjusting the strap of your bag like you aren’t absolutely done with this day already. “What’s your name and age?” he asks, and you can already hear the smirks in the background. You sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes right in front of him. “Y/N L/N. Eighteen.”

There’s a beat of silence before he huffs and crosses his arms. “I’ll remember your name. And I’ll be adding it to my negligence tardiness list.”

The class erupts into laughter, some students snickering behind their hands. Your jaw tightens, but you school your face into a blank expression, only allowing yourself a discreet eye roll as you sit back down. If this guy thinks he can humiliate you on your first week and get a reaction, he’s dead wrong.

Professor Tanaka clears his throat dramatically, as if he hasn’t just tried to publicly shame you, and turns to the whiteboard. “Now that disruptions are out of the way, let’s begin. Welcome to Art Theory & History a subject that many of you will try to ignore but won’t be able to, because I make it my personal mission to make sure every single one of you learns something.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, but not in a good way. This isn’t a professor you can just ignore and pass. This is the type of professor who’ll hunt you down if you so much as miss a single deadline.

“For today, we’ll start with an activity,” he continues, scribbling something on the board with a nail on chalkboard screech that makes a few students wince. “Since most of you are freshmen, I want you to research one artist who changed the art industry in their time. It can be a painter, a sculptor, a digital artist, or even a controversial figure in the industry. Make sure you choose wisely, because you’ll be presenting it next class.”

Murmurs fill the room as students flip open their notebooks, already brainstorming names. Meanwhile, you stare at your blank page, tapping your pen against the desk. You’re new here and it's already the second semester which means most of your classmates probably have more experience with art history than you do. But whatever. Research is easy. It’s the presenting in front of everyone that you aren’t looking forward to.

You glance around the room, noticing a few students sneaking looks at you, no doubt still amused over what happened earlier. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You’ll make sure to wipe those smirks off their faces when you ace this.

Alright, deep breaths. Focus, Y/N.

You force your brain back into work mode, shaking off the lingering embarrassment of your unfortunate... doodle. Your pen taps against your notebook rhythmically as you scan your list of potential artists, your mind running wild with thoughts.

Van Gogh? Too obvious. Maybe Egon Schiele? No, too depressing—even for you. What about Jean-Michel Basquiat? He was chaotic, unpredictable, but brilliant.

Ugh, but what if everyone else chooses him? You chew the end of your pen, your mind spiraling. Damn it, should you go full hipster and pick an obscure artist no one gives a shit about? Or maybe you should just say screw it and pick someone crazy like Damien Hirst, the guy who literally put a dead shark in a tank and called it art.

You sigh, aggressively flipping to a fresh page and scribbling messy notes. Come on, Y/N. Just pick one and commit. But, of course, your mind has other plans because instead of choosing an artist, your brain won’t shut up.

Did you remember to lock your condo? What if you left the stove on? Wait you didn't cook, why the fuck would your stove be on? What time is it? Is it possible to die from caffeine withdrawal? Why does this classroom smell like anxiety?

You’re spiraling.

And then—

The classroom door slams open.

A group of students in sharp navy blazers walks in like they’re about to raid the place. Campus Guidance Committee. Their sleeve patches may as well say “we’re watching your every move,” and from the way they walk, they definitely know it. These aren’t your average hall monitors, these guys are basically college cops, and they're here to make sure nobody’s screwing around.

The whole class goes dead quiet as they line up at the front. Then their leader steps forward, all confidence and attitude. And the second you catch sight of that spiky blond hair, your stomach does a full flip.

No. Freaking. Way.

IT'S PINEAPPLE HEAD

And what’s on his chest? A shiny Disciplinary Officer badge, catching the light like it’s laughing right in your face. Because obviously he’s the one in charge now. The one who's gonna be keeping tabs on you.

Professor Tanaka freezes mid-lecture, marker still in the air, and gives them a look like he’s two seconds from snapping. “Mr. Bakugo,” he says, voice all cold and sharp, “I assume this is actually important. My class isn’t your personal stage.”

Katsuki doesn’t even blink. He gives a quick nod, sharp and to the point. “Won’t take long, Professor. Just doing our job.” His voice is clipped, polite enough not to piss off the staff, but still carrying that edge like he’s daring someone to challenge him. His crimson eyes sweep across the room, landing on each person like he’s mentally filing them away for what, who knows.

You sink lower in your seat, dragging your pen in messy spirals across the page like you’re actually paying attention. But your heart’s already picked up speed. This is it. Your moment. You’re still pissed. And now here he is, barging into class like he runs the place. Yeah, no. You’re not letting that slide.

You don’t need to humiliate him back. Not publicly, anyway. Just enough to shake that smug confidence a little. Revenge doesn’t have to be loud. It just has to hit where it hurts.

“Listen” Katsuki barks, his voice slicing through the silence like a slap. “I run the Campus Guidance Committee. My job is to make sure none of you dumbasses screw around and drag this school’s name through the mud. That means showing up, following the rules, and not being a pain in my damn ass.”

Tanaka clears his throat, his mustache giving a little twitch as he steps forward. He’s clearly not loving the way Katsuki just barked at everyone. “Mr. Bakugo,” he says, voice low and firm, “I’d appreciate it if you kept the language professional in my classroom. You’re here to inform, not to intimidate.”

Katsuki’s jaw ticks, but he nods again “Got it, sir.” He shifts his stance a little, still full of that cocky energy, but dialing it back just enough to avoid getting kicked out. “Point is–don’t mess up. Or you’ll be dealing with me.”

A tall guy with glasses steps up next, looking like he rehearsed this speech in the mirror. “As new students, it’s crucial that you follow UA University’s code of conduct,” he says, chopping the air with his hand like he’s conducting some invisible orchestra. “The Guidance Committee monitors campus behavior, oversees clubs, and helps ensure all students especially transfers adjust smoothly. We’ll be doing regular check-ins, so expect to see us around.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes behind the guy’s back but keeps his mouth shut. You notice the way he’s scanning the room again, that same sharp gaze flicking from face to face like he’s sizing everyone up. And when it lands on you, it lingers.

Oh, you’re that idiot who trashed my paper, you can practically hear him thinking.

Your grip tightens around your pen. He thinks he’s got you figured out. Like you’re still that same girl who froze up last time. Yeah, no. He might be watching but you’re watching him right back. And this time, you’re not going down easy.

A girl with a sleek ponytail steps up next. Her voice is calm, super put-together. “Each department has a representative if you need help with academics or club-related stuff,” she says. “We’re here as a resource, so don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Tanaka nods, clearly relieved someone here knows how to act like a professional. “Thank you, Ms. Yaoyorozu,” he says, giving her a slight smile then shoots a look at Katsuki, like wrap it up before I kick you out.

“Just about done, Professor,” Katsuki replies, polite on the surface but with that trademark edge still poking through. “We’re keeping an eye on clubs and first-years, so don’t expect us to disappear anytime soon. Especially you troublemakers.”

His eyes flick to you again, sharp and deliberate, and you don’t miss the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Cocky bastard.

You slide lower in your chair, eyes on your notebook, but your brain is spinning. Troublemaker, huh? We’ll see who’s really the problem.

You’re not here to apologize.

You’re here to even the score.

The committee starts wrapping things up, but the moment’s too perfect to pass up. This is your chance time to poke the bear. You clear your throat, loud enough to make Tanaka stop mid-sentence, and casually raise your hand like you’re about to ask for the homework.

Tanaka eyes you with the kind of look that says don’t make me regret this. “Yes, L/N?” he says, tired already.

“Yeah, just wondering,” you say, voice sweet and chill, “what’s the official rule on hair violations? Or is ‘blendered pineapple’ an approved committee look now?”

You point at Katsuki, who’s halfway to the door—but he freezes the second he hears your voice. You don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen.

The class goes quiet.

Katsuki turns his head just enough to shoot you a look. That smirk? Gone.

Bingo.

The room explodes.

Laughter hits like a wave, someone’s doubled over, another guy’s straight up wheezing, and one kid’s slapping the desk. Even the yaoyoruzu's lips twitch before she quickly pulls herself together. Tenya looks like he’s about to break into a full-on speech about “proper classroom behavior,” but Prof Tanaka shuts it down before he gets the chance.

“L/N!” Tanaka snaps, slamming his marker down on the desk with a sharp crack. The noise slices through the chaos like a knife, and the room falls quiet. “That is completely inappropriate! I won’t have childish comments disrupting my class. One more outburst, and you’re spending the afternoon in detention.”

You press your lips together, nodding like you’ve learned your lesson. “Sorry, Professor. Won’t happen again.”

But on the inside? You’re buzzing.

The way Bakugo’s jaw is locked? So worth it.

Katsuki’s still standing in the doorway, frozen. His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles have gone pale. “You tryna start something?” he mutters, voice low and sharp like a warning but just quiet enough that Professor Tanaka doesn’t snap again. He’s not dumb. He knows where the line is, and he’s toeing it real careful.

You lean back in your chair, cool as hell, tapping your pen lazily against your notebook. “Just an observation” you say, totally unfazed. “Your hair’s got… personality. Figured someone should acknowledge it.”

Your voice is light, casual, not too smug but just enough to poke at him. This isn’t about being a smartass. This is you holding your ground, plain and simple.

The class is still snickering under their breath, but Tanaka’s officially had it. “Mr. Bakugo!” he snaps, slamming his hand on the desk. Even his mustache looks pissed. “If you’re quite finished, take your committee and go. And L/N, one more word, and you’ll be writing a five-page paper on Renaissance etiquette by tomorrow morning.”

Katsuki straightens up, still glaring, but nods once tight and controlled. “We’re done here, sir,” he says through gritted teeth.

But as he turns to leave, he detours just slightly, stepping in closer to your desk. Close enough that you catch that familiar scent.

He leans in, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re on my list now.”

Then he’s gone, boots heavy on the floor, the rest of the committee trailing after him.

You swallow hard, throat suddenly dry. For the first time since this whole back and forth started, a chill creeps down your spine. Those eyes of his, they’re not just pissed anymore. There’s something else behind them. And whatever it is, it sinks into your chest.

You poked the bear, and you're sure it’s not going to let you go.

Professor Tanaka clears his throat, sharp and loud enough to snap everyone back to reality. He’s standing at the front of the room.

“Enough,” he says, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. “One more disruption, and you’re all writing ten page essays on the evolution of brushstroke techniques. Due tomorrow. Clear?”

A scattered chorus of “Yes, sir” ripples through the class. Notebooks snap open. Pens start moving. Heads go down.

Tanaka adjusts his glasses, giving the room one last death glare over the rims before turning back to the board. You sink lower in your seat, pretending to take notes, but your head’s still spinning.

“As I was saying" Prpfessor Tanaka grabs the marker again, voice back to business. 

"Flr your assignment. I want a summary and a five minute presentation of what i'm asking right for you to do right now No excuses, no late work. And if I catch even a hint of Wikipedia, I’ll fail you so fast"

The class groans quietly, already scribbling names in their margins.

You tap your pen against the page, trying to focus but your pulse is still racing.

Yeah. This just got a whole lot more complicated.

The professor starts scribbling names on the board Leonardo da Vinci, Frida Kahlo, Banksy, rattling them off like he’s tossing out ideas, but his handwriting’s a mess. Half the letters are slanted, some are just blobs, and honestly? You’re guessing half the names based on vibes alone.

The marker squeaks with every stroke, sharp and annoying, and a few students flinch. No one says a word, though. Tanaka strikes you as the type who’d make you scrub the whiteboard with a tissue if you so much as sighed too loud.

You glance down at your notebook. Your own list of artists is still a chaotic mess of scribbles and second guesses. Basquiat’s name is circled, but now you’re not so sure. Feels like the obvious choice. Safe. And you don’t feel safe right now, not with your brain still echoing.

You tap your pen against the page, trying to shake it off, but your thoughts keep circling back to him. The way Bakugo leaned in. The low tone of his voice, almost calm but not. That look in his eyes like he wasn’t bluffing.

You’re not scared of him. Not exactly. But there’s something about his energy like a lit fuse, always seconds from going off that’s got you on edge. And the worst part? You’re not even sure if it’s fear... or adrenaline.

The room’s gone quiet. Everyone’s pretending to focus, a girl two rows over keeps glancing your way, wide-eyed, like she’s still deciding if you’re fearless or just unhinged.

Some guy in the back leans over to his friend and whispers something your ears catch just one word: “pineapple.”

Then the both of them snort into their sleeves, trying not to laugh.

Perfect. You’ve officially gone viral in your own classroom. 

And meanwhile? Bakugo’s probably out there somewhere already planning your slow, painful academic demise.

You shake your head and force yourself to write something down, anything to look like you’re doing what you’re supposed to.

Jean-Michel Basquiat. Neo-expressionism. 1980s New York.

Cool. It’s a start. But your brain won’t shut up.

You keep circling back to the stupid paint water thing. It was an accident. like, a legit accident. 

Tanaka’s voice slices through the noise in your head.

“L/N,” he says, not even bothering to turn from the board. “I trust you’re working on your assignment and not planning another spectacle.”

Your stomach drops. How does he know?

You snap to attention, even though your heart’s still half in the past. “Yes, sir,” you say quickly, trying to sound focused, normal.

“Good.” He finally turns to face the class. His eyes skim the room, but they pause on you just a little too long. “Because I don’t have time for students who treat this class like a stage for their personal grudges.”

You nod, even though your cheeks are heating up. Tanaka doesn’t bluff, and you already used up most of your goodwill with that pineapple comment. You look down and jot a few more words but your mind’s still stuck on Bakugo.

When the bell finally rings, it’s like someone popped the pressure valve in your brain. You’re already zipping your bag before the sound finishes echoing, trying to slip out before Tanaka or anyone else calls you out again.

The room erupts into the usual post class chaos papers rustling, chairs scraping, zippers flying—but you swear you can still feel eyes on you. Like you’ve officially been labeled that person. The bold one. The idiot. Depends who you ask.

You keep your head down and make a quiet exit. Not because you’re scared. Just... playing smart. Watching the board. Counting your moves.

Because next time? You’re not gonna be caught off guard.

“Hey,” someone says, and you turn to see the girl from two rows over. The one who kept sneaking glances earlier. She’s got short, choppy hair and that awkward half-smile people wear when they’re not sure if they’re being friendly or nosy.

“That was… bold.”

You shrug. “He kind of asked for it.”

She lets out a quick laugh quiet, like she doesn’t want to draw attention even though class is over. “Just… be careful, okay? I heard he’s intense. Like, he once made some guy run laps for bringing chips to a club meeting.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Dead serious?”

She nods. “He takes his job way too seriously. Disciplinary Officer or whatever. People don’t mess with him.”

Noted.

Good to know it’s not all bark with him.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

Later, back at your condo, you drop your bag and crash onto the couch. The silence hits you immediately loud in its own way. 

You stare up at the ceiling, letting your brain run back through the day. The way your throat closed up when he leaned in, like your body knew something your mouth didn’t. He’s not just loud. He’s methodical. Dangerous in a way that doesn’t need fists.

You pull out your laptop and open a blank doc for your research assignment. Basquiat still seems like the move, but your brain’s not fully in it. Your thoughts drift again. To him.

Bakugo’s gonna be around. You could run into him anywhere.

You think about just laying low, keeping things simple. Head down, study hard, stay out of his orbit.

You close the laptop. You’re too wired to focus. Tomorrow’s coming fast, and if today was any sign, Bakugo’s not backing off.

But neither are you.

This is your restart, and no one especially not him is taking it from you. Still, as you lie back on the couch and stare at the ceiling again, that look in his eyes lingers.

You’re on his list now.

Cool.

Let’s see how long he lasts.

Chapter Text

 ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

The day had started just fine. You were in the Fine Arts building, setting up your stuff for an afternoon of painting. A plastic cup filled with murky paint water sat carelessly at the edge of your workspace. You weren’t paying much attention to it, too focused on the details of your canvas.

Then, in one stupid, distracted moment, you grabbed the cup, thinking you were tossing it into the trash can. But of course, you missed. The water splashed everywhere, and when you turned to look, a sick feeling hit your stomach. There was no trash can in sight.

Instead, your aim had been completely off. The paint water landed all over a stack of neatly printed papers.

Your heart sank.

"Oh, shit-" You froze. The papers weren’t just random. They were someone’s research papers. You looked up, and of course, the person standing right there, witnessing your disaster, was none other than Katsuki Bakugou.

His eyes shot from the ruined papers to you, his jaw tightening like he wanted to break something. His hands curled into fists so tightly, you could see his knuckles turning white. The fury in his gaze burned through you, and your stomach did a flip.

"What. The. Fuck." His voice was low and dangerously calm. You could feel the rage crackling in the air, and you knew you were about to get destroyed.

You were so fucked.

"Uh..." you stammered, staring at the soggy mess you’d created. The ink was bleeding all over the place, the papers practically disintegrating. "Oops?"

"Oops?!" Katsuki’s voice shot up in pitch, and the nearby students started murmuring, some of them backing away, probably preparing for a fight. "Do you have any idea what you just did?!"

You opened your mouth to apologize, but the words were stuck in your throat. He looked like he wanted to rip your head off.

Okay, damage control. Think, Y/N. Think.

You quickly rummaged through your bag and pulled out some cash. "Here," you said, thrusting it toward him. "This should be enough to reprint it. I’ll cover the cost."

You thought maybe he’d calm down, but nope. Big mistake.

Katsuki’s eyes flickered to the cash in your hand, and the look he gave you made you feel like you’d just slapped him across the face. His lips curled, and he sneered. "You think money’s gonna fix this?" His voice was laced with disgust. "You really think that a couple of bills will make up for you fucking up my whole goddamn work?"

You took a step back, feeling like the world was closing in on you. "I mean, I didn’t mean to-"

"Pathetic," he spat, cutting you off. "You think you can just throw cash at a problem and it’ll magically disappear? What the hell is wrong with you?"

You winced at his words, like they stung more than they should have. But before you could answer, he grabbed the ruined papers and waved them in your face, his eyes blazing. "This is a fucking major task for me, you dumbass." He practically yelled, his face twisted in anger.

You swallowed hard, feeling your face flush. "Well, I didn’t-"

"Of course you didn’t think!" he snapped. "This shit matters to me! This is my grade, my fucking future. And you?" He looked you up and down like you were beneath him. "You’re a goddamn artist, right? Don’t you know how to fucking respect someone else’s work? Or is that too complicated for you?"

You clenched your fists, trying to hold back the anger bubbling up inside you. But you couldn’t help it. He was right—you’d fucked up. But the way he was making you feel like nothing... It made your blood boil.

"I didn’t mean to!" you said, your voice coming out sharper than you intended. "You could’ve put it somewhere else too, you know. Why the hell would you leave your stuff so close to a trash can if it’s important? That’s on you too!"

You immediately regretted saying it. It was a weak excuse, and you knew it.

Katsuki didn’t even blink. His eyes darkened, and without another word, he threw the papers back onto the table like they were trash, slamming his hand down hard enough to shake the surface. He stared at you for a long moment, the silence thick between you, making the tension unbearable.

"You’re lucky I don’t destroy you right now," he said, his voice low and controlled. "You’re a fucking mess. I’ve got shit to do, but I don’t know if I want to waste any more time on you. You clearly don’t get how serious this is."

And then, as if he couldn’t care less about anything you had to say, he turned on his heel and walked away.

But not before throwing one last thing over his shoulder.

"Keep your fucking money. Stay out of my way."

You stood there, completely stunned. Your mind was racing, your heart pounding in your chest. Your pride was wounded, your confidence shattered.

What the hell just happened? How did everything go so wrong, so fast?

The other Fine Arts students were still watching, some trying to hide their snickers. Great. Now you were the idiot who pissed off the angry law student.

But more than that, you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. "Stay out of my way."

BUT THEN

You didn’t mean to cause trouble. Again.

But here you were, standing in the middle of the university hallway, staring at a very, very pissed-off Katsuki Bakugou.

It wasn’t your fault this time. Not entirely. You had just finished picking up a stack of art materials from the supply room, your arms overloaded with sketchbooks, paints, and a giant rolled-up canvas. The thing was practically bigger than you, making it impossible to see where you were going.

And that’s how you ended up running straight into a janitor’s cart.

The impact knocked over a mop bucket full of dirty water. And, of course, Katsuki just happened to be walking by at that exact moment. The water splashed all over his legs, soaking his pants and shoes.

A tense silence filled the hallway. Students had stopped to watch, some already whispering.

Katsuki stared down at his drenched clothes, then at you. His left eye twitched. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me."

You winced. "Uh." You shifted the giant canvas in your arms, trying to hold it properly. "You... okay?"

His nostrils flared. "Do I look okay?!"

"...No?"

A vein in his forehead pulsed.

You sighed and pulled out some money. "Here. To get your clothes cleaned or something."

Katsuki’s glare darkened. "You think I need your damn money?!"

Well, that was the wrong move. You immediately shoved the cash back in your pocket. "Look, it was an accident."

"Another accident?" His voice was sharp, dripping with irritation. "First my research paper, now this? What, you got some kind of vendetta against me?"

You adjusted the canvas in your arms. "You were the one who left your important stuff near the trash bin last time."

That only made him angrier. His jaw clenched like he was debating whether to explode on the spot or walk away. Eventually, he scoffed, shaking his head before storming off, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You were having the worst day.

Like, the worst. 

Not only were you still reeling from splashing dirty mop water all over Katsuki Bakugou’s stupidly expensive sneakers, but your body decided today was the perfect time to remind you it hated you.

Your cramps were out for blood, your lower back felt like it was staging a rebellion, and every step made you want to curl up in a ball.

But no, you had to drag yourself to the Fine Arts building to grab your forgotten paintbrushes because your professor was a stickler for “always being prepared.”

You shuffled through the hallway, clutching your bag like it was a lifeline, trying to ignore the dull ache in your abdomen. The last thing you needed was another disaster. The universe, apparently, didn’t care about your suffering, because as you turned the corner, you nearly collided with a wall of pure ugliness.

Katsuki Bakugou. Again. Because of course.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes locked onto you “What the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice cutting through the hallway like a knife. No greeting, no preamble, just instant hostility.

You blinked, thrown off by the venom in his tone. “Uh, walking? Existing? What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” He pushed off the wall, taking a step toward you, and you instinctively backed up, your bag bumping against your hip. “My problem is you keep showing up like a goddamn curse. First my papers, then my shoes, and now you’re just here breathing my air?”

You stared at him, your cramps making your patience thinner than a sheet of tissue paper. “I’m not trying to ruin your life, Bakugou. Maybe stop haunting the same hallways as me if you’re so pissed about it.”

His eyes narrowed, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Don’t act like you’re innocent, dumbass. You’re a walking disaster. I don’t need your clumsy ass anywhere near me.”

Your stomach twisted partly from the cramps, partly from the way his words hit harder than they should’ve. You were used to his yelling by now, but this? This felt like he’d decided you were the source of every problem in his life.

“Okay, what is your deal?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you meant. “I get it, I fucked up your papers. I got your shoes wet. But chill the hell out.”

“Chill?” He barked out a laugh, but it was bitter, like you’d just insulted his entire existence. “You don’t get to tell me to chill when you keep screwing everything up. You think you can just walk around, making messes, and I’m supposed to just deal with it?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but a particularly brutal cramp hit, and you winced, pressing a hand to your side before you could stop yourself. Katsuki’s eyes flicked to the movement, his scowl faltering for half a second, but he didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t. Why would he care?

“Look,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to power through the pain. “I’m not trying to be in your way. I’m just here to grab my stuff and go. So maybe you can back off for once.”

He stepped closer, towering over you, and you had to tilt your head back to meet his glare. “Back off? You’re the one who keeps tripping into my life like a fucking wrecking ball. You think I want to deal with you? You think I’ve got time for this shit?”

Your face burned, and you weren’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment or just the stupid hormones making you want to either punch him or cry. “Then leave" you snapped, your voice cracking slightly. “Nobody’s forcing you to stand here and yell at me."

His fists clenched, his jaw tightened, and you braced yourself for another round of shouting. But instead, he just stared at you.

“You’re a fucking problem,” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “Stay out of my sight, or I swear"

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. He turned on his heel, storming down the hallway, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your cramps screaming. You hugged your bag tighter, trying to ignore the sting of his words and the way your body felt like it was falling apart.

What the hell was his problem? You hadn’t even done anything this time. You wanted to scream after him, to tell him he was being a complete asshole for no reason, but your energy was gone. Between the pain in your body and the embarrassment of being publicly chewed out, you just felt... small.

Tho she felt bad and she promised to herself that she'll start dodging strangers to avoid trouble.

You dragged yourself to the Fine Arts room, grabbed your paintbrushes, and slumped against the wall for a second, trying to breathe through another cramp. Your mind kept replaying his words. “You’re a fucking problem.” Why did it hurt so much? Why did you care what some angry law student thought of you?

But deep down, you knew this wasn’t the end of Bakugou’s rage

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Katsuki was supposed to be having a decent morning. His new research paper was done, submitted, and out of his fucking life. Luckily Kirishima helped him and passed the work in time. But you ruined it with your bad luck.

The universe clearly had other plans because as he walked through the halls, something on the Fine Arts bulletin board made him stop dead in his tracks.

There it was. A giant poster announcing the winners of some contest. And right at the top, with a big red #1 next to it, was a picture of you.

Y/N.

His eye twitched. First place? In what? He scanned the text. Some kind of art competition. Whatever the hell that meant. He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. It wasn’t like this shit mattered. It wasn’t real academia, not like Law, Medicine, or Engineering. What did they even do, doodle the best?

And yet-

"Damn, that’s impressive," some Fine Arts student muttered beside him.

"Right? I heard she beat out over a hundred entries."

"Woah, I never expect her to do a lot... She’s new here, right?"

Katsuki glared so hard at your photo it almost hurt. He didn’t get it. Why were people acting like this was some huge deal? Art was just there. Background noise. Something people looked at when they had nothing better to do.

Still, the sight of your name on that board pissed him off more than it should have.

Y/N. First place. Recognition.

Tch.

He turned on his heel, shoving past a group of Fine Arts students chatting nearby.

He didn’t give a shit about this. Didn’t care. It had nothing to do with him. So why the hell was he so annoyed?

•••

Later that day in the library, things went downhill fast.

You weren’t even looking for him. You just wanted to grab a book, maybe zone out for a while and forget about everything else. It was quiet, barely anyone around, and honestly, you were hoping it’d stay that way.

The book you needed was annoyingly high up, of course. You stretched on your toes, trying to grab it without looking completely dumb.

Your fingers barely brushed the spine when you lost your balance.

You tried to steady yourself, but it was too late—you stumbled backwards and bumped into someone.

A very solid someone.

A very solid, very heavy someone.

Before you could react, the both of you slammed into the bookshelf behind you. And just like that, everything started falling apart literally. One shelf knocked into the next, and then the next, until the whole row came crashing down in the loudest, most embarrassing mess ever.

Then... silence.

You blinked, a little dazed, and realized you were on top of someone.

Your heart dropped.

Katsuki Bakugou.

Your hands were flat on his chest. His eyes were wide, like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

And then you realized the worst part.

Your lips were touching.

A kiss.

You froze. So did he.

It was the most awkward two seconds of your entire life.

Bakugou was the first to move.

"What the actual fuck?!"

You scrambled off of him so fast you nearly tripped again. Your face burned, and you wiped at your mouth instinctively. "Shit-shit. That wasn’t-fuck-"

Katsuki sat up, looking just as horrified. He wiped his lips aggressively, looking like he wanted to bleach his entire face. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"It was an accident!" you snapped, still flustered. "Maybe don’t stand in my blind spot next time!"

"Maybe don’t exist near me next time!" he shot back, voice sharp with frustration.

Students were staring. Some were whispering. A few even had their phones out, no doubt already spreading rumors about whatever the hell just happened.

Katsuki ran a hand down his face, clearly on the verge of either losing his mind or committing homicide. "I’m done. I’m so fucking done."

You didn’t blame him.

If you had to rank your most embarrassing moments, this one definitely made the top five.

The ringing in your ears was nothing compared to the absolute silence that followed. You barely had time to process the fact that your lips had accidentally met Katsuki Bakugou’s before a sharp, horrified gasp cut through the air.

Then—

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"

The head librarian’s voice shattered the silence, bouncing off the ruined bookshelves, the scattered books, and the absolute disaster zone that used to be the library’s quiet section.

You scrambled off Katsuki, your entire face burning as you clutched your own lips in disbelief. Your brain hadn’t even caught up with the fact that you had just kissed him. Not just anyone. KATSUKI BAKUGOU. Oh my god.

Katsuki, on the other hand, looked just as horrified but not because of the kiss. No, his eyes were locked onto the destruction around you, the massive domino effect of bookshelves now collapsed in one long, chaotic line. Books were everywhere, pages crumpled, covers bent, and the thick dust from untouched shelves filled the air, making him cough.

"Are you both INSANE?!" The librarian, a woman in her late fifties with steel-gray hair and the meanest glare you had ever seen, stormed toward you. "Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve caused?!"

Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "For fuck’s sake-"

"I-uh-it was an accident," you stammered, still dazed. "I didn’t mean-"

"Oh, you didn’t mean to turn my library into a disaster zone?" The librarian’s glare was lethal. "You two, Principal’s office. NOW."

Katsuki’s jaw tightened, his temper flaring again. "You’ve gotta be kidding me-"

"DO I LOOK LIKE I’M KIDDING?"

You winced, sending Katsuki a cautious glance. You weren’t dumb if you didn’t listen, this situation could get worse. Way worse.

"Let’s just go," you mumbled, brushing dust off your uniform. "Before she actually do something to us."

Katsuki shot you a glare, but even he knew there was no escaping this. With an annoyed grunt, he yanked his bag over his shoulder, stepping over a pile of books as you both trudged out of the library heads low.

The janitors rushed in right away, wiping down the mess and hauling the shelf like it was nothing because of course, UA is way too prestigious to let a disaster like that sit for even a minute.

And, unfortunately, that damn kiss still lingered in the back of your mind.

What. The. Hell.

•••

The principal’s office was colder than expected. The walls were lined with shelves of old books and awards, a stark contrast to the heated tension in the room. Katsuki sat slouched in his chair, arms crossed, his jaw set tight. You sat stiffly across from him, your fingers gripping the hem of your uniform skirt. Your eyes stayed fixed on the desk, your breathing uneven.

Principal Nezu, a man known for his strict demeanor, exhaled through his nose, setting down the report with a heavy thud. He steepled his fingers, his sharp gaze moving between you two.

"Explain," he demanded, voice cold and clipped.

Silence. Katsuki clenched his fists, shifting in his seat, while you bit your lip, the weight of the situation pressing down on your chest.

"You two," Nezu continued, "managed to turn the library into a disaster zone. A bookshelf collapsed. Hundreds of books are scattered. You disrupted school property and displayed an absolute lack of discipline."

Katsuki scoffed, tilting his head back. "It wasn’t on purpose," he muttered.

Nezu’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and unforgiving. "And that justifies your behavior?" His voice rose slightly. "Bakugou, you are the former Student Council President and current a committee member The one person who should be setting an example. Yet, what do I hear? That you curse at other students? That you speak with no regard for respect?"

Katsuki tensed, his jaw tightening. "Wha-"

"No, I’m speaking," Nezu cut him off, his voice now laced with irritation. "This is exactly the problem. You walk around as if rules don’t apply to you. You want to be a leader? Then act like one."

You felt the pressure in the room increase, and you swallowed hard. Katsuki’s pride was getting torn apart, but you knew better than to speak for him.

Nezu turned his attention to you next. "And you, L/N."

Your breath hitched. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"You’re a freshman, yet you’ve already managed to get yourself into this situation. I have been informed that this is not your first incident with Bakugou."

You paled. It sounded so much worse when put into words like that.

"This," Nezu continued, tapping the report, "is not just about a mess in the library. It is about responsibility. You both will pay for the damages caused."

Your heart dropped. Your fingers trembled as you gripped your skirt even tighter. "P-Pay?"

"Yes." Nezu’s voice was firm. "The books that were damaged, the shelves that need repairing—these things cost money." He leaned forward. "And your parents will be contacted regarding this."

The world tilted. Your breath stilled, your stomach twisted painfully, and the blood drained from your face.

"No," you blurted out, eyes wide. "That’s not-I’ll handle it, I’ll pay for it myself, just-just don’t call them."

Nezu’s brows furrowed. "L/N, this is not a small matter. Your parents need to be informed."

Your throat tightened, panic clawing up your chest. The mere thought of your mother’s voice, the disappointment, the cold, harsh words, it sent you spiraling.

"I’ll take responsibility," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. "Please. Don’t call them."

Katsuki, who had been glaring at the desk, finally looked at you. He frowned, noticing how pale you had gotten, how your breathing had become shallow. It was the first time you looked genuinely rattled.

Nezu remained silent for a moment before sighing. "You two will report to the student affairs office for your assigned duties. You’ll be cleaning up and assisting the library staff until the damage is paid off. If either of you fails to show up, I will have no choice but to involve your parents."

You bit your lip hard enough to hurt but nodded. Katsuki clicked his tongue but gave a short nod as well.

"You are dismissed," Nezu said, waving you off.

You stood up too quickly, your vision tilting for a second, but you forced yourself to move. Katsuki followed after you, his usual scowl still in place.

As you stepped out into the hallway, a wave of exhaustion crashed over you. The relief of not having your mother called was overshadowed by the weight of your punishment. You didn’t notice that Katsuki was still watching you, his sharp eyes studying the way you hugged your arms around yourself.

He clicked his tongue, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Tch. This is your fault, you're a bad luck."

You flinched slightly but didn’t respond. You didn’t have the energy for it.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

You've only just begun, and you’re already over this pointless library punishment. You can’t stop sneezing every five seconds because of the old books. 

You’d rather be somewhere else, like in your dorm, drawing something to distract yourself from everything, but your hands are already smudged with dirt from these old shelves. However, as usual, Bakugou is acting as though he doesn’t care about anything, and you’re stuck here playing cleanup crew. You haven’t even spoken yet, and it’s making you crazy.

“Such a waste of time,” You whispered to your self

Without even glancing at you, he slams a book onto a shelf. 

Tch. He just keeps throwing books, his red eyes fixed on the shelf like you’re not even there. You want to yell because of his stupid indifference; why does he have to pretend to be too cool to give a damn?

Finally, he looks at you with a smirk that betrays his annoyance. “Then maybe don’t be a klutz next time. I’m not here to play house with you,” he says, his voice low and rough.

You shoot back, your voice sharp, crossing your arms and glaring down at him. “Excuse me?”

He has the audacity to act like you made the mistake alone. Oh, that smirk. Your cheeks are getting hot, your blood boiling, but you’re not going to let him think he’s winning. You turn to face him, slamming your book stack down a bit too forcefully, the thud echoing through the silent library. You want to hurl a book at his head because of the arrogant way his stupid red eyes are glinting. Why does he always have to act like such a jerk? And why are you even letting it get to you?

You catch the slightest twitch in Bakugou’s eyebrow, like you hit a nerve, but his smirk stays fixed. You hate how unbothered he looks, leaning back against the shelf, crossing his arms to mirror you, like he’s just waiting for you to lose it. You’re stuck here, and you’re not giving him the satisfaction of thinking you can’t handle this, even though your heart’s racing and you can’t decide whether to walk away or yell more.

He picks up another book, flipping it open like he’s suddenly interested in it. “You’re the one who can’t aim for shit. Don’t pin your mess on me,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think I wanted to spend my afternoon with a damn klutz?” He keeps calling you that?

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, trying to keep your composure. He’s such a jerk, throwing insults like it’s nothing, but you’re not going to let him think he can walk all over you. You take a step closer, your voice low but sharp, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s taking everything not to lose it.

Your words spill out faster than you can control. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly sign up to deal with a stuck-up jerk who thinks he’s better than everyone else.” You glare, muttering, “Maybe I wouldn’t have to keep cleaning up after your ego if you weren’t such a pain.”

For a second, you think you’ve really pissed him off when his eyes narrow. But he just scoffs, flips the book to the shelf with a lazy wrist flick, and walks away like you’re not worth his time. That casualness stings like a slap in the face, and you hate how much it hurts. Why do you even care what he thinks? You shouldn’t, but you’re furious.

“Whatever, keep talking, I’m not listening to your whining,” he mutters, his voice flat as he grabs another stack of books, shoulders tense but face blank. “Just don’t fuck up again, or I’ll leave you to deal with this shit alone.”

You bite your lip, forcing yourself not to say something you’ll regret. You’re not sure if you’re mad at him or at yourself for letting him get under your skin like this, but your chest feels tight. You need to do something with all this frustration, so you turn back to your own stack, pushing books onto the shelf with more force than necessary. You tell yourself he’s not worth it, but your trembling hands say otherwise.

For a minute, you work in silence, interrupted only by the thump of books and the rustle of pages. You steal a glance at him, and his jaw is clenched like he’s biting back something, his expression still intense. You hate that you notice these things, like how his hair sticks up even more when he’s irritated, or how his fingers grip the books a bit too tightly. Why are you even looking?

God, you need to get a grip. You try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, focusing on the shelf, but it’s hard when he’s right there, being his usual pissed-off self. All you want is to get through this without losing your mind or throwing something at him. Maybe both.

Bakugou breaks the silence, tossing a book at you, “Hey, catch this, klutz. Don’t just stand there spacing out.”

The book lands in your hands, heavier than you expected, and you stumble a bit. “What the hell, warn a girl before you start throwing stuff!” you snap, glaring at him. “Are you trying to injure me or what?”

You ignore the stupid little flip your heart does. You try to hide how shaken you are, shooting him a glare. It pisses you off even more that he’s looking at you with that half-lidded, lazy stare, like he didn’t even notice.

He smirks, completely unbothered, leaning against the shelf with his arms folded. “Tch, stop complaining. I thought you artists were supposed to have fast reflexes or something.” He snickers. “Maybe if you weren’t so awkward, you could handle it, huh?”

You roll your eyes, face burning as you step closer, shoving the book back at him. “Oh, please, I’ve got better reflexes than your grumpy ass. Maybe if you weren’t such a dick, I wouldn’t have to dodge your stupid throws!” Your voice is loud, and you feel eyes on you, but you don’t care. You’re not letting him win this—he’s getting on your last nerve.

That arrogant jerk.

Your chest tightens, and you want to scream at him, but a tiny part of you is freaking out over how close you are. You shake your head, trying to brush it off, but it’s like he’s planted some stupid seed in your brain that you can’t shake. Why does he have to be so obnoxious and… noticeable?

Your pulse spikes as you yank your hand back fast when Bakugou grabs the book, his fingers brushing yours. He doesn’t even flinch, just raises an eyebrow like you’re the weird one. “What, relax, I ain’t catching cooties from you,” he says, his tone dry as he tosses the book onto the shelf behind him.

“Shut up, you’re the one who’s all jumpy—maybe you’re the one with cooties, huh?” you shoot back sarcastically, grabbing another book to distract yourself. You hope he doesn’t notice your hands trembling a bit. Your mind’s racing, but you focus on the book’s spine, reading the title like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

He turns away, grabbing more books, his back to you like you’re no longer worth his time. “Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that. I’ve got better things to worry about than your crazy theories.”

Part of you wants to keep fighting, and another part wants to know why, for once, his laugh sounded almost human. He doesn’t say anything else, just keeps working, and you’re left stewing, your frustration mixing with something you don’t want to name. You slam a book onto the shelf, the sharp sound cutting through the silence, and mutter under your breath, “Jerk.”

You try to focus on the stack in front of you, but your hands move on autopilot, shoving books onto the shelf without really thinking. You can’t stop thinking about Bakugou’s rough but weirdly soft fingers on that book, and your heart keeps thumping stupidly. You hate how it’s messing with your head. You shouldn’t even be noticing him, let alone doing this. He’s a total pain in the ass, and you’re an idiot for letting it get to you. What the hell is wrong with you?

A nearby student groans, annoyed. “Can you take it easy? You guys are ruining the entire order.”

“Maybe if she wasn’t so sloppy, we wouldn’t have a problem,” Bakugou says, his voice sharp, like he’s been waiting for an excuse to jab at you, not even pausing his book-stacking.

Your annoyance spikes, but you’re not letting him get away with it. You stop what you’re doing, put your hands on your hips, and turn to face him. You can’t stay quiet, but you’re not yelling or giving him that satisfaction. You’re sick of his attitude and done putting up with it.

“Funny, coming from the guy who’s acting like he’s too good for this. why don’t you try helping instead of complaining?” you say, voice steady despite the rage bubbling inside.

The librarian marches over, her voice firm. She’s glaring at you both, and you can tell she means business. “Keep it down, or you’re both out!”

“Yeah, fine,” Bakugou grumbles, going back to his stack like nothing happened.

“I’m done arguing,” you mutter, turning to your own books, trying to focus, but the tension lingers, heavy like a thick fog.

You rub your temples, perched on a stool, trying to calm down. He’s so annoying, why can’t you just ignore him and move on? Every word he says feels like it’s meant to get under your skin, and you hate how he makes everything harder than it needs to be. Your mind’s a mess, and you can’t stop thinking about how much this is getting to you, even though you just want to finish and get out of here.

The door creaks as Bakugou steps outside, and you hear him muttering to himself.

You’re both lost in your own thoughts, not talking to each other. You keep sorting books, your mind racing with frustration, but you can’t focus. You’re even more pissed because he’s out there, probably not even thinking about you. It feels like you’re stuck in this vicious cycle, and you don’t know why it’s so hard or why you can’t let it go.

After a few minutes, Bakugou comes back with a rag in his hand, his expression blank. He hands it to you, your fingers brushing as you take it. “Wipe your hands, you’re a mess,” he says.

Your voice is dry as you wipe your hands, keeping your eyes on the rag to avoid looking at him. “Thanks, I guess. Maybe you should work on not being such a jerk,” you reply.

“Not my problem,” he grunts, his voice flat as ever, and walks off.

You exhale slowly, your annoyance mixing with some weird emotion you can’t place. He’s the worst. But why does this feel so hard? He moves to another shelf, and you glance at him. Your eyes lock for a split second, a flicker of tension passing between you, but it’s gone as fast as it came, leaving you stuck in your thoughts.

crossing into cheesy territory.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You’re exhausted, your bones practically begging for mercy as you trudge down the dimly lit street. It’s 7 PM, and the sky’s already swallowed by a heavy, inky darkness, the streetlights flickering like they’re too tired to do their job.

Your backpack feels like it’s stuffed with bricks. Sketchbooks, paintbrushes, and that stupid essay you finally finished after the library punishment.

Your head’s pounding, your cramps are still kicking your ass from earlier, and all you want is to collapse in your dorm and draw until the world stops feeling like a dumpster fire. The memory of Bakugou’s smug face and his “wipe your hands, you’re a mess” bullshit keeps looping in your brain, making your blood simmer.

Why does he have to be such a dick? And why does your dumb heart keep tripping over itself every time his stupid fingers brush yours?

You shake your head, trying to shove him out of your thoughts. The street’s quiet, too quiet, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

You pull your blazer tighter, your shoes scuffing against the cracked pavement. The faint hum of a car in the distance is the only sound, but it’s not enough to drown out the unease creeping up your spine.

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Bakugou to pop out of nowhere and yell at you for existing again. But there’s nothing. Just shadows and the occasional flicker of a streetlight.

Thirty Minutes Earlier

Katsuki’s jaw was so tight it might as well be wired shut. The library was a fucking nightmare, and not just because of the dusty books or the librarian’s death glares. No, it was her. Y/N. The girl who seemed to have a goddamn talent for screwing up his day.

She’d been whining nonstop “I’ve got so many assignments,” “I just wanna go home,” “This is so unfair” like she was the only one with a life. Sorry to disrupt her but his legal management course was a soul-sucking hellhole, with professors piling on case studies and exams like they wanted him to spontaneously combust.

He didn’t have time to babysit her clumsy ass while she fumbled books and sneezed every five seconds.

“Quit your bitching,” he’d snapped, shoving another book onto the shelf. “You think I wanna be here either? I’ve got better shit to do than clean up your messes.”

Her eyes had flared, and for a second, he’d almost wanted to keep pushing, just to see how much she could take. “Maybe if you weren’t such a jerk, I wouldn’t have to deal with you either!” she’d shot back, slamming her stack of books down hard enough to make the shelf shake.

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a mess from running her hands through it, and fuck, why did he notice that? Why did he notice the way her voice cracked, like she was one second from crying?

He’d scoffed, turning away, because that was easier than dealing with the weird twist in his gut. Katsuki wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was being harder on her than he needed to be.

But something about her. Her stubbornness, her clumsy self, the way she kept getting in his face, made him want to snap. Not because he hated her. Hell, he didn’t even know her.

But every time she was around, it was like his brain short-circuited, and he ended up sounding like a prick. He wasn’t some asshole who got off on yelling at girls.

Never had been, never would be. He’d seen enough creeps in his life to know he’d rather die than be like them. But with her? It was like she flipped a switch he didn’t even know he had.

Now, as he packed up his stuff and left the library, he couldn’t shake the image of her glaring at him, hands trembling as she shoved books onto the shelf.

She was pissed, yeah, but there was something else in her eyes, something that made him feel like he’d kicked a puppy.

He hated it. He didn’t owe her shit. She was the one who kept fucking things up. So why did he feel like the bad guy?

Katsuki slung his bag over his shoulder, muttering curses under his breath as he stepped into the cool night air. He had a case study due tomorrow, and his head was already swimming with legal jargon.

He didn’t have time for this. For her. For whatever the hell was making his chest feel tight. He started walking, his sneakers heavy against the pavement, trying to focus on anything but the way her voice had sounded when she’d called him a jerk.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You’re halfway down the street when you hear it, a low whistle, followed by a rough chuckle that makes your stomach drop. You freeze, your breath catching as you glance around.

The streetlights are too dim to see clearly, but you spot them: three guys, older, maybe in their thirties, leaning against a wall near an alley.

Their clothes are rumpled, their eyes glinting with something that makes your skin crawl. One of them, a bald guy with a crooked grin, steps forward, a bottle dangling from his hand. The smell of cheap liquor and something sharper, drugs, maybe, hits you even from a distance.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he slurs, his voice dripping with sleaze. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?”

Your heart slams against your ribs, and you take a step back, gripping your backpack straps tighter. “Just heading home,” you say, keeping your voice steady even though your insides are screaming. You try to walk past, but another guy, tall, with a scruffy beard and a leer that makes you want to puke, moves to block your path.

“Whoa, whoa, no need to rush,” he says, his buddies laughing like it’s some kind of game. “Why don’t you hang out with us for a bit?”

“I’m good,” you snap, your voice sharper now, but your legs feel like jelly. You glance around, hoping for someone ANYONE but the street’s empty. Your cramps choose this moment to stab you again, and you wince, which only makes the bald guy’s grin widen.

“What’s wrong, baby? You look tense,” he says, stepping closer. Too close. You can smell the sweat and booze on him, and your pulse spikes, panic clawing up your throat. “We can help you relax.”

“Back off,” you say, your voice shaking despite your best efforts. You take another step back, but the third guy, a wiry dude with bloodshot eyes, moves to your side, boxing you in. He’s holding something in his hand, a glint of metal that makes your blood run cold.

“Run, and you’re dead,” he hisses, his voice low and serious. “Just play nice, and we won’t hurt you.”

Your stomach lurches, and you feel like you’re going to be sick. They’re close now, close enough that you can feel the heat of their bodies, their hands twitching like they’re seconds from grabbing you. You want to scream, to run, to do something, but your body’s frozen, your mind racing with a thousand useless thoughts. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

He’s halfway down the street when he hears it, a low, sleazy voice that makes his skin crawl. His head snaps up, eyes narrowing as he scans the dim street.

There’s a girl up ahead, cornered by three guys near an alley. Katsuki’s not close enough to see her face, but he can tell she’s in trouble.

The way the guys are circling her, their laughs sharp and predatory, sets his teeth on edge. He’s seen this shit before, creeps who think they can do whatever they want because no one’s around to stop them. Not tonight.

He picks up his pace, his fists clenching. Katsuki’s no stranger to fights. Back in middle school, he was the guy starting them, throwing punches without a second thought.

But that was then. Now, he’s got a handle on it, mostly. He’s on the guidance committee, for fuck’s sake.

He’s supposed to set an example, protect people, not just beat the shit out of them. But these assholes? They’re asking for it.

As he gets closer, the streetlight catches her face, and his stomach twists. It’s her.

Her eyes are wide, her body tense, and she’s backing away from the three guys like a cornered animal.

One of them a bald fucker with a disgusting grin reaches out, and Katsuki sees red.

“Hey!” he barks, his voice cutting through the night like a blade. The guys freeze, turning to look at him, and he strides forward, his presence filling the space like a storm. “Back the fuck off.”

The bald guy sneers, sizing him up. “Mind your business, kid.”

Katsuki’s lips curl into a dangerous smirk, but his eyes are cold, calculating. “You’re making it my business, asshole.” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Walk away, or I’ll make you.”

The wiry guy with the knife, because of course there’s a fucking knife, laughs, but it’s nervous. “You think you’re tough? There’s three of us.”

Katsuki doesn’t blink. He’s dealt with worse than these lowlifes. He’s not some hero rushing in to save the day, but he’s not about to let some creeps hurt anyone, especially not… her. Not that he’s doing this for her. He’d do it for anyone. Right?

“Last chance,” he says, cracking his knuckles. His stance is relaxed, but every muscle is coiled, ready to move. He can feel Y/N’s eyes on him, and it’s like a weight he doesn’t want to think about.

The bearded guy lunges, probably thinking he can catch Katsuki off guard. Big mistake. Katsuki sidesteps, grabs the guy’s arm, and twists it hard, forcing him to his knees with a yelp.

The knife guy hesitates, and that’s all Katsuki needs. He moves fast, slamming his fist into the guy’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

The bald guy curses, backing up, but Katsuki’s already on him, grabbing his collar and slamming him against the wall.

“You like picking on people who can’t fight back?” Katsuki snarls, his voice low and dangerous. “Try me.”

The guy’s eyes widen, and he stammers something incoherent before Katsuki shoves him to the ground. The three of them scramble, cursing and tripping over each other as they run off into the alley, leaving their bottle and bravado behind.

Katsuki stands there, breathing hard, his fists still clenched. He’s not shaking, but he’s pissed, pissed at them, pissed at the situation, pissed at the way his heart’s pounding for reasons he doesn’t want to unpack.

He turns to Y/N, who’s still standing there, clutching her backpack like it’s a shield. Her face is pale, her eyes wide, and for once, she’s not glaring or snapping at him.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice gruff but softer than he means it to be. He’s not looking at her like he’s worried, because he’s not. He’s just… checking. That’s it.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your voice is gone, swallowed by the panic still choking you. Your legs are trembling, and you can’t tell if it’s from the adrenaline, the cramps that won’t quit, or the sheer terror of what almost happened.

You thought you were going to die. Or worse. You can still feel the bald guy’s breath on your face, the way his eyes raked over you like you were meat. Your stomach churns, and you press your lips together, afraid you’ll puke if you try to speak.

Katsuki’s brow furrows, just a fraction, and he steps closer, his boots scuffing the pavement. He’s not looming like he usually does, not trying to intimidate you.

His hands unclench, hovering awkwardly like he’s not sure what to do with them. “Hey,” he says, his voice low, almost careful. “They’re gone. You’re good now.”

You nod, but it’s jerky, and you’re not sure he buys it. Your eyes are stinging, and you blink hard, refusing to cry in front of him. No way. Not Bakugou.

Not the guy who calls you a klutz and acts like you’re his curse. But your body’s betraying you, shaking like a leaf, and you can’t stop the images flashing through your head, the knife, their laughs, the way they boxed you in.

You hug your backpack tighter, like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He lets out a quiet “tch,” but it’s not his usual annoyed sound. It’s softer, almost like he’s pissed at the situation, not you.

He shifts his weight, glancing down the street where the creeps ran off, then back at you. “Look, you’re not… hurt or anything, right?” His voice is rough, like he’s forcing the words out, and his eyes flick over you, quick but thorough, like he’s checking for himself.

You shake your head, still mute, your throat too tight to form words. You want to say something, anything, to shake off this helpless feeling, but all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

You hate this. You hate feeling like this, like some fragile thing that needs saving. But you can’t deny that if he hadn’t shown up…

Katsuki scratches the back of his neck, his jaw tight like he’s wrestling with something. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than you.

He takes another step closer, close enough that you can smell the faint burn of his cologne, like smoke and spice. “You live far?” he asks, his voice still gruff but with an edge of something you can’t quite place... concern, maybe, but he’s hiding it behind that scowl.

You manage a small gesture, pointing vaguely toward your condo a few blocks away, but your hand’s trembling, and you shove it back into your pocket.

He notices, of course he does, because nothing gets past those stupidly sharp eyes of his. He doesn’t call you out on it, though.

Instead, he jerks his head in the direction you pointed. “Come on,” he says, starting to walk. “I’m not letting you get jumped again.”

Your feet move before your brain catches up, following him because the alternative, standing alone in the dark, waiting for your nerves to stop screaming, feels worse.

He’s a few steps ahead, his broad shoulders cutting through the night, and you focus on the back of his blazer to ground yourself.

You don’t know why you’re noticing dumb details like that, but it’s better than thinking about what just happened.

He doesn’t say anything as you walk, and neither do you. The silence isn’t like the library. It’s… different. Like he’s giving you space, even if he’d never admit it.

You steal a glance at him, and his profile’s sharp under the streetlights, jaw set, eyes scanning the shadows. It’s weirdly comforting, even if you’d rather die than tell him that.

Your mind’s still a mess, though. Every few steps, you flinch at a random noise, a car horn, a rustle in the bushes. your body still wired from the alley. You keep seeing those guys’ faces, hearing their voices, and it makes your skin crawl.

You want to be tough, to shrug it off like you always do, but this time, it’s different. This time, it was too close. You press a hand to your stomach, trying to ease the cramps and the nausea, but it’s no use.

Katsuki glances back at you, and you quickly look away, pretending to study the pavement. “You’re shaking like a damn chihuahua,” he says, his tone blunt but not as harsh as usual. He slows his pace, just enough that you’re walking side by side now. “Breathe, alright? You’re gonna pass out if you keep holding your breath like that.”

You hadn’t even realized you were doing it. You force yourself to exhale, your breath shaky, and he doesn’t say anything else, just keeps walking. It’s not like he’s holding your hand or some sappy bullshit, he’s still Bakugou, all rough edges and sharp words, but there’s something in the way he’s matching your pace, staying close without crowding you, that feels… careful. Like he’s trying not to spook you.

When you reach the edge of your block, the familiar sight of the building makes your shoulders sag with relief. You stop, turning to face him, and finally find your voice, though it’s quieter than you’d like. “I’m good from here,” you say, clutching your backpack straps like they’re keeping you together.

He raises an eyebrow, his hands still in his pockets. “You sure?” It’s not pushy, just a question, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s not entirely convinced you’re okay.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Thanks… for, you know.” You gesture vaguely, because saying “saving my ass” feels too dramatic, even if it’s true.

He scoffs, but it’s softer, almost like a reflex. “Don’t do anything stupid again,” he says, turning to leave, but he pauses, glancing back. “And… get some rest or whatever. You look like shit.”

You almost laugh, because of course he’d say something like that.

It’s so him gruff, insulting, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes, something that makes your stupid heart do that annoying flip again.

You mumble a quick “thank you” and turn toward your dorm, your legs still shaky but your mind a little clearer.

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on your back, like he’s making sure you get inside safe. You don’t look back, but part of you wants to. Just to see if he’s still there. Just to see if he cares.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Katsuki watches her walk toward her condo, her figure small under the flickering streetlights. His fists are still clenched, his knuckles stinging from where he’d slammed that one bastard’s jaw. His blood’s still pumping, a mix of adrenaline and something he doesn’t want to name. 

He runs a hand through his hair, muttering a curse under his breath. He didn’t do it for her. He’d have stepped in for anyone. guy, girl, didn’t matter. He’s on the guidance committee, for fuck’s sake. It’s his job to keep shit like that from happening.

But when he’d seen her face, seen the way those assholes were circling her, something had snapped. He didn’t think, just moved. And now he’s stuck with this weird, tight feeling in his chest, like he’s swallowed something sharp.

She’s fine now, he tells himself. She’s walking, she’s breathing, she’s not hurt. But the way she couldn’t even talk back there, the way her hands were trembling, it’s burned into his brain. He hates it. Hates how it made him feel like he needed to do something, to fix it.

He doesn’t owe her anything. She’s still the clumsy idiot who ruined his papers, soaked his shoes, and knocked over half the damn library. So why the hell is he still standing here, watching her like some overprotective guard dog?

When she reaches the hallway, he sees her pause, her shoulders hunching like she’s still carrying the weight of what happened. He wants to yell at her to move already, to stop looking so damn fragile, but he bites his tongue.

Instead, he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and turns away, his sneakers heavy against the pavement.

He’s got his own shit to deal with, a million things more important than her. But as he walks, he can’t shake the image of her pale face, or the way she’d mumbled “thank you" like it cost her something.

He’s not soft. He’s not sweet. He’s just… not an asshole. Not anymore. And if she thinks this changes anything, she’s dead wrong. But he still glances back one last time, just to make sure she’s inside. Just in case.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

You’re sprawled on a wooden bench in this hidden corner of UA’s campus, the kind of spot that feels like a secret. 

Trees stretch overhead, their leaves rustling in the breeze, and the cute little tables and chairs scattered around make. 

You love it here. Quiet, not crowded, just you and your spiraling thoughts. And oh, are they spiraling. Last night’s mess keeps clawing at your brain, and you hate it. Katsuki Bakugou, of all people, swooping in like some pissed-off action hero? It doesn’t add up. 

The guy’s a hothead, always glaring at you. He hates you, right? So why’d he step in, fists flying, to save your ass?

You shift on the bench, your fingers drumming on the table, trying to shove the memory away. He probably just did it because it’s what humans do. Help each other. Basic decency. Doesn’t mean he likes you. If anything, that awkward-as-hell moment five hours ago proves it. 

You were on a health break at 9 AM, grabbing a coffee, when you saw him across the quad. Stupidly, you waved a tiny, hesitant flick of your hand, because, well, he saved you, so maybe you owed him a gesture? He just stared, then turned away. Ignored you.

Your face burned so bad you wanted to yeet yourself into the nearest bush. God, you’re such an idiot. Of course he still hates you. You’re just the klutz who keeps fucking up his day.

You groan, rubbing your temples, and stand up. Enough of this. You’re not wasting your brain space on Bakugou's dumb face. You’ve got three hours free since your professors are out, probably somewhere while you’re stuck overthinking.

You decide to walk around campus, might as well figure out where shit is so you don’t get lost again. You sling your bag over your shoulder, the weight of your sketchbooks grounding you, and head toward the main grounds.

You’re barely ten steps out when a familiar voice calls your name, bright and bubbly. “Y/N!” You turn, and there’s Mina Ashido, sprinting toward you with a grin so wide it’s practically blinding. Your mood lifts instantly, she’s like a shot of espresso in human form.

You haven’t seen her much since that first time you met, when she helped you find your class and chatted like you’d known each other forever, She’s sweet.

“Hey!” you call back, waving as she skids to a stop in front of you, her pink hair bouncing. She’s practically vibrating with energy, and you can’t help but smile.

“Girl, where’ve you been hiding?” Mina says, hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling. “I haven’t seen you in forever! You got a sec?”

You nod, shifting your bag. “Yeah, I’m free for, like, three hours. My profs bailed"

Mina’s eyes light up. “No way! Same! My prof’s on leave, so I’m just wandering like a lost puppy.” She laughs, then tilts her head. “Where you headed?”

“Just walking around,” you say, shrugging. “Trying to learn the campus so I don’t end up in, like, the janitor’s closet instead of class again.”

Mina giggles, clapping her hands. “Oh my god, that’s so you. Tell you what, how about a cute lil’ tour? I know all the best spots. Secret hangouts, snack machines that don’t eat your money, the works.”

You hesitate for a second, because you’re still kinda rattled from last night, but Mina’s smile is infectious. Plus, a tour sounds way better than wandering alone, overthinking Bakugou's stupid glare. “Sure,” you say, your lips twitching into a smile. 

Mina’s leading you through the campus, pointing out random spots with the enthusiasm of a kid showing off their toys. “That’s the best coffee cart,” she says, gesturing at a little stand near the science building. “And over there’s where people nap when they pull all-nighters. Oh, and don’t use the vending machine by the gym, it’s cursed, I swear.”

You laugh, your mood lifting with every step. Mina’s easy to be around. no judgment, no pressure. You’re grateful for the distraction, because your brain’s been a mess all day. Last night keeps creeping back, You still can’t wrap your head around it. 

You shake your head, trying to focus on Mina’s chatter. “What’s the deal with that fountain?” you ask, nodding at a stone structure in the middle of the quad. 

Mina snorts, nudging your arm. “Oh, It’s supposed to be, like, a symbol of knowledge or whatever, but everyone just tosses coins in it for luck. You should try it, maybe it’ll help you not get lost again.”

You’re about to ask her about the art building when you feel it, a prickle on the back of your neck, like someone’s watching.

You glance around, half-expecting to see Bakugou's red eyes glaring at you again, but there’s no one. Just students milling around. You’re being paranoid.

He’s not here. He’s probably off yelling at someone else for breathing wrong.

Mina notices you zoning out and tilts her head. “You good?"

You force a laugh, adjusting your bag. “Yeah, just… tired. Long night.” You’re not about to spill the events last night, or how Katsuki’s stupid face keeps haunting you. Mina’s sweet, but you’re not close enough for that.

She nods, not pushing, and points toward a shady path lined with trees. “Come on, I’ll show you the best spot to sketch. It’s got this vibe, like, total artist inspo.”

You follow her, your shoes crunching on the gravel, but your mind’s still half stuck on Bakugo. You’re avoiding him, you tell yourself. That’s the plan. Keep your distance, stay out of his way, and maybe the universe will stop throwing him at you. 

Mina’s voice shifts, pulling you back. “Oh, by the way, I’m throwing a party in, like, a month!” She spins to face you, walking backward with a grin that’s all teeth and mischief. “Nothing huge, just good music, snacks, maybe some dancing if people aren’t too shy. You have to come, Y/N!”

Your stomach twists, and you nearly trip over a stray pebble. A party? You? You’re not exactly Miss Social Butterfly.

The thought of a crowded room, loud music, and strangers bumping into you makes your skin itch. You’re lazy, too, way happier curled up in your room than making small talk with people you barely know. “Uh, I dunno,” you mumble, scratching your arms. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Mina pouts, but it’s playful, her eyes sparkling like she’s not taking no for an answer. “Come onnn, it’ll be fun! I promise it’s chill. Just a vibe, y’know? Plus, I need my favorite artist there to class up the place.” She winks, and you can’t help but snort, even as your brain screams nope, nope, nope.

You want to say no. You should say no. But Mina’s looking at you like you’re the key to her party’s success, and your resolve crumbles. “Fine,” you sigh, “I’ll come."

“Yesss!” Mina fist pumps, spinning back around to lead the way. “You won’t regret it, I swear. I’m gonna make it epic.”

You highly doubt that, but you keep your mouth shut, your sneakers scuffing the path as you follow. Your bag’s heavy on your shoulder, stuffed with sketchbooks you haven’t touched today, and you’re already regretting your inability to say no. Why are you like this? You’re gonna spend the next month dreading this stupid party, probably sketching escape plans instead of actually prepping for it.

The path opens to the main quad, a wide stretch of grass and benches buzzing with students. You’re starting to relax, lulled by Mina’s energy and the campus’s easy beauty. That is, until Mina squeals, grabbing your arm. “Oh my god, there’s Eijiro!”

You follow her gaze, and your heart stutters. Kirishima’s standing by a bench, all broad shoulders and red hair, grinning like he’s auditioning for a toothpaste ad. But it’s not him that makes your breath catch. It’s the guy next to him, slouched against a tree, a book open in his hands. Katsuki Bakugou. Of course. Because the universe loves screwing with you.

Your pulse spikes, and you consider bolting, but Mina’s already dragging you toward them while she's gripping your arms. Bakugou's focused on his book, probably some dense important text, because of course he’s studying even on a break, but then he looks up, and his eyes lock onto you.

Your stomach lurches, and you feel like you’re caught in a spotlight. His gaze is sharp, unreadable, and you swear the air gets heavier. He closes the book with a soft thud, his fingers lingering on the cover, and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed, curious, or something else entirely.

You force yourself to keep walking, Mina’s chatter fading to white noise as your brain spirals. Why’s he looking at you like that? You’re nothing to him, just the idiot who waved this morning and got ignored like a total loser.

Your cheeks burn at the memory, and you want to sink into the grass and disappear. He’s probably thinking about how much he hates you, how you’re always in his way, tripping over his life like a clumsy curse.

“Ei!” Mina calls, letting go of you to launch herself at Kirishima, who catches her with a laugh. You hang back, clutching your bag strap, your eyes darting anywhere but Bakugou. The trees, the sky, a random squirrel, anything’s better than meeting his gaze again. But you can feel him watching.

“Y/N, this is my boyfriend, now you get to meet him” Mina says, pulling you into the moment. Kirishima gives you a friendly nod, his grin warm but not overbearing.

“hey,” he says, his voice easy. “You're so familiar to me.” he lowkey looked at bakugo.

You manage a small smile, muttering a quick “hey” back, but your attention’s split. Katsuki’s still there, silent, his book now tucked under his arm.

He’s not glaring, but he’s not friendly either, just… staring. Your hands fidget, and you shift your weight, wishing you could teleport to your room.

Mina’s oblivious, chattering about her party plans to Kirishima, who’s nodding along like the perfect boyfriend. You’re half-listening, your mind stuck on Bakugou. Why’s he so quiet? Usually, he’d be snapping at you by now, calling you a klutz or telling you to get lost.

But he’s just standing there, and it’s worse. It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, and you hate how it makes your pulse race. You’re strangers. He doesn’t care. He did one decent thing last night, and now your brain’s acting like it means something. It doesn’t. It can’t.

He’s still watching, his jaw tight, like he’s holding back whatever’s on his mind. Your stomach flips, and you look away fast, your cheeks hot. Why does he have to be here? Why does he make you feel like you’re about to trip over your own thoughts?

“Yo, Bakugou,” Kirishima says, glancing at him. “You coming with?"

Bakugou scoffs, the sound low and rough, breaking his silence. “Tch. I’ve got shit to do,” he says, his voice clipped. He pushes off the tree, his movements sharp, but his eyes linger on you for a split second longer than they should. 

He walks off with his book under his arm, his steps heavy like he’s pissed at the world. You watch him go, your chest tight, and hate how part of you wants to call after him. To ask why he’s not yelling at you like usual. But you don’t. You’re not that girl. You’re not his friend, not his anything.

Mina’s voice pulls you back. “let’s go!” she says, tugging Kirishima along, and you follow, your shoes sinking into the soft grass. The quad’s fading behind you, the trees are still pretty, the air still warm, but your mind’s stuck on Bakugou's eyes.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. He’s just a guy. A hothead who saved you once and now acts like you’re invisible. But as you walk, the breeze carrying the scent of blooming jasmine, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s not invisible to you and that’s the problem.

Mina’s arm is looped through Kirishima’s, and they’re so cute it’s almost disgusting like a rom-com poster come to life. She’s leaning into him, her pink hair brushing his shoulder, while he’s grinning down at her.

But they’re not shutting you out, not even close. Mina keeps tossing you smiles, pulling you into the conversation with little nudges, and Kirishima is kind and easy to talk that makes you feel like you’re not just tagging along.

It’s nice, actually. You’re not used to nice. You’re used to tripping over your own self and dodging Katsuki’s glares.

“So, Y/N,” Mina says, her voice bright as she points toward a cluster of buildings. “That’s the art department over there. You probably know it better than me, but there’s this hidden courtyard behind it with the best light for sketching. You gotta check it out.”

Kirishima laughs, the sound deep and friendly. “You’ll get the hang of this place. It’s big, but it’s got heart. Just don’t let the vending machines scam you, they’re sneaky.”

You snort, relaxing a bit, but your mind’s still half-stuck on Bakugou. God, you’re so annoying. Why are you even thinking about him? He’s just some hothead who did one decent thing and now haunts your brain like a bad song. 

You’re not friends. You’re barely anything. He probably forgot about you the second he walked off.

Mina’s voice cuts through your spiral, but it’s not aimed at you this time. She’s talking to Kirishima, her tone shifting to something more teasing, less bubbly. “You know who’s gonna be stuck here forever? Bakugou.” She laughs, shaking her head.

“Like, dude’s gonna spend his whole life in college. Legal management’s already kicking his ass, and now he’s talking about law school? Straight up?”

Your ears perk up, but you keep your face neutral, pretending to study a nearby tree like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. Law school? Bakugou? You didn’t know that. Not that you care. It’s just… news. Random news. 

You don’t say anything, because what would you even say? “Oh, cool, so he’s gonna be a lawyer?” Yeah, no. It's obvious.

Kirishima chuckles, his voice softer, like he’s used to Mina’s bluntness. “I dunno, Mina. Law school’s tough, but I he can handle it.” He sounds proud, almost, but there’s a warmth to it, like he’s rooting for his friend without making it a big deal.

Mina rolls her eyes, but it’s fond. “Sure, but does he have to be so extra about it? Like, live a little, you know? He’s gonna be buried under textbooks while we’re out there, working, having fun.” She nudges Kirishima, grinning. “Right, babe?”

Kirishima just smiles, shaking his head, and you can tell he’s not gonna argue. You wonder if he knows about last night, about Katsuki saving you. Probably not. 

Bakugou doesn’t strike you as the type to brag. But Kirishima’s watching you now, his eyes flicking over like he’s checking if you’re okay, and it makes you shift uncomfortably. He’s too nice. It’s weird.

You clear your throat, desperate to change the subject before your face betrays you. “I'm afraid I'm invading your privacy"

Mina laughs, letting go of Kirishima to sling an arm around your shoulders. “No way, you’re not a third wheel, Y/N! I feel like we're going to be besties. Right, Eiji?”

“Totally,” Kirishima says, flashing you a thumbs-up. 

They’re so easy together, so open, and it’s pulling you out of your head, even if it’s just for a moment. But that moment shatters, when you feel that prickle again, the one that makes you feel like you’re being watched. 

You glance around, half-expecting to see bakugou's red eyes staring, boring into you from somewhere in the shadows, but he’s not there. He’s gone. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of his presence, like his gaze is still lingering.

But as you walk, your mind’s not fully there. Bakugou's out there, somewhere, planning a life of law school, probably glaring at textbooks the way he glares at you. You don’t ask for this. He doesn’t care. So why does it feel like he’s carved a space in your brain, refusing to leave? You kick a pebble, the sound sharp in the quiet, and tell yourself to let it go. 

…

3 weeks later.

You’re weaving through the streets, your chunky brown platform sandals hitting the pavement in time with the restless hum of your thoughts. It’s been three weeks and you’re trying not to think about it. 

You’re focused on groceries because your fridge is a sad, empty void, and you’ve been so obsessed with keeping your body in check, workouts, skin care, but you're so stressed you need real food. 

The mall’s up ahead, its neon signs buzzing against the late afternoon sky, and you’re mentally listing: veggies, fruits, maybe some snacks if you’re feeling fancy.

Then you see him. Bakugou. Your stomach does a stupid flip, and you hate it. He’s across the street, walking with three guys, all tall as hell 6 feet or damn close, built like they live at the gym. 

One’s got red hair, medium-length and loose, and you squint because you know him now. Kirishima. he’s cool, nice, even, with that big grin that makes you feel less like a curse. 

The other two are new to you. One’s got yellow blond hair with a black lightning streak, so wild you almost double-take, and the last guy’s lanky but toned, with black hair falling to his shoulders. They’re laughing, but Bakugou's just… there, scowl locked in, hands in his pockets like he’s counting down the seconds till he can ditch them.

You don’t stick around. No way are you getting caught staring at the guy who’s still got you on his shit list. 

He’s no less of a hothead, still glaring at you in the halls, still acting like you’re a walking curse. At least the library punishment’s done, so you’re not stuck dodging his snarky comments while shelving dusty books. 

You veer left toward the mall’s entrance, your pulse annoyingly quick. Why’s he always in your orbit? Can’t he just stay in his legal management bubble and leave you alone?

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugou's half listening to Kirishima ramble about some gym prank while Kaminari cackles like an idiot and Sero eggs them on with that lazy grin.

They’re supposed to grab food, but these morons keep getting sidetracked, and Bakugou's already regretting tagging along. His head’s swimming with guidance committee bullshit, some freshman got caught sneaking booze into the dorms, and guess who had to handle it? Him. 

He’s tired, pissed, and just wants an energy drink and his couch. The library sessions are finally over, thank fuck, so he’s not stuck dealing with Y/N’s clumsy ass anymore. Good riddance.

His eyes scan the street out of habit, always on alert, and that’s when he sees her. Y/N. She’s across the road, walking fast, head down, hair catching the light. 

For a split second, he flashes back to three weeks ago, her pale face, shaking hands, too scared to talk. He hates it.

He’s not her keeper. She’s not his problem. But why’s she always dodging him now? Not that he cares. He doesn’t.

“Yo, Bakugou, you listening?” Kaminari’s voice snaps him out of it, and Bakugou glares, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Shut up, I’m not deaf,” he growls, but his eyes flick back to where Y/N was. She’s gone, probably ducked into the mall. Good. 

He doesn’t need her tripping into his day again. He’s got enough shit to deal with.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

After a few steps you’re finally halfway through the mall when you hear it, loud, obnoxious laughter that makes your head whip around. 

Your heart stutters because it’s them. Kirishima’s gesturing wildly, the blond’s practically doubled over, and the black-haired guy’s smirking like he’s above it all. 

But Bakugou? He’s staring right at you, his red eyes locked on like a heat seeking missile. Your stomach lurches, and you feel like you’re caught in a trap.

Shit. Why’s he looking at you? What’d you do now?You fumble with your phone, pretending to check something anything to dodge his gaze. 

Your fingers are clumsy, and you nearly drop it, which would be peak you. You pick up your pace, weaving through the crowd, your cheeks burning. 

He’s not following. He’s not. You’re just paranoid. But that stare, it’s like it’s carving a hole through you, and you hate how it makes your pulse race. He’s a jerk. A hot-tempered, annoying jerk who still hates you. Nothing else.

You hit the supermarket, grabbing a cart with too much force, the metal clanging louder than you meant. You head straight for the bathroom essentials, needing something normal to ground you. 

Your cart fills fast. Body lotion, scrub, body wash, Dove serum bar, bar soap, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner. You’re picky, grabbing fruity, floral scents with shea butter and creamy vanilla, nothing too strong. 

You love how they linger, making you feel less like a walking mess. You toss in skincare, cleanser, toner, face mask because if you’re skimping on meals, at least your skin can look decent.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You’re in the vegetable and fruit section, near the drink aisle, weighing a bag of apples when you hear it. 

“Oi.”

Your heart stops. You’re sure you’ve fucked up, knocked over a display, stepped on someone’s foot. You turn, and there’s Bakugou, walking toward you with a single energy drink in his hand. 

His eyes are narrowed, but not in that “I’m gonna yell” way more like he’s sizing you up, and it makes you want to crawl into a hole.

“Hi,” you mumble, barely audible, your fingers tightening on the cart. You’re fidgeting, glancing around like a nervous squirrel, throwing out an awkward smile.

Your cheeks are hot, and you’re sure you look like a total idiot. Why’s he here? Where’s Kirishima? Where’s anyone? You scan the aisle, but it’s just him, and that makes it worse.

Bakugou raises an eyebrow, catching your twitchy vibe “What’s with you?” he says, his voice gruff but not as sharp as usual. He leans against the produce display, the energy drink dangling from his fingers. 

You open your mouth, then close it, because what can you say? “Sorry, I’m freaking out because you hate me and I keep running into you”? You shrug, pushing your cart, pretending to be obsessed with a head of lettuce. 

“Just… shopping,” you mutter, cringing at how dumb you sound.

He scoffs, but it’s not mean, just a quick exhale, like he’s not buying it. “Yeah, no shit. You always this jumpy?” He tilts his head, and you hate how he’s looking at you. Those eyes are too damn sharp, making your skin prickle.

“Nope,” you lie, grabbing a bag of potatoes and tossing it in your cart with too much force. “Just got a lot on my mind.” Like how you’re stuck in some prank where you keep running into the guy who’d rather see you trip than talk.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugou watches her fumble with the potatoes, her hands moving like she’s racing to screw up. She’s fucking weird, fidgeting, avoiding his eyes, doing weird positions. It’s almost funny, but it’s not, because he’s standing here like a dumbass, holding an energy drink and wondering why he even said “oi.” He could’ve walked past. Ignored her. But no, he had to open his mouth.

She’s nervous, and he doesn’t get it. They’re not friends, barely know each other, and yeah, he’s still pissed at her for all the times she’s fucked up his days. And why the hell she's wearing something you'd see in an old Tumblr post or a 2007 fashion blog

The library shit’s done now, thank fuck, so he doesn’t have to deal with her klutz routine anymore. But she’s acting like he’s about to chew her out for existing. He’s not that bad, is he? He frowns, his thumb tapping the can. 

He saw her earlier, dodging through the crowd like she was running from him. It bugged him, the way she looked so… guarded. Not like the girl who’d snapped back in the library. He doesn’t care. He’s just… curious. That’s all.

He glances at her cart, packed with enough bath shit to open a spa. Fruity, flowery scents hit his nose, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. She’s got her thing. Whatever. He’s not here to judge her grocery list. 

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You’re dying. Not literally, but close. You’re trying so hard to act normal, but your hands won’t stop moving, pushing the cart, grabbing random veggies, anything to avoid looking at him too long. 

His eyes are like lasers, and every time they hit you, your brain short-circuits. Why’s he even talking to you? You’re strangers, barely acquaintances, and he’s made it crystal clear you’re on his naughty list.

He’s the guy who glares at you for spilling water, not the guy who chats in the produce aisle. But here he is, and you’re stuck, your pulse doing this annoying flutter you refuse to acknowledge.

His voice slicing through your mental spiral. “You running a spa?" He nods at your cart, and you glance down, realizing it’s overflowing with lotions and soaps.

You flush, shoving the cart forward to hide it. “I ran out of essentials,” you mutter, grabbing a bag of spinach and pretending it’s fascinating. “Not all of us live off energy drinks and rage.”

His lips twitch, and for a second, you think he might laugh. He doesn’t, but his eyes soften, just a flicker, so quick you almost miss it. “Tch. I take care of myself, dumbass,” he says.

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your heart’s still racing, and you hate it. “Whatever, at least I don’t scare people off with my face,” you shoot back, then immediately regret it because, shit, did you just call him scary? You brace for him to snap, but he just smirks, like he’s amused.

“Yeah, keep talking, klutz,” he says, stepping back and cracking open his energy drink with a sharp hiss. “Don’t run your cart into someone.”

You scoff, pushing your cart toward the checkout, your cheeks burning. “egoistic bitch,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. 

You don’t look back, but you can feel his eyes on you. You’re not friends. You’re not anything. So why does this feel like something?

You’re at the checkout, tossing your haul onto the conveyor belt with more force than needed. Your hands are still tingling from that run-in, Why’s he gotta be so there? You’re strangers. He hates you. So why’s your pulse still racing?

You fumble with your wallet, ignoring the cashier’s bored stare. You shove your bags into your cart, muttering curses, and head for the exit. You’re done. You’re going home, eating some apples, and forgetting this happened. Katsuki can stay in his annoying corner of the universe, far away from you.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugou's in the snack aisle, tossing chips into his basket, when he hears Kaminari’s cackle. He knows what’s coming before they open their mouths. They saw him talking to Y/N in the produce section, their eyes glinting like they’d hit the jackpot.

“Well,” Kaminari drawls, slinging an arm around Sero’s shoulders. “Bakugou’s got a girlfriend, huh? Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Bakugou's jaw clenches, his grip on the basket tightening. “The fuck you talking about?” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. He’s not in the mood for their bullshit. He barely said ten words to Y/N, and now they’re acting like he’s planning a wedding.

Sero grins, grabbing a bag of chips and tossing it in the air. “Come on, we saw you chatting up that girl. All cozy in the veggie aisle, huh? She’s cute, by the way. Like, really pretty.”

Kaminari nods like a bobblehead. “Yeah, dude, she looks like a flower, You into that, Bakugou? Flower girls?”

Bakugou blood pressure spikes, and he’s two seconds from chucking his energy drink at Kaminari’s head. “You’re both fucking idiots,” he growls, shoving past them. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not anything. She’s just some dumbass who keeps fucking up my day.”

Sero laughs, dodging Bakugou's glare. “Sure, sure. You were totally staring at her. Real smooth.”

“Fuck you” Bakugou snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut. He’s not staring at anything. He doesn’t care about her or the way she got all fidgety when he talked to her. She’s just… there. And he’s sick of it.

Kaminari’s still grinning. “I’m just saying, she’s cute. Pretty eyes, nice hair. You could do worse, y’know? Maybe take her ou—”

“Say one more word, and I’ll shove that bag of chili powder up your ass,” Bakugou cuts him off, his voice venomous. He’s had enough. He’s not some lovesick idiot chasing a girl he barely knows. 

Y/N’s nothing to him just a clumsy artist who’s still on his shit list. End of story.

Kirishima chuckles, leaning against a shelf, arms crossed. She’s cool, a little chaotic, but nice. He remembers Katsuki ranting about her ruining his research paper, soaking his shoes, knocking over library shelves. Thought he hated her. So what’s this? Kirishima’s curious, but he keeps quiet.

“Tch,” Bakugou mutters, grabbing another energy drink and storming off. “You’re done wasting my time.”

Bakugou storms through the supermarket aisles, his boots thudding against the linoleum, his blood still simmering from Kaminari and Sero’s dumbass teasing. Girlfriend? Fuck that. Y/N’s nothing to him and now she’s got his friends acting like he’s got a crush. He doesn’t. He won’t. She’s still on his shit list, and that’s where she’s staying.

But as he heads for the checkout, her fidgety smile flashes in his head. She’s annoying. So why’s it bugging him that she looked so guarded, like she’s expecting him to snap at her? He doesn’t care. He’s got exams, committee duties, law school plans, shit that actually matters. Not some clumsy lady with a curse

He slams his drinks on the conveyor belt, ignoring the cashier’s wary glance. Kirishima’s quiet chuckle lingers in his ears, and it pisses him off more. 

That guy sees too much, always has. Bakugou's not acting weird. He’s not curious. He’s just… stuck, with Y/N’s mess trailing him like a shadow he can’t shake. 

He grabs his bag, steps into the neon lit evening, and tells himself this is the last time she gets in his head. 

It's a lie.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

I don't care that my condo is a mess, complete with empty coffee cups and charcoal smudges. I don't want to deal with people; I just want to hide in my room. However, that had to be ruined by one of my Prof. He said yesterday, "Y/N, you're helping at the Fine Arts booth for the charity fair because you won that art contest." As if I requested this. I have no idea what this charity thing is.

With my backpack full of art supplies I don't even need, I sigh and drag my feet down the hallway. I walk past a poster on the wall that reads, "UA Charity Fair: Help Kids in Shizuoka Hospital!" in large red letters.

Oh. This is what it is. It is being run by the Guidance Committee to raise money for sick children. That's nice, I suppose. I still don't want to be here, though. I don't get along with people. I only speak when they initiate conversation, and even then, I'm likely to say something snarky to frighten them away.

"Hey, Y/N! You heading to the fair setup?" 

I freeze, my stomach twisting. It's Mina, bouncing toward me with that big smile of hers. She is too joyful for ten in the morning.

She's already here, so I suppose I must talk even though I don't want to. Even though I'm a little uneasy around her energy, I stuff my hands into my hoodie pockets and try to act unconcerned.

I mumble, keeping my gaze on the ground, "Uh, yeah." "As if I had no choice. I'm being made by my Professor.

Mina's smile doesn't drop, but I can feel this tiny wave of worry coming off her like she's scared I'm mad at her or something.

It's weird how I always pick up on stuff like that. I don't even try. Her eyes are all bright, but there's this flicker in them, like she's trying too hard to keep things light.

Ugh, I don't wanna make her feel bad, but I'm not good at this whole "friendly" thing. I just wanna get this fair over with.

"Aw, stop acting that way!" Mina says in a chirpy voice as she takes hold of my arm and begins dragging me down the hallway. "You know, it's for a good cause.

The committee put a lot of effort into this. To assist the children at Shizuoka Hospital, they have been organising it for weeks. We're raising money to help with medication because some of them can't even afford it."

Despite my stomach churning, I allowed her to drag me. Although I dislike being touched, I don't resist because I can tell she's ecstatic. But what she said struck me: children not receiving medication? That's messed up. I recall how my aunt had to plead for assistance when my little cousin in Shibuya fell ill last year. My chest aches strangely, but I quickly push it away. I'm not here to be depressed. All I want to do is go.

"Fine, whatever," I mutter, keeping my voice low as we turn a corner toward the courtyard. "But I'm not good with people, Mina. I'm probably gonna mess this up." I glance at her, my cheeks getting a little warm 'cause I hate admitting stuff like that. 

Mina looks at me and slows down a little, releasing her hold on my arm. She seems to understand that I'm not just being grumpy, but that I'm actually nervous, and I can feel this gentle wave of understanding coming from her.

Her smile becomes less phoney, but it's genuine now. My chest feels a little less constricted, but I still find it annoying that she can see right through me. As we step outside, I quickly turn away and stare at the ground.

Mina says, "Don't worry, Y/N," in a softer tone that seems to indicate she's attempting to avoid pressing me too hard. "You don't need to speak with a lot of people.

Simply lend a hand at the booth, sell some artwork, and have a little fun. You'll be alright! In addition, I'll be available if you need me."

With people yelling, erecting booths, and moving tables around, the courtyard is already quite noisy.

My head hurts because I can feel the tension and excitement in the air. Crowds bother me.

However, Mina's words are somewhat helpful. I can tell she genuinely wants to help me feel better.

I still don't want to be here, though. In an attempt to conceal my shakiness, I pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands.

I mumble, "Yeah, sure," just loud enough for her to hear. I force a small smirk, but it feels forced, and I'm fairly certain Mina can tell I'm just trying to be tough. "I'll try not to scare anyone off."

"Hey, where are your classmates?" Mina asks, tilting her head as she looks around. "I thought the Fine Arts people would be at your booth already.

My Cosmetic Science crew's over there setting up face-painting stuff, but I don't see your group. Did they ditch you or something?" 

I blink, caught off guard. Her voice has this curious edge, and I can feel she's a little worried for me again. I glance around. Yep, no one from my major is here yet. Just empty tables with a few things I brought. My chest tightens, and I bite my lip, trying not to let it show. Great, even my own people don't wanna deal with me. I force my smirk back, but it's weaker now.

"Uh, dunno," I mutter, shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe they're late. Or they just don't care." My voice comes out sharper than I mean, and I look away fast, pretending the ground's super interesting. 

I didn't mean to come across as irritated, but I'm angry at myself and this entire pointless day, not Mina. She hesitates, her worry beginning to grow, but she doesn't press me.

Rather, she releases my arm, and I experience a small sense of relief. Even if she's attempting to assist, I dislike being pulled around.

I want to cover my ears and go because the noise in the courtyard is getting worse, someone is shouting about a broken table.

"Oh, some folks are coming this way!" Pointing to the Fine Arts booth, Mina says, her voice beaming. "Is that your crew, perhaps? I have to go check on my face-painting supplies, but I'll be right back. Don't worry!"

When I look up, I see that two girls are indeed approaching with a large box filled with art supplies. We've only taken a few classes together, so I don't know them very well, but I believe their names are Kasuri and Sachiko.

As they approach, I sense a tiny twinge of anxiety in them, as if they're unsure if I'll get along with them. Although I'm not very good at making friends, I also don't want to frighten them away.

"Hey, Y/N, right?" Kasuri says, setting the box down on the table with a thud. Her voice is chill, but I can tell she's trying to be nice. "Sorry we're late. We got stuck helping Professor Nemuri with some stuff. You been here long?" 

I shove my hands deeper into the pockets of my skirt and shake my head. They're looking at me as if they genuinely want to know, so I suppose I should say something even though I don't talk unless absolutely necessary.

I sense that while Sachiko is a little more reserved, like me, Kasuri exudes a quiet confidence. I feel less strange because of it.

"Nah, just got here," I say, keeping my voice low. "I didn't really wanna come, but... yeah." I shrug, glancing at the box they brought. "What's all that?" 

Sachiko gives me a little smile, as if she's relieved that I'm not angry. She opens the box to reveal a number of small sculptures, pictures, and other items that may have been donated by other fine arts students.

However, I also noticed a cute crochet. "We made these in class last week," she says in a quiet yet distinct voice. "We could sell them for the fair, according to Professor Tanaka. We made an effort to make them adorable because we intend to donate the remaining items to the hospital children."

I glance at the artwork and nod. Some of it, like the tiny crocheted flowers and animals, is actually quite nice. I'm a little less irritated now. I can tell they care about the cause because they are making a lot of effort. 

This might not be the worst thing that has ever happened. I begin assisting them with setup, setting up the table and nooks of our booth. Since we are in the arts, we make it look presentable and artistic. Then, across the courtyard, I hear a loud voice shouting.

"Hey, you fools at the Fine Arts booth! You had better not be lazy!" 

My stomach sinks. That voice... the jerk who is the president of the Student Council and whom I frequently encounter.

His rage is burning and sharp, as if he's about to fight someone, and I can feel it all the way over here. With his clipboard in hand and his face contorted as if he's angry at the world, he's charging at us. Fantastic. Exactly what I require.

"He is coming," Kasuri mutters, her voice dropping as she glances at me. "He's been screaming at everyone all morning. You know him?" 

I try to act indifferent by rolling my eyes, but my heart is racing. I'm getting anxious because I can sense his intensity growing.

He always acts like he's better than everyone, which is such a pain. But beneath his rage, I sense something else as well.. stress, perhaps? As if he's carrying too much.

"Sorta," I grumble, keeping my eyes on the table. "He's a jerk. Calls me names and stuff. We... don't get along." 

Katsuki stops directly in front of our booth and gives us a glare. His frustration is heavy, like a storm cloud, and I can feel it.

I swear his eyes narrow even more as he glances at the table and then at me. I can feel him staring at me, but I don't look up because I'm not giving him the satisfaction.

"What on earth are you doing?" With a voice loud enough to make Sachiko wince, Bakugou yells. "You've hardly made any sales! Hurry up, or the entire fair will fail!"

I can't help but bite my tongue because I'm annoyed by his attitude. Besides me, I sense Kasuri and Sachiko becoming tense, their anxiety enveloping me like a tsunami.

Even though I don't want to talk, I won't put up with him shouting at us in that manner. With keen eyes, I look up and let my sass show.

I say in a calm but icy tone, "You're not helping. Perhaps if you stopped frightening everyone away, we'd actually sell something." 

Bakugou's face flushes, and I sense his rage rising, but there's also a glimmer of surprise, as if he hadn't anticipated my response. I can feel his glare burning my skin as he leans over the table and takes a step closer. 

Even though my heart is pounding, I keep my eyes on it. Despite my internal trembling, I'm not giving up. "Do you have a death wish?" His voice is rough and low as he glared. "I'll make you regret it if you keep talking like that."

My cheeks heat up as I swallow forcefully. His stress level has increased; he is not only angry but also anxious about the fair. I'm not sure why, but I can tell. I feel a little guilty about it, but I won't show it. 

Despite my extreme nervousness, I try to appear tough by crossing my arms. I mutter, my voice now softer, "Then stop yelling. You're making things worse."

I feel the glimmer of surprise grow as Bakugou looks at me for a second longer. He doesn't yell again, but he also doesn't back off; instead, he straightens up and tightens his grip on his clipboard, and I can tell he's struggling to maintain his composure. 

Kasuri and Sachiko are silent, and I can feel their shock-I suppose they didn't think I would confront him either. "Tch," Bakugou finally says, turning away, "Just don't screw this up."

He storms off, but I see him glance back at me for a brief moment, and I sense a slight change in his demeanor as if he's not quite as angry as he was. With trembling breath, I unclenched my hands. With a low but impressed voice, Kasuri nudged me.

"Wow, Y/N," she whispers. "You really told him off. That was... kinda cool." 

I shrug, my face still warm. I don't feel cool-I feel like I'm gonna throw up. But I can't help noticing how Bakugou didn't yell as much as I thought he would. Maybe he's not all bad. 

Maybe.

I'm still trembling a little and trying to pretend that didn't happen because my face is hot. I remember Kasuri whispering that even though I feel like a mess on the inside, she thinks I'm cool. 

But I want to run away because my stomach hurts so much, but I can't. I can't stop thinking about Bakugou and how his rage subsided before he left. 

I sensed that he was relieved that I confronted him, as if he was taken aback. Perhaps he's more than just a loudass. Perhaps he is more than that. I don't care, but I can't get it out of my head.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Sachiko places a drawing on the table and asks in a quiet voice. She gives me a soft wave of concern, as if she's afraid I'm angry. I'm not angry with her, but it still makes me feel horrible. I nod and pick up a sketch of my own to sell, a quick painting of a flower I did last night.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumble, keeping my eyes on the paper. "Just... tired, I guess." 

"Hey, those look nice," Sachiko says, pointing at my painting. Her voice is shy, but I feel a little pride from her, like she means it. It makes me relax a tiny bit. "Did you do that recently?" 

I nod, feeling a tiny warmth. Kasuri says in a quiet but firm voice, "Yo, Y/N, let's get these paintings out." She gives me a little boost of confidence, as if she's trying to keep us going. I pick up another sketch, I conceal the fact that my hands are still unsteady from speaking with Bakugou.

I glance at Kasuri, who's arranging some digital prints from her animation class. Fine Arts here has all kinds of stuff-painting, sculpture, even performance art. It's cool, but it also makes me feel like I gotta keep up.

I see Sachiko pull out a photo she took of a campus tree, and I feel a bit of pride from her too. They're good at this, and it makes me wanna try harder.

Then there's a loud crash. As I turn around, a clumsy freshman who is most likely a lost Engineering major has bumped into our table and knocked over a can of paint. I sense his panic as he stammers, "Oh crap, I'm so sorry!" as red splashes across the ground and a few sketches.

My heart leaps, and I sense Sachiko's anxiety and Kasuri's annoyance striking me simultaneously. Fantastic, simply fantastic.

"Look where you're going!" Kasuri loses it and picks up a rag to clean up the mess. I can clearly feel the freshman's embarrassment, and he looks like he might cry. I kneel to assist and grab another rag because I don't want to deal with this. Despite my anger and the fact that my hands are now sticky with paint, I remain silent.

Then I get that sluggish feeling once more. Bakugou's return. I can tell he's angry because he stomps over with a tight face. I can feel his tension and frustration as his clipboard creaks in his hands. His eyes narrow as he glances at the mess and then at me. This time, I don't turn away even though my stomach turns.

"What on earth went wrong here?" His voice is rough but not shrill as he growls. "You're incapable of maintaining a clean booth? You're ruining this fair for underprivileged children!" 

Sachiko freezes as their anxiety hits me hard, and I can feel Kasuri tense next to me. I dislike that he is pointing the finger at us, but I can tell he is afraid the fair won't succeed in addition to being angry. 

Wiping my hands, I get to my feet and murmur, "Wasn't us. Some guy bumped it. We're fixing it." My voice is low, but there's a bite to it, and I feel a tiny thrill again.

Bakugou stares at me, and I feel that hint of surprise from him, like before. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't yell. Instead, he grabs the freshman by the shirt, snarling, "You-clean this up, now!" The guy nods fast, scrambling to help.

Bakugou looks back at me, his eyes softer for a second, and I feel a weird shift like he's impressed but won't say it. My heart beats faster, and I look down, my face warm.

"don't let it happen again," he mutters, turning away. But I catch him glancing back, and that shift in his vibe lingers, making me wonder if he's starting to see me differently. Maybe I am too.

My heart is still pounding too quickly, and I can't get Bakugou to stop staring at me. I sense a change in him, as if he no longer views me as a bothersome freshman. It's strange, and I'm not sure how to handle it. 

Now that he's gone, I can feel Kasuri and Sachiko unwind a little, their anxiety lessening, but I'm still confused. I try to be normal as I wipe my hands, but my face is burning. I can't help but care what Bakugou thinks, even though I don't want to.

Kasuri nuzzles me with a tiny smile and says, "Good job standing up to him again," in a low voice. She gives me a tiny boost of pride, which cheers me up. "You didn't back down, even though he's always so loud."

My cheeks remain warm as I shrug. I feel like I'm going to lose it. I don't feel cool. However, I keep thinking about Bakugou's stress and how intensely I felt it myself.

He is trying to get funds for shizuoka kids, so he is carrying the weight of the entire fair. I suppose I understand why he's always so angry. I mutter, "Yeah, well... he's still a jerk," as I look at the table, where we've cleaned up the majority of the paint mess.

Sachiko chuckles a little, and I sense that she's beginning to warm up to me. She starts a new sketch and remarks, "Maybe, but he didn't yell as much this time." I look down at my painting of the flower and nod, "That's something." 

I'm beginning to believe that Bakugou may not be entirely negative. Just a noisy person. Perhaps I'm not as irritated with him as I initially believed.

With my fingers grazing the paper's edge, I continue to gaze at my flower painting. I feel a little better because of Sachiko's serene demeanour; I feel less alone. Although I'm not very good at this friend stuff, I can tell she's beginning to trust me, and it's nice. 

Kasuri also has a consistent energy level, as if she enjoys my company. It's strange; I'm not used to being liked so quickly. I simply remain silent and draw more with them because I'm at a loss for words.

"Let's try to sell some stuff now," Kasuri says, her voice light as she adjusts a sculpture on the table. I feel a small burst of hope from her, like she thinks we can do this. "Other people are starting to show up, so maybe we'll make some money for the childrens." 

I nod, glancing around the courtyard. It's getting busier. Students are walking around, some buying food, others checking out booths. 

I feel all their excitement, but it's mixed with my own nerves. I'm still thinking about Bakugou, I don't wanna admit it, but I'm curious about him now. 

I force a small smile and murmur, "Uh, yeah, let's do this." I speak quietly, but I have a tiny glimmer of resolve. Perhaps today won't be as horrible as expected.

As we complete the booth setup, I can sense their quiet excitement, which motivates me to put in more effort. I sense the curiosity of a few students who stop by to look at our items. 

I don't say much and prefer to let Kasuri and Sachiko handle things, but I'm fine with that. Even if only slightly, I'm beginning to feel like I belong here.

"Look, someone's buying!" Sachiko says, her voice soft but happy as a girl picks up one of the items. I feel a small wave of pride from both of them, and it makes me smile for real this time. 

I see him shouting at another booth across the courtyard, still holding his clipboard. Even though I can feel his stress from here, there's a small sense of relief now that everything seems to be going well. I start to wonder about him once more. I look at the booth and shake my head. 

Today is already too much for me to handle. "Let's continue," I say softly, my voice more steady now. I feel a little more stronger, as if I might actually be able to handle this.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The charity fair was winding down. Booths were half-taken down, students were giggling as they packed up, and the late sun cast long shadows on the courtyard.

You hung around the Fine Arts booth, the bare display racks and scattered art supplies testaments to the day's end.

Your hands were streaked with dried paint, your uniform sleeves pushed up, and your messy bun was coming undone. Fatigue strained your shoulders.

Exhausted and with a worried expression on your face, Kasuri ran over. "Y/N, I'm so sorry-We have to leave because of a family crisis. Sachiko's brother just called." With guilt dancing in your eyes, Sachiko lingered in the background.

"Anyway, we sold tonnes! You're amazing. Can you finish this?" Shooing them away, You level your tone belied your annoyance. "Yeah, okay. Go."

After they scattered, the booth became cluttered and too large. You grunted and shoved a canvas into a box, pushing it harder than needed. 

People have been using you as an errand girl since high school. Back then, you're a blatant people-pleaser. and perhaps even now.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugou had kicked a stray soccer ball across the courtyard, complete with the booth of his own club. His swift gaze landed on Y/N as she fumbled with a stack of nearly toppling frames. He frowned. She's not even good at packing. His gaze, however, lingered. 

As her dishevelled hair gleamed in the sunlight, he had the random thought, "She's pretty, but she's a real clumsy girl, huh." He punched his cheeks upon realising that he cared, which he hated.

With his hands in his pockets, he slipped over and headed directly for her. "Oi, I think you're going to do something bad again.

You frowned upon seeing his face once more. "So? You won't do anything unsightly."

With impolite efficiency, Bakugou snatched up a box and started packing supplies into it. "So? I can't let you ruin MY SCHOOL."

Too tired to react forcefully, you blinked, but damn. You're getting annoyed with him now. "Oh? Your school? Ha! I didn't see your statue with a name written on a stone here, Mr." 

He gave a snort. His tone remained stern, but he continued packing while glancing at you. "Yeah, well, I'm the most trusted guy here so I take responsibility for everything, including your clumsy ass who ruin my mood the second I see your face."

They worked in silence, the booth slowly taking shape. Bakugou grabbed a stray paintbrush and tossed it to you. 

"People these days are annoying as fuck," he muttered, turning away. His voice softened, just a little as he continue to help her packed her items. 

You grasped the brush, staring at him Perhaps he is not so much an asshole. An unfamiliar warmth glimmered in your breast, and you knocked it off instantly. Idiot he looked like hypocrite guy who brag over everything.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugou keeps packing, stacking boxes with more force than needed, his jaw tight. Y/N’s sarcasm stings more than it should statue with a name written on a stone? Tch, she’s got a mouth on her.

He doesn’t know why he’s still here, helping her messy ass when he could be halfway home. The fair’s done, his committee duties are wrapped, but something about her fumbling alone bugs him. Not that he cares. He’s just… responsible. That’s it.

She grabs a stack of small canvas, nearly knocking over a sculpture, and mutters, “Watch it, klutz. You’re gonna break something again.” His voice is gruff, but he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching the way her hands shake slightly, paint smudged across her knuckles.

You grit your teeth, Bakugou's “klutz” jab hitting like a splinter. He’s so annoying, tossing insults while packing your booth. You want to tell him to shove off, but you’re too tired, and honestly, he’s faster at this than you are.

Still, his smug face makes your blood simmer. “Maybe if you didn’t hover like a vulture, I wouldn’t be so clumsy,” you snap, snatching a frame from the table and shoving it into a box, the wood scraping loudly.

Katsuki’s eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of amusement in them, like he’s enjoying pissing her off. “Vulture? Keep talking, and I’ll leave you to drown in this mess,” he says, tossing a roll of canvas into a box with a thud. He leans closer, smirking. “Bet you’d trip over your own feet without me here.”

You clench your jaw, searching for something to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. “At least I don’t look like an ugly gremlin barking orders,” you spit, the words sharper than you meant, your voice low but cutting. You freeze, heart pounding, as soon as they’re out. Shit. That’s not true.

He’s not ugly—far from it.

Your words hang in the air, Bakugou's face doesn’t move, but his eyes flick to yours. Your stomach twists. Shit. Why’d I say that? Your cheeks burn, and you turn back to the booth, shoving a crumpled sketch into a box like it’s your own dumb mouth you want to stuff shut.

His gaze is heavy and prickly, but he doesn't lash out. It's worse. Quiet, Bakugou? The clatter and chatter of the fair seem to have faded into a dull hum, and the courtyard seems to have gone silent as well. You mutter curses as your hands struggle with a pile of prints. Well done, Y/N. Get rid of him once more. Very smooth.

When Katsuki does move, he takes a sculpture off the table and thuds it into a box. "Tch. He murmurs, "Keep talking like that, and you'll be packing this alone." His voice is low, but not as sharp as you might have thought.

However, you can see that his jaw is clenched and that his fingers are gripping the box a bit too firmly.

You bite your lip because you detest the strange, constricted feeling in your chest. Why should I care if I offend his foolish sentiments? However, you do. When he's around, you can feel the stupid flicker of guilt mingling with the constant annoyance. Even after you called him ugly, he continues to assist. Unattractive? Really? Your mind yells at you. He's not... Quit talking.

Your arms hurt as you carry another box to the stack as the sun sets, illuminating the courtyard with pinks and oranges.

Bakugou moves more quickly and acts as though he is angry at the supplies, but he stays. You sneak a peek at him, his spiky hair gleaming in the sunlight, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearm muscles flexing while he works. Stop observing that. Stop it.

“Quit starin’,” he says suddenly, not looking up from the table. His voice is flat, but there’s a tiny edge to it, like he’s caught you and is daring you to deny it.

Your face goes hot, and you snap your head away, nearly dropping a frame. “I wasn’t!” you lie, your voice sharper than you meant. “I was just… checking if you were gonna break something with your caveman hands.”

He snorts, and you hear the smirk in it. “Caveman hands? Better than your shaky ones. You’re gonna drop half this shit before we’re done.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch, and you hate it. Don’t smile. Don’t you dare. You grab a handful of paint tubes and stuff them into a bag, harder than needed. “At least I don’t throw stuff like a toddler having a tantrum.”

Bakugou pauses, just for a second, and you brace for him to yell. But he just picks up another box, his movements sharp but controlled. “Keep runnin’ your mouth. See how long I stick around.”

Your chest does that weird flutter again, and you want to scream. Why’s he still here? You don’t get it. He could’ve walked away, left you to deal with the booth like everyone else did.

But he’s still packing, still snapping at you, still… here. You feel that strange pull again, like maybe he’s got his own mess going on, just like you. Maybe he’s not just a loud jerk. Maybe. You're getting really confuse right now

You work faster as the courtyard empties, the last students trickling out with their bags and laughter. The Fine Arts booth is almost done, just a few stray brushes and a couple of things left. 

You catch Bakugou glancing at you, his red eyes flicking to the mess on your hands, then back to your face. He doesn’t say anything, but his frown softens, just a tiny bit.

You clear your throat, desperate to break the weird quiet. “You don’t have to help, y’know,” you mumble, keeping your eyes on a crumpled drawing you’re folding. “I can handle it. You’ve got… committee stuff to do, right?”

He stops, setting a box down with a thud that makes you flinch. “You think I’m here ‘cause I want to?” he says, his voice rough but not angry. “I’m makin’ sure this fair doesn’t look like a damn disaster. You’re just lucky I’m not leaving you to screw it up.”

You bristle, but there’s something in his tone that doesn’t match the words. Like he’s saying one thing but meaning another. 

Your heart does that stupid jump again, and you grip the drawing tighter, creasing it. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for your help,” you shoot back, but your voice is quieter, less bite than usual.

He doesn’t respond, just grabs the last stack of frames and starts stacking them in a crate. The silence is heavy, but not as bad as before. It feels… different. 

Like you’re both too tired to keep fighting, but neither wants to walk away. Your mind flashes to the library, his fingers brushing yours when he tossed you that rag, or the alley when he stepped in without hesitating. STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT! STOP!!

A breeze kicks up, cool against your flushed skin, and you shiver, pulling your sleeves down.

Bakugou notices, you can tell by the way his eyes flick to you again, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he picks up your flower painting, the one you did last night when you couldn’t sleep, stress about your empty wallet keeping you up.

He holds it for a second, his thumb brushing the edge of the paper, and your breath catches.

“That’s mine,” you say quickly, reaching for it. Your voice comes out shaky, and you hate it. “I… I’m not selling it.” 

He doesn’t let go right away, his eyes scanning the painting like he’s actually looking at it. “It’s not bad,” he says, his voice so low you almost miss it. “For an artist, I mean.”

Your heart stops. Did he just… compliment me? Your face burns, and you snatch the painting from him, clutching it to your chest. “Whatever,” you mutter, turning away to hide how flustered you are. “Didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He snorts, but it’s not mean. “Tch. Ungrateful ass.” He grabs the last box and hoists it onto his shoulder, his movements smooth and strong, and you hate how your eyes follow him. “This is the last one. Where’s it goin’?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… storage room, I think. Down the hall.” You point vaguely, your brain scrambling to catch up. 

He’s already walking, not waiting for you, and you hurry to wash your hands nearby and grab your bag and the painting, jogging to keep up. 

Your sneakers slap the stone path, and you feel your messy bun bouncing loose, strands sticking to your neck.

The storage room is dim, crammed with art supplies and old canvases, the air thick with the smell of paint and dust. Bakugou sets the box down with a grunt. 

You drop your bag by the door, still holding the painting like a shield. The quiet is louder here, no courtyard noise to drown it out, and you feel his presence like a weight.

“Thanks,” you say, barely above a whisper. You don’t look at him, just stare at the painting’s petals, the smudged pinks and greens blurring in your vision. “For… helping. You didn’t have to.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, and you think he’ll just leave. But then he leans against a shelf, crossing his arms, his red eyes fixed on you. “Don’t get used to it,” he says, his voice gruff but not harsh. “I’m not your damn errand boy.”

You huff, a tiny smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Yeah, well, I’m not trying to make you, so we’re even.” You risk a glance at him, and your eyes lock, just for a second.

His face is still hard, but soft?, like in the alley when he stepped up for you. Your chest feels tight, and you look away fast, your heart pounding.

The door creaks open, and Mina’s voice cuts through like a splash of cold water. “Y/N! There you are!” She bounces in, her face bright with excitement.

“The fair was awesome! We raised so much money! You guys killed it at the booth!” She pauses, looking between you and Bakugou, her eyes narrowing like she’s caught something. “Wait… am I interrupting?”

Your face goes hot, and you step back, clutching the painting tighter. “No! Nothing's happening!” you say, too fast, your voice cracking. You feel Bakugou stare again, and it makes you want to sink into the floor.

Mina grins, all mischievous. “Uh-huh. Sure.” She grabs your arm, tugging you toward the door. “Come on, we’re grabbing food to celebrate! You too, Bakugou, unless you’re too cool for us.”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, pushing off the shelf. “I got better shit to do,” he mutters, but he doesn’t leave.

He follows you out, his hands in his pockets, and you feel him behind you, his steps heavy but steady.

Your heart won’t stop racing, and you hate it. He’s just a guy. A loud, annoying guy. Get it together.

As you step into the courtyard, the last of the sun hits your face, and you take a deep breath, trying to shake off the weirdness. Mina’s chattering about pizza, but your mind’s stuck on Bakugou once again. You glance back, just once, and catch him looking at you too. He looks away fast, his jaw tight, and you turn forward, your face burning.

Maybe he’s really not the worst, you think, but the idea scares you more than you want to admit. You hug your painting tighter and keep walking, the courtyard fading behind you, your heart a messy, beating thing you can’t ignore.

The courtyard is behind you now, the last streaks of sunset fading into a dusky purple. Your sneakers scuff the pavement as you trail Mina, your flower painting still clutched to your chest like a lifeline.

Your heart’s still doing that stupid thumping thing, and you feel Bakugou's presence behind you, his steps heavy and deliberate. Mina’s chatter about pizza fills the air, but your brain’s a mess, 

Stop thinking about him. You’re broke, Y/N. You can’t even afford pizza right cuz you spend all of your money for your make up!

Your allowance is gone, blown on make ups and that dumb gachapon machine last week, leaving your wallet empty

Mina spins around, her ponytail bouncing as she grabs your free arm. “Oh, wait till you see who’s joining us!” she says, her voice all bubbly. Your stomach twists.

Who now? You glance ahead and freeze. The blond guy, the black-haired guy, and Kirishima are leaning against a lamppost, waving like they've been waiting forever.

Oh, hell no. Your throat goes dry. You only recognize Kirishima, But Bakugou’s other friends? Eating dinner together? Your broke ass can’t handle that. Your wallet’s sobbing, holding nothing but lint and a single coin from last week, all because you blew your allowance on make ups and that dumb gachapon machine.

Mina’s arm is still locked around yours, her ponytail bouncing as she pulls you along, but you notice her glance flick between you and Bakugou, who’s a step behind, hands in his pockets, staring ahead like he’s ignoring everyone. 

Her brow furrows slightly, and you can almost hear her thoughts, she’s wondering why you’re even near “pineapple head,” the jerk you ranted about when you first met her. 

She doesn’t say anything, but her curiosity hums, like she’s saving her questions for later. You swallow, hoping she doesn’t bring it up now.

“Yo, it’s the mall girl!” Kaminari calls, jogging over with a grin that’s way too bright for your nerves. He points at you, his blond hair catching the streetlights. 

“You were with Kats at the supermarket, right? Anyways I'm Denki" He said while shaking your hands, but you saw Katsuki looking at him.

Sero smirks, slinging an arm around Kaminari’s shoulders. “Yeah, you two looks like an old married couple. What’s your name, anyway? Gotta know who’s got our Kats all worked up. I'm Hanta by the way"

Your face burns, and you shrug, keeping your eyes on the ground. “Uh.... Y/N” you mumble, your voice barely audible. “And we weren’t… it wasn’t like that.” Your stomach twists at the memory of the mall 

Why do they think we’re close?

Kirishima steps forward, his grin wide and warm, like he’s genuinely happy to see you. “Y/N! Good to see ya again,” he says, his voice all sunshine. “Mina said you’ve been killin’ it with your art. You’re eatin' with us, right?” He's so kind and you wish you could match his energy.

Your stomach drops. Eating with them? You glance at Mina, who’s nodding like her life depends on it, her curiosity still simmering but unspoken.

Then at Katsuki, his red eyes fixed ahead, but you remember that weird softness when he helped pack your booth. 

No way I can afford this.

Your condo’s a mess, your bank account’s a joke, and the last thing you need is dinner with Bakugou’s loud friends, pretending you’re not broke. You're so sure your mother will scold you for spending your money on useless stuff.

“Uh, actually,” you start, your voice shaky as you stop walking. “I’m… kinda tired. Think I’m just gonna head home.” You force a smirk, but it feels fake, and your cheeks are hot. Don’t let them see you’re lying.

Mina’s face falls, and she grabs your shoulders, her eyes big and pleading. “No way! You can’t bail! We’re celebrating! You worked so hard today, you deserve this!” She shakes you lightly, like that’ll change your mind. 

You feel her curiosity spike, but she bites her lip, staying quiet about you and Bakugou—for now.

Your heart races, and you open your mouth to lie again, something about a headache or a sketch you need to finish, but your brain’s blank. 

You feel everyone staring, the grin, the raised eyebrow, Kirishima’s encouraging nod. And Bakugou… you don’t dare look at him, but you sense him, standing there, probably judging you. They’re gonna know I’m broke. They’re gonna—

“Oi,” Bakugou's voice cuts through, rough and sharp. You flinch, finally glancing at him. He’s looking at you now, his red eyes narrow but not angry, like he’s seen right through your bullshit. “I’m coverin’ it. All of it. So quit making excuses and come eat.”

Your jaw drops, and your face goes from hot to on fire. “W-what?” you stammer, your voice cracking. “No, I—I don’t need you to—” You shake your head, stepping back, your painting almost slipping from your grip. He knows. He freaking knows I’m broke, am I too obvious?. 

The embarrassment’s like a punch, and you want to bolt, just run back to your condo and hide under your messy desk.

Mina gasps, clapping her hands. “Katsuki, you’re the best! See, Y/N, you’re coming! No arguments!” She tugs your arm again, pulling you along, and your protests die in your throat.

Kaminari and Sero are already cheering, Kirishima giving Bakugou a thumbs-up like this is normal.

You shoot Bakugou a look, your eyes wide and panicky. “I said I don’t need your help,” you mutter, low enough that only he can hear. Your voice is shaky, but there’s a bite to it. “I can handle myself.”

He doesn’t even blink, just keeps walking, his hands still in his pockets. “Yeah? Then why’re you lyin’ about being tired?” he says, his voice low and annoyingly calm. 

Your chest tightens, and you want to yell, to tell him he’s a jerk for calling you out, but your words stick. He’s paying for me. Why? You feel small, exposed, like he’s peeled back your tough act and seen the mess underneath. 

But there’s something else too, that dumb warmth flickering again, like when he complimented your painting. You hate it. You hate him. (No, I don’t. Ugh.)

They reach the street, the city lights flickering on as the group heads toward some fancy restaurant Mina’s raving about. 

You drag your feet, your mind screaming at you to run. But Mina’s arm is locked around yours, and Bakugou's right there, You’re trapped.

Kaminari falls into step beside you, his grin all mischievous. “So, Y/N, spill! What’s your deal? You an artist or what?" leaning closer, and you tense, his energy overwhelming.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah,” you mumble, your face heating up again. “I draw. Paint. It’s… not a big deal.” You keep your eyes on the pavement, wishing he’d back off.

Sero laughs, nudging Kaminari. “Yo, Bet she’s got a sketchbook full of masterpieces. What’s your last name, Y/N? Gotta know who’s caught Katsuki's eye.” He grins at Bakugou, who’s still ahead, and you catch Sero’s teasing tone, like he’s trying to rile him up.

Your heart skips, and you mutter, “L/N. And I didn’t *catch* anyone’s eye.” Your voice is sharp, but your cheeks burn. They think I’m his type?

Kirishima chuckles, walking backward to face you. “Come on, Y/N, don’t sell yourself short! Mina’s been talking you up, saying you’re super talented.” you relax a tiny bit, grateful he knows you. “What kinda stuff do you paint? Like, cool abstract or what?”

“Flowers? That’s awesome!” Kaminari says, way too enthusiastic. “Like that painting you’re holding? Bet it’s fire.” He leans closer, trying to peek, and you hug it tighter, your face burning.

“Back off,” you mutter, but there’s no real bite. You’re too flustered, your heart pounding as they keep talking. Mina’s giggling, Kirishima’s nodding like you said something deep, and Sero’s already asking about your favorite pencils. Why are they so… nice?

“Wait—did you say Claude Monet?” Kirishima perks up, squinting like he’s trying to remember something. “That’s the guy with all the water lilies, right? My art teacher was obsessed with him.”

“Yeah" Kaminari adds, snapping his fingers. Kinda blurry but, like, on purpose? Honestly, it’s kinda sick. Respect.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, but you catch him glancing at the painting, then at you

Then Kaminari’s grin turns evil, and he glances at Bakugou, who’s still walking ahead, staring straight down the street like he’s not listening. 

“Yo, Y/N,” Kaminari says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Real talk. You think Katsuki's handsome or what? ‘Cause, like, you’re totally his type"

Your heart stops. Your face goes from flushed to nuclear. You remember what you said earlier “ugly gremlin” and the guilt hits like a truck. 

Why’d I say that? Your eyes flick to Bakugou, his back still to you, his steps steady, but you know he’s listening. The whole group’s waiting, Mina smirking quietly, Sero snickering, Kirishima trying not to laugh.

“I… uh…” you stammer, your voice a mess. Your brain screams to lie, to say something snarky, but your mouth betrays you. “Uhhh” you blurt, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “He’s… fine. I guess.”

The group erupts. Kaminari whoops, Sero claps you on the back, and Mina squeals, her curiosity now a full-blown grin. “I KNEW IT!” she yells, shaking your arm. 

Kirishima’s grinning so wide his teeth look sharp, giving Bakugou a look that says you’re in trouble.

You want to die. You stare at the ground, your face so hot you think it’ll melt off. Why did I say that? Why? You risk a glance at Bakugou, expecting him to yell or scoff, but he just keeps walking, his shoulders a little stiffer, his jaw tight. 

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t say a word, but you feel something shift, like your stupid admission landed somewhere deep.

“Shut up, idiots,” Bakugou finally growls, his voice rough but not as sharp as usual. “Keep walkin’ before I leave you all here.”

The group laughs, but your heart’s still racing. You follow, your steps shaky, your mind a mess of embarrassment and that dumb, flickering warmth.

He heard me. He knows.You don’t know what scares you more. That you said it, or that part of you meant it.

You zone out, your steps slowing. Mina’s voice fades, Kaminari’s jokes become static, and even Bakugou's heavy footsteps feel distant. Your mind’s stuck when you admitted he was handsome. Why’s he gotta be so… ugh. Your chest feels tight, like your heart’s fighting itself, and you don’t notice how far behind you’ve fallen.

A hard shoulder slams into yours, jolting you back. Your painting slips, and you scramble to catch it, your breath hitching. “Watch it!” a rough voice snaps. 

You look up, and your stomach drops. Delinquents, three guys, all leather jackets and sneers stand in front of you, blocking the sidewalk. The one you bumped into is tall, with a scar across his lip, glaring.

“S-sorry,” you mumble, your voice small. You step back, but your heart’s racing. The guy’s eyes narrow, and he steps closer, his buddies smirking behind him.

“Sorry ain’t enough,” he says, his voice low and mean. “You think you can just bump into me and walk away, huh?” He cracks his knuckles, and your throat goes dry. 

Your hands shake, and you feel their anger, hot and heavy, pressing against you like a wave. Shit. Shit. I didn’t mean to—

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your legs feel like jelly, and you hate it, hated how small you feel, how your old high school instincts kick in, the ones that made you shrink and nod to avoid trouble.

Not again. Not like this. But the guy’s closer now, his shadow looming, and you can’t move.

Behind you, the group’s chatter stops. Bakugou notices first, his steps falter, and he turns, his red eyes scanning the sidewalk.

Where’s she at? His gut twists when he sees Y/N, frozen, a pack of punks circling her like wolves.

Her face is pale and one of the guys is in her space, sneering. Bakugou's blood boils. Hell no.

“Oi!” Bakugou's voice cuts through the street, sharp and dangerous. He’s moving before he thinks, shoving through the group, his hands out of his pockets and clenched into fists. 

Mina gasps, Kaminari and Sero turn, and Kirishima’s grin drops as they see what’s happening.

Bakugou reaches you in seconds, his shoulder slamming into the lead delinquent, knocking him back. “The fuck are you on about?” he snaps, stepping in front of you, his broad frame blocking the guy’s view. His eyes blaze, and his voice is low, like he’s daring them to try something.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding as you stare at his back, his spiky hair catching the streetlight.

The delinquent recovers, his sneer twisting. “Who the hell are you, huh?” he snaps, stepping up like he’s not fazed. His buddies flank him, cracking their knuckles, their eyes flicking between Katsuki and you. “You her boyfriend or somethin’? Gonna play hero?”

Bakugou doesn’t flinch. His smirk’s sharp, almost feral, and you feel a chill. He’s not scared. At all.

You don’t know why, but that look in his eyes, it’s different, like he’s flipped a switch. The delinquent doesn’t know who he’s messing with. 

Back in middle school, Bakugou was a terror, a reputation that made people cross the street. These punks are nothing.

“Keep talking” Bakugou says, his voice deadly calm. He cracks his neck, stepping closer, his fists twitching. “You wanna play with me?"

The air feels heavier and your hands shake harder. You feel his anger, but it’s not reckless, controlled, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The lead guy laughs, but it’s shaky, and his buddies hesitate. “Big talk for a pretty boy,” he says, but his eyes dart to Katsuki’s fists, the way he stands, like he’s done this a hundred times. “You think you can take us?”

Bakugou smirk widens, and he leans in, his voice a low growl. “Try me.”

Your heart’s in your throat. He’s gonna fight them. For me? You want to say something, to tell him to stop, but your voice is gone. 

Your legs feel weak, and you hate how useless you feel, just standing there. But Bakugou doesn’t look back, doesn’t waver, and you can’t tear your eyes off him.

Kirishima jogs up, his voice firm but calm. “Hey, guys, let’s not do this, yeah?” He steps beside Bakugou, his grin gone, his shoulders squared like he’s ready to jump in. 

“Y/N’s with us, so just back off, alright?” His tone’s friendly, but there’s a warning in it, and you’re grateful he knows you, his familiarity grounding you a bit.

Kaminari and Sero are right behind, not joking anymore, their eyes hard. Mina grabs your arm, pulling you back a step, her voice a whisper. “You okay?” Her curiosity’s still there, but it’s overshadowed by worry now.

You nod, but you’re not. Your chest’s tight, your face hot, and you can’t stop staring at Bakugou. He came back. He didn’t have to.

The delinquent glares, but the fight’s draining out of him, his buddies shifting nervously. Bakugou's vibe screams trouble, and they feel it.

“Whatever,” the lead guy mutters, stepping back. “Not worth it.” He shoots you a last sneer, then turns, his group slinking off into the crowd. 

The tension breaks, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, your knees wobbly.

Bakugou turns, his eyes locking on yours. “You good?” he asks, his voice gruff but softer, like in the alley when he stepped in. 

His fists are still clenched, but his face isn’t as hard, and you feel that pull again, like he’s carrying something heavy you don’t understand.

“Y-yeah,” you mumble, your voice shaky. Your face burns, and you look away “Thanks… I didn’t—” You swallow, hating how small you sound.

He saved me. Again. Your heart won’t stop pounding, and that warmth’s back, stronger, making your chest ache.

“Tch. Don’t make a habit of it,” he says, shoving his hands back in his pockets. But he doesn’t move, just stands there, watching you like he’s making sure you’re really okay. Mina squeezes your arm, her eyes wide. “That was intense! You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say, sharper than you mean. You force a smile, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “Just… zoned out. My bad.” But your hands are still shaking, and you feel Katsuki’s eyes on you, steady and heavy.

Kaminari whistles, breaking the moment. “Damn, Kats, you went full beast mode! Like old times, huh?” He grins, nudging Sero, who laughs. “Yeah, those guys ran fast. You’re scary as hell, man.”

Kirishima chuckles, clapping Bakugou on the shoulder. “Always ready to throw down, huh? But seriously, Y/N, you’re okay, right? Can’t have Mina’s buddy gettin’ into trouble.” His grin’s warm, and you nod, grateful for his easy vibe from the campus tour.

You nod, your face still hot. “Yeah… sorry.” You glance at Bakugou, and your eyes meet again, just for a second. His are softer. Your heart does that stupid flip, and you look away fast.

“Let’s move,” Bakugou mutters, turning back to the street. “I’m not dealing with more idiots tonight.” 

But he slows his steps, just enough that you can keep up, and you notice. Your chest feels tight, and you hate how much you care.

Mina links arms with you again, chattering about the restaurant, but her earlier curiosity lingers in her glance. 

He's not the worst The thought scares you, but it sticks, like paint you can’t scrub off. You follow, your steps shaky, your heart a messy, beating thing you can’t ignore.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

Bakugou trudged along the cracked sidewalk, hands jammed deep into his pockets, his breath fogging slightly in the cool night air. The city buzzed around himl but his focus was elsewhere. On her. Y/N. She was a few steps ahead, clutching that damn canvas like it was some priceless treasure. His eye twitched just looking at it. The colors were all soft and mushy, blending together in a way that grated on his nerves. What’s she even trying to prove with that thing?

He didn’t get it. And that pissed him off more than anything. Before he could stop himself, he closed the distance between them in two quick strides and snatched the painting from her arms.

“Hey!” Y/N’s voice shot up, She reached for it, fingers brushing his wrist, but he yanked it back, glaring down at her.

“It’s annoying me,” he snapped, already unzipping his bag. “You’re gonna drop it anyway.”

“I wasn’t gonna drop it!” she argued, her cheeks flushing as she lunged again. “Give it back, Bakugou!”

He snorted, holding it just out of her reach. "This thing's a damn eyesore. You're lucky I don't toss it in the trash."

Her face flushed, and she lunged for it again. "Bakugou, seriously! It's mine!"

He sidestepped her easily, shoving the canvas into his bag with more force than necessary. “Too late. It’s staying there ‘til we’re done.” He zipped it up, cutting off her protests, and shot her a look that dared her to keep pushing.

She crossed her arms, huffing like a pissed-off kitten. “You’re such an ass.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome,” he muttered, turning away 

The group ahead was loud, Bakugou lagged behind, his mood souring with every step. He didn’t even want to be here. Dinner was supposed to be quick. Grab some food, ditch these losers, head home. But then Y/N had shown up, and now he was stuck. 

He kicked a stray pebble, watching it bounce into the gutter. She’s not my damn responsibility.

Except… she kinda was. Ever since that night in the alley, those lowlife punks crowding her, he couldn’t shake it. The memory made his fists clench. 

They reached the little diner, the neon sign flickering above the door. Inside, it was warm and noisy, the smell of fried food hitting him as they slid into a booth. 

Bakugou took the edge seat, arms crossed, glaring at the menu. Y/N sat across from him, picking at the corner of her napkin, her knee bouncing under the table. He noticed it, couldn’t not notice it. And it irritated him how much he noticed.

“Yo, Kats,” Kaminari grinned, leaning across the table. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Thinking about your girlfriend over there?”

Bakugou's head snapped up, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Say that again and I’ll fry you myself.”

Sero laughed, elbowing Kaminari. “Dude, chill. But seriously, you two are, like, vibing tonight.”

“Vibing?” Bakugou's voice dripped with venom. “I’ll vibe your face into the wall.”

Kaminari still grinning with Sero. "When's the wedding?"

Bakugou's eye twitched. "Shut the fuck up!"

Sero snickered. "Come on, man, you're totally into her. Admit it."

Bakugou's face heated up, but he kept his voice steady. "I'm not into anyone, especially not her."

Y/N’s cheeks went pink, her eyes glued to her plate. “Stop,” she mumbled. Bakugou's stomach did a weird twist, and he hated that too. What’s wrong with me?

Dinner dragged on, the teasing getting dumber by the minute. Mina joined in, winking at Y/N, and even Kirishima (traitor) grinned like he knew something Bakugou didn’t. By the time the plates were cleared, Bakugou was ready to bolt. But then everyone started peeling off, Kaminari yawning, Sero checking his phone, Mina dragging Kirishima away and just like that, it was him and Y/N, alone at the table.

He glanced at his watch. Nearly 9 PM. Too late for her to be wandering around by herself. Not after what happened before. His jaw tightened, a flicker of that old anger flaring up. “C’mon,” he said, standing abruptly. “I’m walking you home.”

Y/N blinked up at him, surprised. “Wha–"

“Shut it,” he cut her off, already heading for the door. “Let’s go.”

She scrambled to follow, her steps quick and uneven as she caught up. They walked in silence at first, the city quieting down around them, the streets dim and empty. Katsuki kept his hands in his pockets, his mind a mess.

Why am I doing this? She’s fine. She doesn’t need me.

But the thought of leaving her alone gnawed at him, a stubborn itch he couldn’t scratch.

Y/N broke the quiet, her voice soft. “Hey, look.” She tilted her head up, eyes catching the faint glimmer of stars through the city haze. “They’re so pretty tonight.”

Bakugou glanced up, grunting. “They’re just stars. No big deal.” But he lingered on them a second longer, the way they dotted the sky like someone had flicked paint across it. She’d probably like that comparison. He shoved the thought away, annoyed at himself.

“They make me feel… I dunno, small,” she said, her voice quieter now. “But not in a bad way. Like there’s more out there, y’know?”

He didn’t answer right away, just kept walking, his boots scuffing the pavement. Her words stuck with him, though, small, but not bad. He got that, in a weird way. Made him think of all the times he’d pushed himself to be bigger, louder, better. Maybe she wasn’t so different.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

They hit the subway station, the platform deserted, the air cool and still. The train wasn’t there yet, and Bakugou leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, trying to look like he didn’t care.

Y/N stood nearby, shivering a little as she hugged her jacket tighter.

He noticed.

of course he did.

And without thinking, he shifted closer, just enough to block the draft.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching, and for a split second, everything stopped.

Her face was close, too close, her breath visible in the chilly air, her lips parted just slightly. Bakugou's heart slammed against his ribs, loud and fast, and he could feel the pull, the stupid, reckless urge to lean in.

What the hell? You're a fucking pervert

His throat tightened, his hands twitching at his sides. She didn’t move away, just stared back, and he wondered if she felt it too.

The rumble of the train snapped him out of it, the sound jarring as it rolled into the station. He stepped back, cursing under his breath, his face hot. Y/N blinked, like she was waking up, and turned toward the train, her movements quick and flustered

The train rumbled along, its steady hum filling the air as the night deepened outside. Bakugou slouched in his seat, arms crossed, staring out the window at the streaks of light blurring past. 

He barely registered Y/N beside him, though he could feel her shifting every now and then, her knee bouncing, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. 

Across from them, an old couple eased into the seats. The grandma was small and frail, her white hair a fluffy halo around her head, while the grandpa leaned a cane against his knee. 

Their hands found each other naturally, fingers lacing together with a quiet kind of ease. Bakugou flicked his eyes toward them for a split second before looking away, feeling oddly out of place. He didn’t do sappy stuff like that.

Y/N, though, noticed them right away. She clasped her own hands together in her lap, her gaze drifting somewhere off to the side.

Bakugou didn’t catch it at first, but the old lady was staring at her, a soft smile tugging at her wrinkled face.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed a little, and she kept her eyes averted, like she didn’t want to make it obvious she’d noticed. Bakugou stayed oblivious, his focus back on the window, until the grandma’s voice broke the silence.

“Your boyfriend looks just like my husband did in his teenage years,” she said, nodding toward Bakugou with that warm, shaky tone old people always seemed to have.

Y/N let out a small, nervous giggle, her hands tightening in her lap. “Oh, um—” She hesitated, glancing at Bakugou, who was still staring straight ahead, his jaw clenching slightly. “Thank you,” she finished, her voice polite and gentle. She didn’t correct the old lady, couldn’t bring herself to, probably. She was too kind for that, especially with older people. She’d rather let the misunderstanding slide than risk hurting the grandma’s feelings.

The grandma beamed, clearly pleased. “He seems intimidating,” she went on, her eyes crinkling as she looked at Bakugou. “But he’s got a good heart, doesn’t he?”

Bakugou’s eye twitched at that. Boyfriend? Good heart? He opened his mouth to say something. Probably something sharp—but Y/N shot him a quick, pleading look. Don’t. He snapped his mouth shut, settling back into his seat with a faint scowl. 

She was still smiling at the old lady, her hands clasped so tight her knuckles were turning white. "I guess so."

The grandpa chuckled, his voice rough but warm. “Took me years to soften up,” he said, giving his wife’s hand a gentle squeeze. “she soften me up"

Y/N’s smile grew, her eyes softening as she leaned forward just a bit. “That’s so sweet,” she said, sounding genuinely touched. “How long have you two been together?”

“Sixty years,” the grandma replied, her voice full of pride. “And he still holds my hand every day.”

Bakugou shifted uncomfortably, his foot tapping once against the floor. He wasn’t here for this, old people and their mushy stories. 

But Y/N was hooked, her whole face lighting up as she listened. “Sixty years… that’s amazing,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

The grandma nodded, then leaned closer to Y/N, her tone turning conspiratorial. “You know, my husband was a lot like your young man there. 

But he was the first one there when I needed him. That’s how I knew.”

Y/N’s cheeks went pink again, and she darted a quick glance at Bakugou. He caught it this time, meeting her eyes for a split second before she looked away, flustered. “Yeah, he’s… reliable,” she mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Bakugou’s chest tightened at that, and he turned his head to the window again, his jaw working. Reliable? It wasn’t the worst thing she could’ve said, but it still hit him weird. He wasn’t trying to be reliable for her or anyone. He just… was. Because she was a bad luck half the time, and someone had to keep her from screwing up. That’s all it was. Right?

The grandma kept talking, her voice a steady hum as she rambled about her husband’s younger days, how he’d sneak her flowers from his neighbor’s garden or write her terrible poems. 

Y/N nodded along, smiling and asking little questions, completely drawn in. Bakugou stayed silent, his arms still crossed, his foot tapping every now and then. 

He could feel Y/N glancing at him, like she was waiting for him to snap or roll his eyes. But he didn’t. He just listened, letting the old lady yap, because Y/N seemed to like it.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The old couple shuffled off, their hands clasped tight, disappearing into the evening crowd with those warm, wrinkly smiles still plastered on their faces. 

You waved one last time, your hand dropping as the train pulled away, leaving you and Bakugou standing there on the platform. You turned to him, half-expecting... something. 

Bakugou just stood there, arms crossed, staring off like the whole sappy scene hadn’t even registered. Typical, you thought, almost rolling your eyes. The guy was a brick wall, completely unbothered, like the idea of love or connection was some foreign language he didn’t care to learn.

“C’mon,” he muttered, jerking his head toward the stairs. No fanfare, no goodbye to the moment—just Bakugou being Bakugou. 

You followed, your shoes scuffing the pavement as you both hit the streets, the city lights flickering on around you. The silence settled in fast and you hated it. You kept stealing glances at him, your eyes tracing the sharp line of his profile, the way his blond hair caught the streetlights. Why’s he so quiet? you wondered. Is he pissed? Bored? What?

You notice the pattern, he wasn’t exactly a chatterbox. But still, it bugged you. Your mind wouldn’t shut up, though. You wanted to ask, wanted to prod him until he gave you something real, but every time you opened your mouth, the words stuck. He wasn’t exactly inviting conversation with that scowl of his.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “That couple was sweet, huh?” you said, tossing the words out like bait, your voice a little too bright for the mood.

Bakugou didn’t even glance at you. “Tch,” he grunted, a sound so dismissive it almost made you laugh. “Whatever.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting a smile. Of course that’s all I get. But you weren’t ready to give up. “I mean, sixty years together? So cute. Don’t you think?”

He shot you a look then, his red eyes sharp and narrow. “No. Sounds like a nightmare.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how blunt he was. “A nightmare? What, you don’t think it’d be cool to have someone stick around that long?”

“Why the hell would I?” he snapped, his voice rough. “People are a pain in the ass. Sixty years of that? Pass.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Wow, romantic.”

“Not my thing.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you muttered, kicking a pebble out of your path. The conversation stalled again, but now you were in it, determined to keep him talking. You tilted your head, studying him. “So, what is your thing?"

He glared at you, but there was no real heat in it. “What’s with the questions, huh? You writing a book?”

“hmm,” grinning a little. “You’d be a weird chapter.”

You kept walking, the night air cool against your skin, and you decided to push a little harder. “Seriously, though. Why are you always so... I dunno, mad?"

“I’m not mad,” he said, his tone flat. “People just suck.”

You laughed, a short, surprised sound. “That’s basically the same thing.”

“No, it ain’t,” he countered, his brows furrowing like he was actually thinking about it. “Mad’s when you’re all messed up and outta control. I’m just... done with idiots.”

“Huh.” You chewed on that for a second, your steps slowing. “So you’re saying you’re, what, perpetually annoyed?”

He shrugged, his shoulders hunching slightly. “Close enough.”

You nodded, letting that sink in. It made sense, in a weird way. 

You kept your eyes on the ground, your mind buzzing with a question you couldn’t shake: Why are you being nice to me now? It didn’t make sense. At school, when others were around, strangers, classmates, anyone who wasn’t his tight-knit group of friends, he was always snapping at you, his temper flaring. But here, away from prying eyes, he was different. Not warm, exactly, but... tolerable. Almost kind.

You opened your mouth to ask, the words forming on your tongue, but you clamped it shut just as quickly. No, that’d be weird. Too direct. Too awkward. He’d probably just grunt or glare at you, and then you’d feel even dumber for bringing it up. Besides, you weren’t exactly in a position to question him, not when you knew you’d done him dirty more times than you could count. 

Those moments of clumsiness, the mess you’d accidentally unleashed on him, flashed through your mind. You’d never apologized properly, even though you knew it was your fault. The guilt twisted in your chest, but now wasn’t the time to say it. You weren’t ready.

Bakugou didn’t say much as you walked, his silence as heavy as ever. You stole a glance at him, trying to read something, anything, in his expression, but his face was a wall.

He wasn’t the type to spill his thoughts, especially not to someone he barely knew. You’d figured that out early on. Whatever was going on in his head, he kept it locked up tight, only letting out the occasional sharp comment or gruff remark. 

Maybe that’s why this, him walking you home, staying close without complaint felt so strange. It didn’t fit the Bakugou you thought you knew.

“You’re quiet,” he said suddenly, his voice low and rough, cutting through the stillness.

You blinked, startled. “Oh. Uh, just thinking.”

He huffed, a sound that could’ve been annoyance or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “Yeah, well, don’t strain yourself.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. You wondered if he even noticed how he came across, or if he cared. Probably not. He didn’t seem like the type to overthink anything, unlike you.

The walk continued, the silence settling back in. You noticed how he slowed his steps just enough to match yours, a subtle shift you might’ve missed if you weren’t paying attention. 

It made your stomach flip, though you couldn’t say why. As your condo came into view, regret hit you. The walk was ending, and you still hadn’t said what you wanted to. Maybe someday you’d find the guts to do it, but not tonight.

He stopped at the gates, hands still in his pockets already half-turning to leave.

“Night,” you echoed, softer. “Be safe"

He shrugged, a quick jerk of his shoulders. You watched him go, the question still burning in your mind, unanswered. Maybe next time, you told yourself. Maybe.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

The next day at the University felt like a weird kind of reset for you. It was 1 PM, and the campus buzzed with students rushing between classes or grabbing lunch. You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, the weight of your school supplies heavier than usual.

Your 2 PM class was creeping closer, but your morning subject had been switched to an online session, giving you some extra time to wander. Lucky for you, your older brother had finally sent your allowance, a small lifeline that eased the knot in your stomach. You were already thinking about saving some of it, maybe even finding a part-time job. You didn’t want to keep being a burden to your family, not when things were already tense with your parents.

The sun was high, warm against your skin as you walked across the quad toward the canteen hall. Your thoughts spiraling back to last night. Katsuki Bakugou. That jerk. That confusing, annoying, stupidly intense jerk. 

You’d messed up with him so many times. You’d never properly apologized for any of it, and the guilt had been eating at you for weeks. Last night, when he’d been… well, not nice, but tolerable, you’d thought maybe you could finally say sorry. Maybe you could clear the air, start over. He didn’t seem like the type to hold grudges forever, right? But then again, this was Katsuki Bakugou. The guy who’d screamed at you in front of half the campus.

You sighed, kicking a stray pebble out of your path as you reached the canteen hall. The smell of fried food and coffee hit you as you stepped inside, the noise of chatter and clinking trays filling the air. You scanned the room, looking for a quiet spot to sit and maybe eat something. Your eyes darted around, and then they landed on him.

Bakugou was sitting at a table near the back with his friends. They were laughing about something, Kirishima’s deep chuckle carrying over the noise while Kaminari waved his chopsticks around like an idiot. Sero was leaning back in his chair, smirking, probably egging Kaminari on. And then there was Bakugou, slouched with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face like he was two seconds from telling them all to shut up.

Your stomach flipped, and you quickly looked away, your hands tightening around your bag strap. You needed to apologize. You had to. If you didn’t do it now, you’d just keep overthinking it, and it’d drive you crazy. You took a deep breath, trying to psych yourself up. He’s just a guy. A loud, annoying guy. You can do this. You started walking toward their table. You weren’t even sure what you were going to say, just a simple “sorry for everything” maybe? That’d be enough, right?

As you got closer, Kirishima noticed you first, his face lighting up with that big, friendly grin of his. “Yo, Y/N!” he called, waving you over. “What’s up? You eating with us?”

Your steps faltered, and you forced a small smile, your cheeks heating up. “Uh, no, I just—” You glanced at Bakugou, hoping he’d at least look at you, give you some kind of opening to talk. But he didn’t. He kept his eyes on the table, his jaw tight, his arms still crossed. It was like you weren’t even there. Your stomach sank, but you pushed forward, stopping a few feet from their table. The other two were looking at you now, Kaminari with a curious tilt of his head and Sero with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey, um, Bakugou?” you said, your voice coming out quieter than you wanted. You cleared your throat, trying again. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Bakugou didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the table, his scowl deepening, and the silence stretched on, heavy and awkward. Your face burned, and you shifted your weight, suddenly feeling like an idiot for even trying. Kirishima glanced between you and Bakugou, his grin fading a little, like he could sense the tension.

“Katsuki, man, Y/N’s talking to you,” Kirishima said, nudging him with his elbow. “You good?”

Bakugou finally moved, but it wasn’t to look at you. He turned his head toward Kirishima, his voice low and clipped. “I don’t know her,” he said, his tone so cold it felt like a slap. “Why’s she talking to me?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you froze, your hands tightening around your bag strap so hard. He… doesn’t know me? The words echoed in your head, and you felt your chest tighten, a mix of embarrassment and hurt bubbling up. 

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out. Kaminari let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair like he was watching a drama unfold, while Sero’s smirk faltered, his eyes flicking between you and Bakugou.

Kirishima frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Uh, dude, you sure? ‘Cause you two were—”

“I said I don’t know her,” Bakugou snapped, cutting him off. He finally looked at you then, his red eyes sharp and unreadable, but there was something in them. Something hard, like he was daring you to keep talking. “You got the wrong guy. Beat it.”

Your face burned, and you felt like the entire canteen was staring at you, even though most people were too busy with their own conversations to notice. 

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, and took a step back, your hands trembling. “I… okay,” you mumbled, barely audible. “Sorry.” You turned on your heel, walking away as fast as you could without running, your heart pounding in your ears. You didn’t look back, didn’t dare.

You found a table in the corner of the canteen, as far from them as you could get, and dropped into a chair, your bag hitting the floor with a thud. Your hands were still shaking, and you pressed them against your thighs, trying to calm down. 

What the hell was that? You’d expected him to be annoyed, maybe even yell at you, but to act like he didn’t even know you? After last night? After he’d walked you home, helped you at the fair, saved you twice? It didn’t make sense. 

Your chest ached, and you hated how much it hurt. You barely knew him. You weren’t friends. 

You pulled out your phone, pretending to scroll through it, but your eyes kept darting back to their table. Bakugou was talking to Kirishima now, his scowl still in place, while Kaminari and Sero seemed to have moved on, laughing about something else. 

It was like you’d never even been there. Like you didn’t exist to him. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look away. Fine. If that’s how he wants to be, then fine. You didn’t need to apologize to him. You didn’t need to talk to him at all. You’d just… avoid him. Again. Like you’d planned before. 

But even as you told yourself that, the guilt still gnawed at you, mixing with the hurt and confusion until your head felt like it was going to explode.

You barely touched the onigiri you’d bought, your appetite gone. By the time you had to head to your 2 PM class, you were a mess of emotions you couldn’t untangle. You grabbed your bag and left the canteen, your steps heavy, your mind stuck on his cold words.

The next few days were a blur of classes, trying not to think about Bakugou. But that was impossible, because somehow, the universe kept throwing him in your path. On Tuesday, you saw him in the quad, standing with the Campus Guidance Committee, his clipboard in hand as he barked orders at some poor freshman who’d shown up late for a meeting. You’d ducked behind a tree, your heart racing, hoping he wouldn’t see you. He didn’t.

On Wednesday, outside the lecture hall. You were rushing through the double doors, eyes glued to your phone as you tried to double-check your schedule. You didn’t even see him coming.

You slammed right into someone hard. Your phone slipped from your hand, clattering to the floor, and you stumbled back a step. He didn’t move much, but the folder he’d been holding slipped from his grip, papers scattering across the hallway.

“Oh my god—sorry,” you blurted, already crouching to grab your phone and help with the mess. “I wasn’t looking, I just—”

He bent down at the same time, snatching the papers before you could even reach one. His jaw was tight, and when he looked up, his glare could’ve frozen fire.

“Seriously?” he muttered. “Can’t go five seconds without being in my fucking way”

You froze, blinking at him, the apology dying on your tongue.

Without waiting for a response, he stood, shoved the papers back into his folder, and walked off like he couldn’t get away from you fast enough. You stayed crouched there for a second too long, heat crawling up your neck as you watched him disappear into the crowd.

You’d meant to apologize. Really. But now it just felt stupid. Like trying to fix a glass that had already shattered.

You were starting to feel like you were losing your mind. Every time you saw him, he acted like you were a stranger—or worse, like you were a pest he couldn’t get rid of. In the hallway, when you’d passed him on your way to class, you’d tried to catch his eye, hoping maybe he’d at least acknowledge you. But he’d looked right through you, his gaze fixed ahead, his jaw tight, like you weren’t even worth noticing.

It hurt more than you wanted to admit, and you hated how much it was getting to you. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that you didn’t need his approval, but every time he ignored you, it felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

By Friday, you’d had enough. The hurt had settled into a stubborn resolve, you weren’t going to let it fester anymore. You needed to apologize, to get it off your chest, and then you could move on. But storming into a meeting? That felt too bold, too risky. You weren’t about to make a fool of yourself in front of his whole committee.

Instead, you decided to wait. You’d heard from a passing classmate that the Campus Guidance Committee meeting would wrap up around 4 PM, and Bakugou would likely head to the quad afterward to cool off. You spent the afternoon in the art room, crocheting aimlessly to kill time, your hands smudged with charcoal as you tried to focus on anything but him. By 3:45 PM, you packed up your stuff, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and determination. You’d do this right—catch him alone, keep it quick, and get out.

You made your way to the quad, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass. The air was cooler now, a breeze rustling the leaves, sure enough, there he was, standing near the edge of the quad, his back to you, hands shoved into his pockets. His blond hair stood out against the fading light.

Yuo took a deep breath, your palms sweaty as you approached him. “hello” you said softly, stopping a few feet away. Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “Can I talk to you?”

He didn’t turn around at first, his posture stiffening like he’d heard you but didn’t want to deal. Your stomach twisted, but you waited, giving him a moment. Finally, he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see his profile, his sharp jaw, the scowl etched into his face. His red eyes flicked to you and your heart sank.

“What do you want now?” he said, his voice low and edged with irritation. “Haven’t you figured out I don’t care yet?”

Your face heated up, but you stood your ground, clutching your bag strap for support. “I just… I wanted to apologize,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “For all the times I messed up your stuff. I know I’ve been a mess, and I feel bad about it. I just wanted to say sorry and clear the air.”

Bakugou turned fully to face you, his expression darkening. He stared at you like you’d just said something ridiculous, and for a second, you thought maybe he’d laugh it off. But then his lips curled into a sneer, and your hope vanished.

“Apologize?” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “I don’t need your damn apology. I don’t need anything from you.”

Your chest tightened, and you felt your eyes sting, but you blinked hard, refusing to cry. “I just thought—” you said, your voice shaking slightly.

“You thought wrong,” he cut you off, taking a step closer, his voice rising with anger. “You think I care about your little guilt trip? You think I give a shit about how bad you feel? Guess what, I don’t. I don’t even know why I bothered with you in the first place. You’re nothing to me. Just some clumsy freshman who can’t stay out of my way.”

His words hit hard, and you flinched, your hands tightening around your bag strap. You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done, his eyes blazing with something fierce.

“And you know why I even helped you?” he continued, his voice low and venomous. “Because I felt sorry for you. That’s it. That night in the alley, those creeps? I saw you shaking like a damn leaf, and I pitied you. That’s the only reason I stepped in. The only reason I’ve done anything for you. Not because we’re friends, not because I give a shit about you, because I felt bad for you. That’s all you are to me. A pity stranger.”

Your breath caught, and you felt like the ground had shifted under you. The words sliced through you, and you couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. You turned your head away, blinking furiously, but you knew he saw. You knew he didn’t care.

“I don’t need your pity,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, a hint of defiance breaking through. “I never asked for your help. I never asked for any of this.”

“Good,” he snapped, stepping back, his arms still crossed. “Then stay the hell away from me. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear you, I don’t want anything to do with you. We’re not friends. We’re not anything.”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and you turned away, walking off as fast as you could without running. You didn’t look back, didn’t dare, but you could feel his gaze on you, your chest ached, a tangle of hurt, anger, and humiliation, and by the time you reached the stairwell, the tears were falling, hot against your cheeks.

You sank onto the steps, burying your face in your hands, your bag slipping to the floor with a thud. You didn’t care. All you could hear were his words, replaying like a broken record. You hated it. You hated him. And you hated how much it hurt, because you shouldn’t care this much. You barely knew him. 

You’d really thought… maybe… that things were changing. That maybe, you were finally going to have something like friends. Your mind drifted back to Mina, the way she’d dragged you around campus and made you feel included for once. You’d let yourself hope, let yourself imagine that their kindness might stick, that you could fit into their world. But now, sitting here with your face wet and your heart heavy, it hit you—they weren’t your friends. They were his friends. And if he didn’t want you around, there was no way they’d keep you close either.

The realization stung, sharper than you expected, and you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as if that could hold the pieces of yourself together. You stared at the chipped paint on the wall across from you, your vision blurry with tears, and felt a hollow ache settle in. You’d gotten too comfortable, too quick to trust the little moments, It was stupid. You should’ve known better. People didn’t stick around for you.

They never had.

You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, your shoulders trembling as you tried to steady your breathing. You couldn’t leave, not yet. Not when your legs felt like lead and your chest was still tight with that mix of embarrassment and something deeper you couldn’t name. You stayed there, curled up, the cold concrete seeping through your skirt, wondering how you’d let yourself hope for something that wasn’t yours to have.

Alone in the stairwell, your mind began to drift, pulled back to the shadows of ypur past, to the wounds that had shaped you into this fragile, hesitant version of yourself.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Back then, Y/N had been a small, fragile thing, her hands always busy with a crochet hook and yarn. She’d been the kind of girl who saw the world through a lens of innocence, her heart too big for her tiny frame. At twelve, she’d spent weeks crafting a little crocheted doll, a chubby, lopsided thing with button eyes and a bright red dress, meant as a gift for a girl in her class, someone she’d admired from afar. Y/N had clutched it to her chest as she approached the group of girls during lunch, her voice trembling with excitement. “Hello... I made this for you,” she’d said, holding it out with a shy smile. “I hope you like it.”

The girls had exchanged looks, their laughter cutting through the air. A tall girl with a cruel smirk, snatched the doll from Y/N’s hands, turning it over with mock curiosity. “What is this ugly thing?” she’d sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. Before Y/N could respond, the girl ripped the doll’s arm off, the yarn unraveling in her fingers, and tossed it to another who tore at the head. They laughed harder, stomping on the remains until the doll was a heap of shredded yarn. Y/N stood there, frozen, her lower lip quivering as tears welled up. “I… I can make a better one,” she whispered, her voice small but earnest. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

And she did. Every day for weeks, she brought a new doll, each one more intricate, more perfect, her little hands working late into the night. But each time, the girls destroyed them, their laughter growing meaner, their words sharper. “You’re so pathetic,” one spat, grinding a doll into the dirt. “No one wants your stupid toys.” Y/N’s heart broke a little more each time, but she kept believing it was her fault, that the dolls weren’t good enough. She’d go home crying, her sketchbooks filled with designs for the next one, her innocence blinding her to the malice until the bullying carved its first scars into her soul.

As middle school faded, her family became the next wound. Y/N’s parents were cold, their love reserved for her older siblings, three STEM prodigies who excelled in math and science, bringing home trophies and praise. Y/N, with her paint-stained fingers and daydreams of art, was an anomaly they couldn’t understand. “She’s useless,” her mother had muttered one night at dinner, her voice flat as she pushed her plate away. “All she does is doodle while her brother’s and sister acing exams.” 

Her father nodded, his eyes hard. “Art won’t get her anywhere. She’s a burden—we can’t keep carrying her like this.” Y/N sat silently, her fork trembling in her hand, the sting of their words sinking deep. She wasn’t stupid. she was clever in her own way, quick with colors and shapes, but her grades were average, her mind too restless for the rigid world of academics they valued. To them, she was a failure, a disappointment who’d never measure up, and their rejection hollowed her out day by day.

But high school brought a fresh hell. The bullying escalated, fueled by the trauma of middle school that had left Y/N mute with fear. Her voice, once soft and hopeful, now stumbled over words, her sentences halting as anxiety choked her. 

Y/N’s heart pounded as they surrounded her, their laughter echoing off the concrete walls. “Look at her, still acting like a baby,” the girl jeered. They grabbed her arms, their grips bruising, pinning her against the railing as the other girl stepped forward, a cigarette glowing between her fingers.

Y/N whimpered, her body shaking as the first burn seared into her forearm, the stench of singed skin filling the air. “Please… stop,” she sobbed, her voice breaking, but they only laughed harder. 

The girl pressed the cigarette into her shoulder again. Y/N jerked from the burn, a sharp cry ripping from her throat as the pain spread like fire. Tears spilled down her cheeks, her breathing ragged. “I didn’t do anything!” she choked out, her legs giving out as the others held her up.

They yanked her toward the edge of the rooftop, her feet barely touching the ground now. The city stretched out below like a blur, far and fast and terrifying. One of the girls laughed, sharp and mean. “Let’s see if she can fly.”

“No—no, please! I’m sorry! Don’t!” Y/N screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of panic. Her whole body shook, the terror crawling up her spine and clawing at her throat. Every tears spilled as she begged, but they just kept laughing.

They dangled her over the edge a second longer. Long enough to make her think they actually would then yanked her back and dropped her hard onto the concrete. She hit the ground and curled into herself, sobbing, the pain and fear wrapping around her.

That rooftop wasn’t the end of it. Y/N’s isolation grew, her craving for love a desperate, aching void. With no friends to turn to, no family to lean on, she latched onto the first person who offered her a sliver of warmth. A boy named Riku, a senior that seemed to see her when no one else did. It started innocently enough; he’d sit with her at lunch, toss her little compliments, and walk her home sometimes, his hand brushing hers in a way that made her heart race. 

After weeks of this, he asked her out, his voice low and earnest. “You’re different, Y/N,” he’d said, leaning close. “I like that about you. Be my girlfriend?” The word felt like a lifeline, and she’d nodded, her cheeks flushing, clinging to the hope that someone finally wanted her.

For a while, it felt real. He’d text her good morning, hold her hand in the halls, and call her “his girl” with a grin that made her believe she mattered. But the cracks showed soon enough. 

The first time he kissed her, it was rough, his hands gripping her waist too tight, pulling her into an empty classroom after school. “You’re so pretty,” he’d murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. Y/N froze, her breath hitching as unease crept in. “Riku, wait,” she whispered, pushing lightly against his chest. “I… I’m not ready for this.” His smile faded, replaced by a cold, hard stare that made her stomach twist.

“Not ready?” he’d snapped, stepping back, his voice laced with disbelief. “What’s wrong with you? I’ve been nice to you, Y/N. I picked you out of all these losers, and this is how you repay me?” Running a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over. “I thought you’d at least give me something. Everyone knows you’re desperate, why else would I bother with you?” The words hit like a slap, and Y/N’s eyes widened, tears welling up as she shrank against the wall. “I… I didn’t mean to—” she started, but he cut her off, his voice rising.

“Save it,” he growled, stepping closer, his shadow looming over her. “You think you’re special? You’re nothing but a weirdo. I only stuck around ‘cause I figured you’d be easy. But if you won’t put out, then what’s the point?” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him, his grip bruising. “You’re lucky I even looked at you, you pathetic little freak. Don’t waste my time.” With that, he shoved her back, letting her stumble against the wall, and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.

Her body shaking with every ragged breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking, though she didn’t know who she was apologizing to. Him, herself, the world that had never let her feel safe. The love she’d craved had turned into another wound, she stayed there, crying until her voice gave out.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You were still sobbing on the staircase, your face buried in your hands. Your shoulders shook with every ragged cry, the pain of Bakugou's words mixing with the ache of your memories until you couldn’t tell where one hurt stopped and the other started. You felt so small, so broken, like you’d never be enough.

 A faint shuffle broke the silence, and then a soft voice. unfamiliar but calm—spoke up. “Here,” he said, his tone gentle but not pitying. “Wipe your tears.”

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

The stairwell felt weirdly quiet, the kind of silence that made your own crying sound way louder than it should’ve. You were curled up on the step, face buried in your hands, trying to pull yourself together, but failing pretty hard. Then, out of nowhere, someone sat down next to you "hey". You hadn’t even noticed them at first.

"Wipe your tears,” he said. His voice wasn’t super soft or anything, but there was something in it calm, maybe? Not cold, just… steady. It made you stop for a second.

You peeked up, eyes still watery, and saw him holding out a handkerchief. It was white and clean and kind of fancy looking like the kind of thing that didn’t belong anywhere near someone like you right now.

You hesitated, your breath catching as you finally looked at him, like really looked. And for a second, the tears actually stopped.

He was… kind of unreal. Blond hair perfectly swept to the side, not a single strand out of place. It caught the dim stairwell light just right, making it look almost golden. His eyes were this sharp, clear blue. His brows were drawn in slightly, like he was trying to study you without saying it out loud. He looked tall even while sitting there, lean but strong-looking. His white button-up was clean and crisp, sleeves rolled up like he’d been working or something. There was this faint, sterile smell coming off him too, like hand sanitizer or a lab, something clinical.

He didn’t say anything else, just sat with one arm resting on his knee, still holding out the handkerchief with the other. His face was hard to read, but it wasn’t cold. It was calm. Patient. Like he wasn’t in a rush to get an answer from you.

“Take it,” he said again, his voice a little more firm this time “You probably need it more than I do.”

There was a hint of a smile on his face, not big or cheesy, just this small, barely-there thing. But it felt real. Not like he was trying to make you feel better out of pity. 

You reached out with slightly shaky fingers and took the handkerchief. It was softer than you expected. You pressed it to your face, trying to mop up the mess your eyes had made, even though the tears still kept coming.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. Your voice came out thick and wobbly, barely above a whisper. You kept your eyes down, cheeks burning, too embarrassed to look at him again.

You still had no clue who he was, this random guy who showed up out of nowhere and just sat down like it was totally normal. But he hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t left you there, crying alone. And somehow, that made your chest hurt in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

He shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall beside you, his long legs stretched out on the step below. “Rough day, huh?” he was trying to gauge how much you wanted to talk without pushing too hard. 

You nodded, your hands twisting the handkerchief in your lap, but you didn’t say anything more. Not when Bakugou's words were still ringing in your ears, not when the shame of it all felt like a weight on your tongue. You didn’t even know this guy; there was no way you were spilling your mess to him.

He didn’t seem bothered by your silence. Just tilted his head a little, watching you for a second before letting out a soft huff, kind of like a laugh, but quieter.

“You know,” he said, his tone easy, “when I’m having a crap day, I usually go find something sweet. There’s this vending machine on the third floor, has the best chocolate bars on campus. Nothing fancy, but they get the job done.”

He looked over at you, his blue eyes catching the light again as he raised an eyebrow. “You look like you could use one. My treat.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. He wasn’t being overly soft or coddling, which you were grateful for, nothing made you feel worse than being babied, but there was a kindness in his words, a practical sort of care that made you feel seen without feeling exposed.

“I… I don’t know,” you said, voice still shaky. Your hands tightened around the handkerchief a little. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Fair,” he said, and his smile tugged a little wider, just enough to show a flash of teeth. “But I’m not asking for your life story. Just a chocolate bar.”

He paused, then added with a tiny smirk, “You can keep crying after if you want, I won’t judge.”

It wasn’t mean. Just a small push, like he was trying to break through the fog a little without making it a big deal.

Then he stood, brushing off his pants, and held out a hand, not to grab you, just a simple gesture toward the stairs.

“Come on. It’s just a vending machine, not a marriage proposal.”

You stared at his hand, then up at his face, those eyes still watching you with that calm, steady gaze. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t forcing you to talk or smile or pretend you were okay, and that… that felt safe, in a way you hadn’t expected. 

You wiped your eyes one last time with the handkerchief, then folded it carefully in your lap, your fingers lingering on the soft fabric. “Okay,” you said finally, your voice small but a little steadier now. “Just… just for a minute.”

He nodded, stepping back to give you space as you stood up, your legs still a little shaky from all the crying. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and followed him up the stairs, your steps slow and hesitant. 

You didn’t know who this guy was, or why he’d decided to stop for you, but as you trailed behind him, watching the way his blond hair glinted in the light.

He led the way to the third floor, his pace relaxed but purposeful, and you noticed how he kept glancing back every so often, like he wanted to make sure you were still there. “So,” he said after a moment, his voice casual as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “I feel like you're in the creative side of college.” He tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes catching the light again, a small smile tugging at his lips, not too big, just enough to feel friendly.

You shrugged, your voice still a little rough from crying. “something like that,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes on the floor. “I like arts. What about you?” It was the safest question you could think of, a way to keep the conversation going without opening up too much.

He nodded, his smile tugging a little wider as he looked ahead. “Me? I’m more into fixing people than drawing them,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Keeps me busy.”

He didn’t explain what that meant, and you didn’t ask. Honestly, you were just glad for the kind of conversation that didn’t try to poke at your pain or make things heavy.

A few steps later, the vending machine came into view, old and kind of beat-up, humming quietly in the corner. He walked up to it and dug some coins out of his pocket.

“Chocolate or milk?” he asked, glancing back at you with that same calm, unreadable look.

You paused, then pointed at the chocolate bar. “Chocolate, I guess.”

He nodded and fed the coins into the machine. The bar dropped with a satisfying clunk, and he grabbed it, handing it to you without making a big deal out of it.

“Solid choice,” he said, leaning casually against the wall.

You took a small bite, your eyes drifting without thinking and that’s when you noticed the ID clipped to his uniform. The text was a little too small to fully make out his name, but underneath it, a line caught your eye: Pre Med.

Second-year, from what you could tell.

Your stomach did a weird little flip, and you quickly looked back down at the chocolate in your hands. A future surgeon? That would explain the faint antiseptic smell.

You didn’t say anything. Just kept nibbling at the bar, the sweetness settling some of the mess buzzing in your chest.

“Feeling a bit better?” he asked after a moment. His voice was easy, casual.

You gave a small nod, not really trusting your voice yet. He didn’t push, just crossed his arms and leaned a little more into the wall, like he was totally fine with the quiet.

And honestly? So were you. For the first time in hours, the silence didn’t feel heavy or lonely.

He kept talking as you leaned against the wall, letting his words fill the space between you. His voice had this smooth, effortless rhythm like he actually enjoyed talking, not just filling the air for the sake of it.

“You know, I’ve always thought art people have the coolest way of seeing things,” he said, thoughtful but light. He glanced at you, a spark of curiosity in those bright blue eyes. “Like, you probably notice stuff in this boring hallway that I’d walk right past without a second thought.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, your fingers playing with the edge of the chocolate wrapper. "Really?"

He nodded, his smile growing a bit, showing a hint of teeth that made him look even more approachable. 

“Oh, I just realized. I don’t even know your name,” he said suddenly, tilting his head with a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m Neito, by the way. Neito Monoma.” He held out his hand, not in a formal way, but like he was genuinely curious to know you, his expression open and friendly.

You hesitated for a second, then reached out, your smaller hand fitting into his for a brief shake. His grip was firm but not overbearing, and you felt a little flutter in your stomach, not the nervous kind, but the kind that came from feeling seen. “I’m Y/N, L/N” you said, your voice soft but clear, the sweetness of your old self peeking through, the Y/N who used to smile easily and trust the world before it taught her not to. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N,” he replied, his voice warm as he let go of your hand, leaning back against the wall again. “You’ve got a good name, it suits you.” He said it so casually, like it was just a thought that slipped out, but the words made your cheeks heat up, a shy smile spreading across your face. 

Monom kept talking, his words flowing easily, jumping from random topics like his favorite study spot on campus to a funny story about a professor who always mixed up students’ names. “I swear, he called me ‘Shinso’ for a whole semester—I don’t even look like the guy!” he said, shaking his head with a grin, and you found yourself laughing, a real laugh, small but genuine, bubbling up before you could stop it. It felt good, and you realized you weren’t the sassy, guarded girl you’d been around Bakugou and his friends. With Neito, you were slipping back into the Y/N you used to be—sweet, quiet, but eager to connect.

After a while, Monoma glanced at his watch, his brows furrowing slightly as he let out a small sigh. “Looks like I’ve got to head out,” he said, his tone regretful but practical. “I’ve got a class at 5 PM, and those professors don’t mess around—lasts till 6, usually.” He straightened up, brushing off his uniform, and gave you a quick smile, his blue eyes softening as he noticed you weren’t crying anymore. “Glad you’re feeling better, Y/N. Take care, okay?”

You nodded, a faint smile on your lips. “Neito. I… yeah, I feel better,” you said, your voice steadier now, the weight on your chest lighter than it had been. He gave a small nod, looking pleased, and with a wave, he turned and headed down the hall, his steps confident but unhurried. You watched him go, his blond hair catching the light one last time, and felt a quiet gratitude settle over you.

With Monoma gone, you decided it was time to leave the university too. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and made your way toward the exit, your steps slower but more certain. As you neared the main gate, your heart skipped a beat, there was Bakugou, standing with his circle of friend, their voices carrying across the quad. They were laughing about something.

You didn’t want to face them, not Bakugou, not after what he’d said, and not his friends, who you were sure knew something by now.

Quickly, you turned on your heel and headed to a different gate, keeping your head down, your heart pounding as you slipped away unnoticed.

From now on, you decided, you’d do your best to avoid him and his friends too. The thought of running into them, of seeing that cold look in his eyes again, made your chest ache.

You felt guilty about Mina, her kindness still fresh in your mind, but you pushed it down. If she wanted to talk to you, maybe you’d listen, but for now, you needed space from all of them.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Back at your condo, you dropped your bag by the door and headed straight for the shower, the stickiness of dried tears and campus air clinging to your skin. 

The hot water washed it away, and after, you busied yourself cleaning, sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters, anything to keep your hands and mind occupied. Alone in your room now, the silence settled in, and your thoughts drifted back to Bakugou. 

The venom in his voice, replayed in your head. You decided then and there, if he ever said something like that again, you wouldn’t apologize, wouldn’t try to fix things. He didn’t deserve it, not after making you feel so small. 

۶ৎ

Thursday morning rolled around, and you were up earlier than usual, the quiet of your condo urging you to get moving. 

You arrived at UA well before your first class, the campus still sleepy under the soft morning light. 

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, keeping your head down as you walked toward the art building, hoping to avoid any familiar faces. 

But luck wasn’t on your side. Mina’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence. “Y/N! Hey, wait up!”

You froze, stomach twisting as you saw her jogging toward you, that wide grin already on her face before she even reached you.

She stopped right in front of you, slightly out of breath but beaming, her eyes full of energy.

“I haven’t seen you in, like, five days!” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “Where’ve you been? I was seriously starting to think you dropped out or ghosted me or something!”

You shifted awkwardly, your hands tightening around your bag strap, the familiar ache of guilt creeping in. “I’ve just been… tired,” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “Didn’t really feel like talking.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but the harsh words and the humiliation was too raw to share. You didn’t want to risk breaking down in front of her.

Mina’s smile faded just a little, but she didn’t take it personally. Instead, she softened, tilting her head with that same warm energy she always carried.

“Okay, I get that,” she said gently. “But I really missed you, you know? I’ve been wanting to hang out more. I feel like we’d get along so well.”

Her voice was light, but something about it hit you in the chest. You wanted to believe her. You did. But that familiar mix of hope and fear bubbled up, making it hard to breathe. The last time you let someone in, it didn’t end great. And even if Mina seemed genuine… you weren’t ready to crack your walls open just yet.

She paused for a second, then raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across her face.

“So… what’s the deal with you and Bakugou?” she asked, dropping her voice. “I thought you guys hated each other, but… it’s kinda weird. Eijiro said Bakugou’s been acting like he’s mad at you all the time now, but before that, he was like… lowkey kind to you?"

Your heart sank the second she said his name.

You shook your head fast, too fast, the words leaving your mouth sharper than you meant.

“I don’t know him,” you said, and it sounded way too defensive. Your face flushed, your jaw tightening as you looked away. “We’re not… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You just wanted her to drop it. To stop poking at something that still felt raw, something you hadn’t even figured out for yourself. And more than anything, you didn’t want to replay the way he looked at you that day on the quad.

Mina frowned, confusion flickering across her face, but she didn’t press further. She’d heard enough from Eijiro to know something was off.

Bakugou’s sudden hostility toward you didn’t add up with how he’d been acting before, but she could tell you weren’t ready to talk. “Okay,” she said slowly, her tone gentle. “But… if you ever wanna hang out, I’m here, alright? How about after class today? Just the two of us. I promise, no men” She smiled again, her eyes hopeful, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth at her persistence.

You thought about it for a moment, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag as you weighed the risk. Mina had been nothing but kind to you, the idea of spending time with her felt… nice. Finally, you nodded, your voice quiet. “Okay. Just us.”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

After your last class, you met Mina by the gate, and true to her word, it was just the two of you. She led the way to a nearby mall, chatting the whole time about random things, her favorite bubble tea flavors, a funny story about her dance team, a new song she couldn’t stop listening to. Without even realizing it, you started to relax. The tightness in your shoulders eased a little as you walked beside her.

Inside the mall, you wandered through shops, Mina pointing out cute accessories and trying on a pair of sparkly earrings just to make you laugh. 

Then you spotted them.

Gachapon machines lined up in a row near the arcade, their colorful capsules glinting under the lights. Your eyes lit up, a spark of joy you hadn’t felt in days bubbling up inside you. “Oh, I love these!” you said, your voice brighter as you hurried over, already digging into your bag for coins.

Mina laughed, following you with a grin. “You’re kidding! I’m obsessed with these things!” she said, pulling out her own coins. “Let’s see who gets the better prize.” The two of you started cranking the machines, giggling as you compared your hauls, a tiny cat keychain for you, a glittery star charm for her, then a little frog figure that made you both laugh because of its goofy expression. 

You kept going, feeding coins into the machines one after another, the little pile of trinkets between you slowly growing. For the first time in days, the weight on your chest felt lighter, like all the stuff that had been eating at you had finally taken a backseat, even if just for a little while.

Mina’s laughter was contagious. Loud and unfiltered in the best way. And even though you still weren’t totally sure where you stood with her, you couldn’t deny how good it felt just being around her.

You both cracked up as you turned the gachapon knobs, the machines spitting out capsule after capsule more keychains and trinkets, a lopsided penguin, a sparkly heart hair clip that Mina immediately clipped into her curls with zero hesitation.

The sound of coins dropping, plastic capsules popping open, and the endless stream of giggles made everything else fade out. Your cheeks actually hurt from smiling. At one point, you were mid argument over whose tiny robot looked cooler, both of you holding them up dramatically like it was a life-or-death competition.

Then she turned to you, tilting her head with a curious grin. “So, Y/N, do you like anyone? Like, is there a guy you’re into?” Her tone was playful, but her eyes were eager, waiting for your answer.

You blinked, caught off guard, and shook your head quickly, your cheeks warming a bit. “No, not really,” you said, your voice soft but honest. “I don’t think about that stuff much.” It was true—after everything, your heart wasn’t ready to latch onto anyone, and the idea of liking someone felt too risky right now.

Mina didn’t seem fazed, though she just leaned in closer, her curiosity undeterred. “Okay, fair enough! But what about your type, then? Like, if you had to pick, what kind of guy do you go for?” She propped her chin on her hand, clearly enjoying the game, her smile encouraging you to open up.

You thought for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of a gachapon capsule in your bag. “I guess… someone soft-spoken,” you said slowly, your voice quiet but sure.

“Someone who tries to understand you, you know? Not pushy. That’d be nice.” You shrugged, a little shy about saying it out loud, but Mina nodded like it made perfect sense, her grin widening.

In the back of her mind, Mina was connecting the dots. She didn’t say it out loud, but she was pretty sure someone like Bakugou didn’t exactly scream your type.

He's totally different from the quiet kind of comfort she figured you looked for. Still, she kept the thought to herself.

No point dragging up whatever tension had been there before. You were finally smiling, finally relaxed, and she wanted to keep it that way.

You both stayed on the bench, chatting like the world wasn’t spinning so fast around you. Mina’s excitement practically buzzed in the air as she suddenly clapped her hands, her eyes lighting up.

“Oh my god, Y/N—I’m so pumped for Saturday. It’s finally my party!” she squealed, bouncing a little in her seat. “You are still coming, right? You promised!”

She leaned toward you with a grin so wide it was impossible not to catch a bit of it yourself. “I swear I’ll stick by you the whole time, no disappearing act, promise. I won’t leave you hanging, okay?”

The way she said it, so sincere and full of heart—made your chest feel warm. You laughed under your breath and nodded, the tiniest flicker of excitement rising beneath the usual nervous buzz you got around social stuff. Maybe this time wouldn’t be so bad.

But before you could say anything else, someone’s arms suddenly looped around Mina’s shoulders from behind, making her squeak in surprise. Then she burst out laughing as she looked up.

“Eijiro!” she giggled, grabbing his forearms playfully.

Your eyes widened. Kirishima?

His bright red hair was impossible to miss, that laid-back grin lighting up his whole face as he leaned down next to her. He looked totally at ease, like showing up in the middle of girls’ night wasn’t weird at all.

You blinked. This was supposed to be just the two of you but maybe he’d just happened to spot you while walking by. Still, the sudden shift knocked you off balance a little.

You clamped your mouth shut and stared down at your hands, twisting the little gachapon capsule between your fingers like it might ground you. The embarrassment was sharp, burning behind your ribs. But then Kirishima spoke, and his voice was so gentle, so casual, it caught you off guard.

“Hey, Y/N! Been a while, huh?”

He leaned slightly over Mina’s shoulder, still half-hugging her, his smile soft and easy. 

You glanced up, giving him a small smile. “Yeah… just been kinda busy with stuff. Sorry.”

Your voice was quiet, a little stiff, but he didn’t push. He just nodded like he understood, like he wasn’t holding that moment in the canteen against you—even if you still kind of were.

Then Mina jumped in. She started gushing about the party again, dragging Kirishima into the conversation, and he grinned, mentioning how he’d helped her pick the playlist, even argued with her about putting in too many throwbacks.

You sat back a bit, listening more than talking, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You added a comment here and there, even let out a soft laugh when they playfully bickered about song choices. The tension in your chest didn’t disappear, but it loosened just enough.

It felt… okay. Not perfect. But okay. 

Mina glanced between you and Kirishima, clearly picking up on your slight hesitation, she always noticed the small stuff. And Kirishima seemed to catch it too. His smile faltered just a little, replaced with something gentler, more thoughtful. He shifted his weight, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets.

“I should probably get going,” he said after a second, his voice easy but sincere. “Didn’t mean to crash your girls’ night or anything. You two deserve your time.”

Mina pouted. “Babe, you’re not crashing,” she said, reaching for his hand, but she didn’t argue. She knew he meant well.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and she giggled softly, squeezing his hand before letting go. “See you later, yeah?” he said, his smile turning toward you. “Catch you later, Y/N.”

You hesitated, then surprised yourself by speaking up. “You can stay,” you said quietly, eyes flicking toward the glass doors and the dark outside. “It’s getting late. Mina might need you.”

You didn’t have to spell it out, the streets could get weird at night, and Kirishima was the kind of guy who’d never brush that off. He paused for half a second, then gave you a look full of quiet appreciation.

“Alright,” he said with a nod, smile warm. “I’ll stick around.”

And just like that, the air eased again. Not perfect. But safer. A little less heavy.

But as you got closer to the glass doors, your stomach dropped.

Bakugou was there.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, 

Mina spotted him at the same time you did, and without a word, her fingers slipped into yours, squeezing gently. 

Your steps slowed anyway, like your body was trying to brace itself for impact. Bakugou’s eyes flicked up as the three of you approached, but he didn’t look at you, his gaze went straight to Kirishima.

“Tch. Took you long enough,” he muttered, pushing off the wall with a sharp exhale. His voice was low, like he was holding back irritation. “I’ve been out here like a damn idiot. Let’s go.”

No “hey,” no acknowledgment of Mina, and definitely nothing for you. Just that same cold shoulder, like you weren’t even part of the equation. He didn’t wait, just walked ahead like the rest of you were supposed to fall in line.

And despite everything, something in your chest tugged. You stayed quiet, keeping close to Mina as she held your hand, her warmth a small comfort against the cold knot in your stomach. 

As the four of you walked, Kirishima and Mina chatting lightly while Bakugou stalked ahead, you couldn’t help but watch him. The more you looked, the more it sank in just how much of a jerk he was. 

You felt a quiet anger simmering in your chest, solidifying into something colder. You really hated him now. You didn’t want to be friends with him, didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. That realization felt heavy, but it also felt final, like a door closing on something you’d never wanted to open again.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Your eyes scanned the crowd like muscle memory—half out of habit, half still trying to shake off the encounter with Bakugou. But then you saw him.

Neito.

That familiar flash of blond and the easy way he stood out even in a sea of people—it tugged a smile straight out of you before you could even think about it. “Neito!” you called, voice lighter. Your pace picked up without realizing it, the tension that had wrapped around your chest slowly slipping away.

He was with two guys you didn’t know both dark haired, Monoma stood out between them. Mina perked up beside you, waving enthusiastically. “Oh, Neito! Hey!” she said, just as happy to see him. Apparently, they were on friendly terms too, which made you feel a little less weird about how excited you were.

Monoma's head turned at the sound of your voice. His eyes found you instantly, and his face shifted. He started toward you, his stride smooth, confident. But when his eyes briefly flicked to Bakugou trailing behind the group, something in his expression changed. Just for a second.

That polite smile didn’t reach his eyes—not fully. There was something under the surface. You caught it, even if no one else did.

Still, by the time he reached you, his face was composed again. “Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, voice smooth but laced with something unreadable. He nodded at Mina politely before turning back to you. “

His friends, Awase and Sen, trailed behind him, both giving casual nods as they joined you. Kirishima’s mood seemed to shift slightly, his usual easygoing vibe tightening as he glanced at Bakugou, but you didn’t notice, too caught up in the moment. 

Mina jumped in, her voice bubbly as she leaned toward Monoma. “How’s your day been? And are you coming to my place on Saturday for the party? You better say yes!” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

You perked up at the mention of the party, remembering Mina’s invitation from earlier, and stayed quiet, listening as Monoma chuckled softly. “Day’s been a grind, but I’m surviving,” he said, his tone light. “And yeah, I’ll be there—wouldn’t miss it. Got to see you throw one of your epic parties.” His words flowed easily, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease with him around.

After a little more back-and-forth, Monoma glanced over at the two guys waiting nearby, then looked back at you. “We’re heading toward the left entrance, subway’s that way,” he said, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “You going that way too?”

You nodded, and his face lit up just a little, like he was genuinely glad. “Cool. Walk with us, then.”

You hesitated.

Your eyes flicked between him and Mina. You weren’t sure why your chest felt tight all of a sudden

You turned to Mina, your voice a little uncertain. “Would that be okay?”

Mina blinked, then gave you a small, knowing smile and pulled you into a hug. “Of course it’s okay,” she said, squeezing you tight. “Just… take care of yourself, alright?”

You nodded into her shoulder. “I will.”

She pulled back and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, her smile soft but steady. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Promise.”

You didn’t see what was happening behind you. Too focused on catching up to Neito and his friends, but if you had looked back, you might’ve noticed the way Bakugou was standing still, his jaw clenched, red eyes narrowed. He was staring at Monoma like the guy had challenged him to a fight.

And Monoma?

He didn’t flinch. His gaze was calm but firm, holding steady in that way people do when they refuse to back down. 

Kirishima, sensing the shift in energy, subtly moved closer to Bakugou. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was ready to step in if things got ugly. But nothing happened. After a moment, both guys looked away, like the silent showdown never happened.

Oblivious to all of it, you walked alongside Monoma, Awase. The hum of the mall faded behind you, replaced by the steady rhythm of your footsteps on the sidewalk. 

The evening air brushed against your skin, and you felt a little lighter with Monoma's calm presence beside you. Then, out of the blue, Sen broke the silence, his voice low but laced with irritation. “Man, that Bakugou guy is such a jackass,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

Awase snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets as he chimed in. “Seriously, the dude’s got a stick up his ass. Heard he chewed out some freshman last week for no reason—total prick.” They both laughed bitterly, their dislike for Bakugou obvious, and you blinked, caught off guard by their anger. 

It made you curious as you wondered what had happened between them. You didn’t know Bakugou well enough to judge, but their words stirred up that same uneasy feeling you’d felt earlier.

Monoma glanced at you, noticing your confused expression, and tilted his head slightly. “So, how’d you end up with that crew back there?” he asked, his tone casual but curious, his blue eyes studying you. “Didn’t peg you as someone who hangs with Bakugou’s group.”

You shook your head quickly, your hands tightening around your bag strap. “I don’t really know him,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I only know Mina and Kirishima. I was just with them tonight—didn’t mean to get mixed up with… him.” You left it at that, not wanting to dive into the mess of last week, and Monoma nodded, seeming to accept your answer without pressing further.

Sen exchanging a look with Awase. “Smart move, staying away from that guy,” he said, “You’re better off.” Awase nodded in agreement, and though their comments kept you curious, you didn’t ask more, just walking alongside them as the subway station came into view, their chatter about Bakugou fading into lighter topics.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The subway station was just a few steps away now. You were mostly quiet, still feeling a bit shy around these new guys, but their easygoing vibe made you feel less on edge. 

As you reached the platform, Sen and Awase turned to you, their curiosity finally getting the better of them. They leaned in a little, squinting at you under the dim station lights, trying to get a better look at your face.

“Wait, hold up,” Awase said, his eyes narrowing as a playful grin spread across his face. “We don’t even know your name yet. Who are you?” Sen nodded beside him, his messy black hair falling into his eyes as he tilted his head, waiting for your answer.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Monoma beat you to it, letting out a soft chuckle that made your cheeks warm. “She’s Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and warm, his blue eyes flicking to you with a gentle smile. “My friend.” The way he said it made your heart skip a beat. He looked so sweet standing there.

Awase raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Y/N, huh? Cool name,” he said, giving you a nod. “I’m Yosetsu Awase by the way. Nice to meet you.” 

Sen stuck out his hand, his smile a bit more laid-back. “And I’m Sen Kaibara” he said as you shook his hand, his grip firm but not too tight. “Good to meet you, Y/N.” His tone was easy, and you could tell he was the more relaxed of the two.

You smiled shyly, your hands fidgeting with the strap of your bag as you mumbled, “Nice to meet you too.” The three of them were so nice, their energy warm and welcoming, but you couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed. You weren’t used to this, people being so open, so quick to include you and it made you retreat into yourself a bit, your voice softer, your eyes darting to the ground.

Awase noticed your shyness but didn’t comment on it, instead shifting the conversation with a curious tilt of his head. “So, Y/N, are you new to UA?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before not in high school, at least.” He paused, high school and college at UA are in different spots.

You nodded, relaxing a little at the question. “I’m a first-year,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I didn’t go to UA for high school—I studied in Shibuya back then.” That explained why you didn’t know anyone here, why everything felt so new and daunting.You’d left behind a rough past in Shibuya, hoping UA would be a fresh start, but so far, it had been… complicated.

Sen let out a low whistle, leaning back on his heels. “Shibuya, huh? That’s pretty far. No wonder we’ve never crossed paths,” he said, his tone light but intrigued. Awase nodded in agreement, and Monoma smiled down at you, his expression kind.

“That must’ve been a big change, coming here,” Monoma said, his voice gentle, like he understood more than he was letting on. “UA can be a lot to handle at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.” He paused for a moment, then his tone brightened. “By the way, are you going to Mina’s party on Saturday?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I told her I’d go,” you said, feeling a little more confident now. “She’s been really nice about it, said she’d stick with me.”

Monoma's smile widened, and he leaned in a bit, his voice warm but earnest. “Good, I’m glad you’re going. I’ll be there too, my friends will be around,” he said, “But if you want, you can come with me. I mean, I don’t want you to feel alone if Mina gets busy—she’s always running around at her parties, entertaining everyone.” He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of gratitude at his thoughtfulness.

You hesitated for a second, then shook your head lightly. “Thanks, but Mina said she’d stay with me,” you said, your voice soft but appreciative. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Monoma nodded, but he didn’t let it drop completely. “Alright, but if she gets caught up, you can stick with me,” he insisted, his tone firm but kind. “I’ll make sure you’re not left on your own—promise.” His words made you smile, a real one this time, and you nodded, feeling a warmth settle in your chest at his offer.

Before you could say anything else, Sen’s voice cut through the moment, his tone sharp with irritation as he glanced at Awase, whispering “Man, if I see that Bakugou guy at the party, I swear he’s gonna try to start something with Neito again,” he said, his dark eyes narrowing. “He’s got some kind of grudge. Who cares, though? Let him try.” He scoffed, crossing his arms, clearly unbothered by the idea of a confrontation.

Awase smirked, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, let him throw a punch, I’d love to see Neito put him in his place,” he added, his voice teasing but with a hint of seriousness. You glanced at Monoma, curious about the tension they were hinting at, but he just rolled his eyes, his expression calm.

“Don’t worry about it,” Monoma said, his voice steady as he glanced at you, noticing your confusion. “Some people just don’t know how to let things go.” There was a weight to his words, a hint of something deeper. a past conflict, maybe? but he didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t ask. Whatever bad blood existed between him and Bakugou, it wasn’t your business.

The subway train pulled into the station with a loud screech, and the four of you stepped onto the platform, the crowd bustling around you. As you settled in for the ride, Monoma stayed close, his presence reassuring, while Sen and Awase kept the conversation light, joking about their classes and plans for the weekend. You listened quietly, a small smile on your face, feeling a little more at ease with each passing minute.

After a few stops on the subway, the other two reached their station, the doors sliding open with a hiss. “Finally” Awase said, turning to you and Monoma with a grin “Catch you later, Y/N—don’t let this guy talk your ear off.” He jerked his thumb at Monoma, who rolled his eyes with a smirk, while Sen gave a lazy wave. “See ya, Y/N. Take care,” Sen added, and the two of them stepped off, disappearing into the crowd as the doors closed behind them.

Now it was just you and Monoma, the train rattling softly as it moved on. You settled into your seat, your bag of gachapon trinkets resting on your lap, and Neito turned to you, his smile brightening as he started talking again, his voice warm and lively.

“Man, I’m so glad next week’s finally the end of hell week,” he said, leaning back in his seat, his blond hair catching the dim lights of the train. “Every professor’s been piling on projects and tasks. I swear, I haven’t slept more than four hours a night this week.” He let out a dramatic sigh, but there was a playful glint in his blue eyes as he glanced at you. “What about you? You surviving?”

You let out a small groan, slumping in your seat as you hugged your bag a little tighter. “Not really,” you admitted, your voice tinged with frustration. 

“My groupmates and I still have to finish a short film for our class—it’s due next week, and we’ve barely started.” You pouted slightly, the stress creeping into your tone. 

Monoma's eyes widened, a mix of shock and excitement lighting up his face. “Wait, a short film? That’s awesome!” he said, leaning forward a bit, his voice full of genuine interest. “What kind of genre are you guys doing?” He tilted his head, waiting for your answer, his enthusiasm making you feel a little less stressed about the project.

You hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “My groupmates decided it’s gonna be a horror film,” you said, and Neito’s reaction was immediate.

“No way! A horror film?” he said, his voice rising with excitement. “That’s so cool! Fine arts students are always so creative.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling, and you couldn’t help but smile back, his excitement infectious even if you were still nervous about the project.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your cheeks warming at his praise. “I hope it turns out okay—we’re still figuring out the creepy sound effects and stuff.” You paused, then glanced at him, curious about something he’d mentioned earlier. “Wait, what did you mean by ‘hell week’ ending? Is something happening next week?”

Neito blinked, then his expression shifted to one of realization, his brows lifting. “Oh, you don’t know about the school camp?” he asked, sounding a bit surprised. “I thought your adviser would’ve told you by now—maybe tomorrow, I guess?”

You shook your head, your curiosity growing. “No, I haven’t heard anything,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “What’s the school camp? Professor Nemuri hasn’t updated us about anything like that.”

Monoma chuckled, running a hand through his blond hair as he settled back in his seat, ready to explain. “It’s not a big deal, really—just a camp inside the school,” he said, his tone casual but with a hint of excitement. “It’s pretty lowkey compared to what they used to do. Back then, they’d take us camping outside the school, like in the mountains or something, but they stopped a few years ago after an accident happened.” He waved a hand dismissively, not going into details, and you didn’t ask, though you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of accident he meant.

He continued, his voice brightening. “Anyway, they set up tents in the quad, and there’s games and events, nothing too crazy, but it’s fun. It happens on UA’s anniversary day, you know, the day the university first opened its doors to everyone. They always do something to celebrate.” He smiled, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “I’m looking forward to it, honestly. The games are usually pretty cool—they do stuff like relay races and scavenger hunts, and there’s always food.”

Your eyes widened, a mix of surprise and awe settling over you. “Wait, really?” you said, your voice soft but full of wonder. “That sounds… kinda fun.”

You hadn’t expected UA to care so much about their students, to make time for something like that just so everyone could have a break and enjoy themselves. 

It made you feel a little warm inside, like maybe this school could be a place where you’d find your footing after all.

Monoma nodded, his smile softening as he watched your reaction. “Yeah, UA’s good about stuff like that,” he said, his voice gentle. “They know we’re all stressed out, so they try to give us a chance to have some fun. You’ll like it, I think.” He paused, then added, “You should come hang with me and my friends during the camp, we’ll make sure you don’t get stuck doing some boring game by yourself.”

You smiled, a real one this time, feeling a little spark of excitement at the thought. “Thanks, Neito,” you said, your voice quiet but genuine. “I’ll… I’ll let you know.” The train slowed as it pulled into your station, and the two of you stood up, ready to head home, the conversation leaving you with a lighter heart than you’d had all day.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugou walked down the main street, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. The streetlights cast long shadows as his group,

their voices a constant hum that grated on his nerves more than usual tonight. Normally, he’d be barking at them to shut up, but right now, he was too deep in his own head to care.

His jaw was tight, his red eyes narrowed as he stared at the pavement, the image of Y/N calling out to that blond bastard Monoma replaying in his mind like a bad loop. 

Ashido was clinging to Kirishima’s arm, giggling about something as they walked, her pink curls bouncing with every step. “You should’ve seen Y/N with those gachapon machines, Eijiro, she was so cute!” she said, her voice bright. Bakugou's scowl deepened, but he kept his mouth shut, his boots scuffing against the sidewalk as the group made their way toward Ashido’s place. 

Kirishima, ever the good boyfriend, had insisted on walking her home first, and Bakugou didn’t argue, he just wanted to get this over with.

When they reached Ashido’s apartment building, she turned to them with a grin, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Kirishima on the cheek. “Thanks for walking me, you guys!” she said, her voice warm. “Don’t stay out too late, okay?” She waved at them, her eyes lingering on Kirishima with a soft smile before she disappeared inside. 

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush on his cheeks, but he turned back to the group with his usual grin, falling into step beside Bakugou as they continued down the street.

The four of them kept walking, the night stretching out ahead of them. Sero and Kaminari were up front, their voices loud and animated as they argued about some new game they’d been playing. “Dude, I’m telling you, the new update totally nerfed my main character. I can’t even get past level 50 now!” 

Kaminari whined, flailing his arms dramatically. 

Sero laughed, shoving him lightly. “That’s ‘cause you suck at strategy, bro. I cleared it in two hours.” 

Their bickering faded into background noise as Bakugou lagged behind with Kirishima, his hands still buried in his pockets, his mind elsewhere.

It was a Thursday night, no school tomorrow, and the four of them were acting like a bunch of dumb teenagers instead of college students. Wandering the streets, wasting time like they had all the hours in the world. Bakugou didn’t care, though. He wasn’t in the mood to go home yet, not when his thoughts were still a mess. The way Y/N had smiled at Monoma, the way she’d practically lit up like a damn Christmas tree, it kept gnawing at him, and he couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so much. He barely knew the girl, and he didn’t want to know her.

Kirishima glanced at him, noticing the storm brewing on his face, and tilted his head slightly. “You’ve been quiet, man,” he said, his voice casual but with a hint of concern. “Everything okay?”

Bakugou's jaw tightened, and he kept his eyes on the ground, his voice gruff when he finally spoke. “How the hell does that Monoma bastard know that lady?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. He didn’t look at Kirishima, didn’t want to see whatever stupid expression his friend was making, but he could feel the redhead’s eyes on him, curious and searching.

Kirishima blinked, caught off guard by the question, and scratched the back of his head. “Uh… I don’t know, dude,” he said honestly, his tone a little uncertain. “I didn’t even know they knew each other until tonight. Maybe they met through Mina or something? I mean, Y/N’s been hanging out with her a bit.” He shrugged, clearly not having any real answers, and Bakugou let out a sharp tch, his irritation flaring at the lack of information.

Kirishima studied him for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in Bakugou's tense posture, the way his fists were clenched in his pockets. “Why do you care, though?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more serious. “You’ve been acting like you can’t stand Y/N—like, I get that she’s clumsy and stuff, but you’ve been kinda harsh lately. But… you were also being nice to her before, you know?"

Bakugou's eyes narrowed, his scowl deepening as he finally glanced at Kirishima, his voice sharp and defensive. “I told you already, I just felt sorry for her, that’s it,” he snapped, his tone harsher than he meant it to be. “She’s a damn weirdo, always getting into trouble, and I’m the one who ends up dealing with it. That’s the only reason I helped her. Nothing else.” He gritted his teeth, his words coming out fast, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Kirishima.

But Kirishima wasn’t buying it, not completely. He stayed quiet for a moment, his red eyes searching Bakugou's face, reading the frustration there, Bakugou kept going, his voice lowering but no less intense. 

“She creeps me out, okay? I barely know her, but she acts like we’re… I don’t know, like we’re close or something. It’s weird. She’s weird.” He shook his head, his fists tightening in his pockets as the memory of Y/N’s shy smiles, her awkward apologies, flashed through his mind. It made him feel off.

Kirishima didn’t say anything right away, just kept walking beside him, his expression thoughtful. He knew Bakugou better than most, knew the way his mind worked, the way he buried anything that made him uncomfortable under layers of anger and denial. And Kirishima had a feeling there was more to this than Bakugou was letting on, something tied to the way he’d glared at Monoma earlier, the way his eyes had darkened with something more than just annoyance. 

Kirishima didn’t push, though. He knew better than to pry when Bakugou was like this, knew it’d only make him shut down more.

Up ahead, Kaminari and Sero were still arguing about their game, oblivious to the tension behind them. Kaminari spun around, walking backward as he pointed at Sero. “I’m telling you, the glitch totally screwed me over, I would’ve won if it hadn’t lagged!” his voice carrying down the street. Sero laughed, shaking his head. “Excuses, man—face it, you’re just trash at it.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. The noise was annoying, yeah, but honestly, it helped drown out the mess going on in his head. He didn’t want to think about that lady. He definitely didn’t want to think about Monoma or the way his blood had started boiling the second he saw them together.  

But even as he tried to shut it all out, a small part of him (one he kept shoving down) was already thinking. Already plotting. The idea of using Y/N to get under Monoma’s skin? It was tempting. Not because he cared about her. Not because he liked her. Hell no. It was about payback. About settling a score that had been burning in his chest for way too long.

Kirishima glanced over at him again. His face was hard to read, but there was something in his eyes, like he got it. He didn’t say anything, just kept walking beside him, letting Bakugou stew in his own thoughts while the night dragged on around them.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

It’s 7 PM, and you’re losing your damn mind. Two freaking hours you’ve been standing in front of your closet, staring at the same pile of clothes like they’re gonna magically turn into something perfect. 

Your hair’s finally done but the outfit? Oh, hell no.. You’ve yanked out every top, every skirt, every pair of jeans you own, tossing them on your bed, and nothing feels right. Mina’s party starts at 8 PM, and you’re stressing hard because you don’t wanna show up looking like a loser.

You plop onto the edge of your bed, surrounded by rejected outfits, and groan out loud. Mina’s been so nice to you lately, and you actually care about not letting her down. She’s been texting you and she's hyped about tonight, and you can’t just bail, even though part of you is lazy as hell and wants to stay home in your pajamas. 

But nope, you can’t do that to her. She’s counting on you, and for once, you’ve got someone who doesn’t make you feel like crap. So, you drag yourself back to the closet, determined to figure this out.

After another ten minutes of stressing, you spot it, the cream wrap blouse with the pinstripes (like from the early 2000's), the one that hugs you just right and shows a little cleavage without going overboard. You pair it with that brick-red micro mini skirt that’s been hiding in the back, and damn, it actually works. The beige Dior mules with the fancy hardware catch your eye next, and you slip them on, feeling a tiny surge of confidence. 

You grab the deep red leather bag, clip on those pearl earrings and add the pearl choker. Okay, you think, staring at yourself in the mirror, this might actually be okay. You take a deep breath, grab your phone, and head out, hoping Mina won’t think you tried too hard.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You step out of your condo, the cool night air hitting your skin as you clutch your phone, staring at the address Mina sent you earlier. It’s 7:30 PM now, and your stomach is doing flips as you try to figure out how to get there. 

Part of you thinks about calling your brother, he’s got a car and could drop you off, but you shake your head almost instantly. He’s been swamped with work lately, always on calls or rushing off somewhere, and you don’t want to bug him. 

So, with a deep breath, you decide to grab a taxi instead. You pull up the app and wait on the curb, your nerves kicking into overdrive. 

This is your first real party outside those stiff family gatherings you’ve been dragged to over the years, and the thought of it makes your hands shake a little. 

You’re nervous as hell, your heart pounding in your chest, but you tell yourself it’s fine, your outfit’s good enough, and if some guy stares at you weird or tries anything creepy, that’s their problem, not yours. You’ve dealt with enough pervy idiots in your life to know you’re not here for that nonsense, and you’ll shut it down quick if it happens.

After a few minutes, a taxi pulls up, the driver an older man with gray hair and a friendly smile that puts you at ease right away. 

You slide into the back seat, giving him the address, and he nods, starting the drive with a smooth turn onto the main road. “So, where you headed tonight, young lady?” he asks, his voice warm and a little raspy. You hesitate for a second, then mutter, “Just a friend’s party,” keeping it vague because you’re not in the mood to spill everything. 

He chuckles softly, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “A party, huh? That sounds fun. What school you go to? You look like one of those smart kids.” His tone is kind, not pushy, and you relax a bit, answering, “UA” with a small smile. He nods approvingly, chatting about how he used to drive students there back in the day, and the whole ride feels safe, his steady driving and gentle questions keeping your nerves at bay. 

By the time he pulls up to Mina’s place, you thank him with a quiet “Thankyou and be safe” and he waves you off with a smile, wishing you a good night.

When you step out and look up at Mina’s house, your mouth almost drops open. The place is huge, way bigger than you expected, with tall windows glowing with warm light and a sprawling front yard that makes your tiny condo look like a shoebox. There are unfamiliar faces everywhere, people laughing and milling around the entrance, and your stomach twists again as you realize how out of your depth you feel. 

Mina had texted you earlier, saying she’s out by the pool area, so you take a deep breath and head that way, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you navigate through the crowd. The noise of the party grows louder with every step, and you can’t help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Inside, the house is packed, the music blasting so loud it vibrates through your chest, a mix of upbeat beats and chatter that fills the air. People are everywhere, dancing in the living room, holding drinks in the kitchen, leaning against walls with laughs that cut through the noise. Your eyes dart around, searching for any sign of the pool area, your heart racing as you try to push past the overwhelm. 

You weave through the crowd, keeping your head down a little, determined to find Mina and stick close to her like she promised. 

The pool area’s got to be out back. somewhere with water and less people, you hope—and you focus on that, ignoring the way your nerves are screaming at you to turn around and go home.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugo slouched on the couch on the third floor of Mina’s house, his arms crossed tight over his chest, a scowl etched deep into his face. The muffled thump of music from downstairs vibrated through the floor, a constant reminder of the party he’d been dragged to against his will.

He didn’t get it, why the hell did people waste their time with this nonsense? Loud music, sweaty bodies, and drunk idiots stumbling around, it was all a headache waiting to happen. Kaminari had practically begged him to come, whining about how it wouldn’t be fun without him, but Katsuki had only agreed because Kirishima had given him that stupid puppy-dog look he couldn’t shake off. 

Now here he was, stuck in this overcrowded hellhole, wearing baggy jeans that hung low on his hips and a plain white tank top that showed off his toned arms. His black cap sat backward on his head, the brim brushing against his spiky hair, and he tugged it lower, trying to block out the world as he sank deeper into the cushions.

The second floor was quieter, thank God—mostly empty except for a couple of random stragglers nursing drinks in the corner. Bakugo had claimed this spot the second they’d arrived, planting himself on the couch and refusing to budge. 

Kaminari had stuck around for a bit, babbling about some girl he’d seen downstairs, but eventually, even he got bored and wandered off to join the party below. 

Now it was just Bakugo, alone with his thoughts, and he was bored out of his mind. He tapped his foot impatiently, his red eyes scanning the room with irritation, wondering why he hadn’t just stayed home and study instead. Parties like this were a waste of time nothing but noise and people he didn’t care about.

The door creaked open, and Bakugo's head snapped up, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt his sulking. But then he saw him, Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya's green hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions and his freckled face lit up with a relieved grin when he spotted Bakugo. “Kacchan! There you are!” he called out, his voice a little breathless as he hurried over, adjusting the collar of his slightly wrinkled shirt. “Everyone’s been looking for you downstairs by the pool area—all of them. C’mon, let’s go!”

Bakugo let out a low grunt, his scowl deepening as he leaned back further into the couch, making no move to get up. “Tch, tell ‘em to screw off,” he muttered, his voice rough and annoyed. “I’m not in the mood for that crap.” He crossed his arms tighter, his mind drifting as he stared at the ceiling. 

Midoriya hovered nearby, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting like he always did when he was unsure. “Come on, Kacchan, it’s Mina’s party, they’ll be mad if you don’t show up,” Midoriya said, his tone gentle but persistent.

But Bakugo didn’t budge, his thoughts pulling him somewhere else. He stayed silent for a long moment, his jaw tight as he wrestled with something he couldn’t quite name. 

Standing up felt like a chore, and he hated the way his body hesitated, like it was waiting for some kind of decision he wasn’t ready to make. 

His mind drifted back to a couple nights ago. He’d fallen into step beside Kirishima, head down like he was just focused on walking.

After a long stretch of silence between them, he spoke without looking up.

“She comin’ to the party?”

Kirishima blinked. “Huh?”

Katsuki didn’t say her name, didn’t need to. His voice was low, almost casual, but not really.

Kirishima caught on fast.

“Oh—yeah. Yeah, she is,” he said with a quick nod. “Mina said she invited her already. Kinda hyped about it, actually.”

Katsuki didn’t respond right away. He just clicked his tongue and looked ahead, like he hadn’t even asked in the first place.

But the answer stuck with him. Way more than he wanted it to.

Now, sitting on this damn couch, that memory looped in his head, and he couldn’t shake the weird feeling it brought. 

Should he go downstairs or not? Part of him wanted to stay up here, away from the noise and the people, especially her. But another part, the part he didn’t want to admit existed—was curious, restless, like it needed to see what she’d do tonight. 

He barely knew her, and that was the problem. She was this clumsy, awkward freshman who kept popping up in his life, and every time she did, it threw him off. It made him feel weird, like she was too close when she shouldn’t be. 

He didn’t like it. It creeped him out, and he told himself it was because she was a stranger, someone he didn’t need or want around.

“Kacchan, you okay?” Midoriya's voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Bakugo's blinked, realizing he’d been staring at the ceiling for who knows how long, his friend’s concerned face hovering nearby. “You’ve been zoning out,” Midoriya added, his tone soft but worried, his hands still fidgeting at his sides.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugo snapped, his voice sharp but lacking its usual bite. He pushed himself up from the couch, the movement slow, his muscles protesting as he stood. 

His mind was a mess, torn between staying hidden up here and facing whatever was waiting downstairs. 

He didn’t know why he was acting like this, why the thought of seeing her made his chest tighten, why Monoma’s smug face from the other night kept flashing in his head. 

It didn’t make sense, and that pissed him off more than anything. With a final glare at Midoriya, he jerked his head toward the door. “Fine, let’s go."

Midoriya's face brightened, a relieved smile spreading across his freckled cheeks as he nodded. “Great! Let’s find the others—they’re probably wondering where you’ve been.” He turned to lead the way, his steps quick but careful, and Bakugo followed, his cap still backward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

Bakugo trudged down the stairs behind Midoriya, the noise from the party hitting him like a damn freight train the closer they got. 

His scowl deepened the second he stepped onto the 1st floor, where the crowd was thicker, a mess of unfamiliar faces shouting over each other, laughing too loud, and spilling drinks like it was nothing. The air smelled like alcohol and sweat, and he hated every second of it. Girls kept glancing his way, their eyes lingering on him and Midoriya with these weird looks like they thought they were getting lucky tonight or something.

Bakugo didn’t even notice them, though; his brain was too busy tuning out the chaos, his eyes scanning the room for something else. Or someone else. 

That lady—yeah, her.

Midoriya kept chattering beside him, his voice cutting through the noise as they pushed through the crowd. “At least the pool area’s private, Kacchan,” he said, his tone a little brighter now, his eyes scanning the room too. “Mina set it up so only our friends can go back there—no random strangers crashing it. Makes it less of a headache, right?” He adjusted his shirt, looking relieved, like the idea of a controlled space calmed his nerves.

Bakugo grunted. “Yeah, whatever, Deku,” he muttered, his voice rough but distracted. “Long as those idiots don’t drag me into their dumb games.” He answered Midoriya's comments on autopilot, his mind half on the conversation, half on the people around him. 

The song “Every Breath You Take” by The Police started playing, the soft beat mixing with the party’s chaos, and for a second, it threw him off, why the hell was Mina playing something so old-school? But he didn’t care enough to dwell on it, his focus shifting as they hit the middle of the crowd.

The sea of bodies pressed in, and Bakugo's boredom and annoyance spiked, his scowl growing as he dodged a guy stumbling with a red cup. Then his eyes caught on someone.

A familiar figure, looking a little lost. It was her. She stood out even in the crowd, his gaze locked onto her before he could stop himself. Her eyes met his too, and shit she smiled. A real one, small but bright, and his chest did this weird tighten thing that pissed him off. 

She opened her mouth, saying something he couldn’t hear over the music, and started moving toward him, her steps quick like she was excited. 

Panic shot through him, his heart kicking up a notch, and he glanced around, looking for an escape route. Was she coming for him? What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

He froze for a second, his mind racing, thinking she was about to barrel into him with one of her awkward apologies or whatever. 

But then

oh, fuck no

she veered off, her smile widening as she called out, “Neito!” and ran straight to that damn blond bastard Monoma, who was standing a few feet away with a couple of his friends. 

Monoma turned, his sharp eyes lighting up as he waved at her, and Bakugo's stomach dropped like a stone. She wasn’t coming for him. She’d been talking to Monoma the whole time. His fists clenched in his pockets, his scowl turning into a full-on glare as he watched her reach Monoma, the two of them exchanging some stupid greeting like they were old pals.

Midoriya noticed his sudden stiffness and tilted his head, his face creasing with concern. “Kacchan? You good?” he asked, his voice soft but curious.

“Yeah.." he set his jaw and his voice low and sharp, his eyes still glued to the scene ahead. He didn’t know why it bugged him so much, seeing her with Monoma, the way she lit up for that guy and not him. It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. No way. It was just… irritating. Yeah, that’s it. Irritating as hell. He forced his gaze away, turning to Midoriya with a grunt. “Let’s get to the pool. Those idiots are probably waiting.”

Midoriya nodded, though his eyes lingered on Bakugo a second longer, like he was trying to read something in his friend’s tense posture. They started moving again, weaving through the crowd toward the pool area the music is dying, but Bakugo's mind was still back there, replaying that moment and he hated how it made him feel like he’d lost something he didn’t even want.

A sudden wave of stupid embarrassment crashed over him and he clenched his jaw, cursing under his breath. Why the hell had he panicked like that back there? Standing there like some idiot, thinking that lady was running to him—damn, what was wrong with him? He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, catching sight of her and Monoma still chatting near the edge of the crowd. 

Monoma’s smug grin irritated the hell out of him, stirring up that old, simmering anger. That guy had pulled some shady crap in the past, stuff that still burned in Bakugo's gut—and now, seeing him cozying up to her, it was like salt on an open wound. 

He forced his eyes forward, his hands balling into fists in his pockets, trying to shake the annoyance before it took over completely.

They reached the pool area, and Bakugo's scowl returned full force. Even here, there were still people he didn’t recognize, lounging around the edges or splashing in the water, their laughter grating on his nerves. 

But then he spotted his friends huddled around a big table near the center, drinks in hand and arguing about something stupid, no doubt. Midoriya waved at them, leading the way, but Bakugo's attention kept drifting. 

His eyes flicked toward the glass wall, some fancy floor-to-ceiling thing separating the pool from the house and he found himself scanning it, searching for her again. He didn’t know why he kept looking, but there it was, that pull he couldn’t ignore, and it pissed him off.

His mind drifted again from a couple of nights ago, The night had taken a turn when Kaminari suggested hitting a bar, and somehow, they’d all ended up going along. Lucky for them, they’d had extra clothes in their bags, school uniforms weren’t allowed in places like that, obviously. So they’d changed into jeans and tees before stepping inside. 

The bar was loud, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses, and Kaminari and Sero had wasted no time, their eyes roaming the room, checking out girls with those dumb, goofy grins. 

Kirishima had been dragged into it, though he’d only gone because they’d forced him, Mina knew about it, and she trusted Eijiro completely, which was the only reason he hadn’t bailed. Bakugo had stuck with Kirishima too, nursing a beer and ignoring the mess, his mind elsewhere.

Back at the table, with Kaminari and Sero off flirting or whatever, Bakugo had leaned closer to Kirishima, his voice low. “So, that lady really gonna show up at the party?” he’d asked once again, keeping it vague.

Kirishima had raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink before answering. “Yeah, told ya Mina said she’s coming. Why you asking, man?” His voice sounds like he was testing the waters.

Bakugo had snorted, slamming his bottle down harder than necessary. “Hell no. Just wanna know who’s gonna be there,” he’d growled, avoiding Kirishima’s gaze. But the real plan had been brewing, and he’d let it slip next. “Might use her to get back at that Monoma prick. He’s been a thorn in my side too long.”

Kirishima’s expression had darkened, his usual grin fading as he set his drink down, leaning in with a serious look. “Kats, come on,” he’d said, his voice firm but disappointed. “That’s low, even for you. Using someone like that? And for what? That beef with Monoma, it’s old news. You guys fought over some girl back then, sure, but it’s done. She picked him, and you lost. Let it go already.”

Bakugo eyes had narrowed, his grip tightening on the bottle. “Tch, easy for you to say, Shitty Hair,” he’d snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. “You didn’t have to watch him steal something that mattered. I’m not forgetting that. Not ‘til I make him regret it.” His words had been sharp, edged with a hurt he’d never admit, and Kirishima had shaken his head, unconvinced.

“You’re better than this, man,” Kirishima had replied, his tone softer but insistent. “Dragging her into your mess? She doesn’t deserve that. Think about it.” He’d left it there, turning back to his drink, but the weight of his words had lingered, and Bakugo had stayed silent, stewing in his own anger.

Back in the present, Bakugo shook off the memory as they reached the table. Kirishima waved him over, his red hair catching the pool lights, while Sero and Kaminari cheered like idiots, shoving a chair his way. “Finally, Katsuki! Thought you’d hide upstairs all night!” Kaminari yelled, grinning like a fool. Bakugo ignored him, dropping into the chair with a grunt, but his eyes betrayed him again, darting back to that glass wall. She wasn’t there yet, but he knew she would be, Monoma would bring her, and that thought alone made his blood boil. 

After a while, Mina appeared, her curls bouncing as she scanned the crowd, her face lighting up when she spotted someone. She darted forward, and Katsuki’s gaze followed her, straight to that lady, Y/n. Mina grabbed her hand, pulling her along with a big grin, and led her toward a group of girls huddled near the edge of the pool. Jirou, Hagakure, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu. It was the first time Mina was introducing Y/N to them, and the girls immediately lit up, their voices overlapping with compliments.

“Oh my gosh, you’re Y/n! Mina’s been talking about you nonstop!” Uraraka chirped, her round face beaming as she leaned in.

“You’re even prettier in person!” Hagakure added as she clapped her hands.

Tsuyu tilted her head, her calm voice cutting through. “You look really nice. Mina wasn’t kidding.”

Yaoyorozu smiled warmly, adjusting her hair. “It’s great to finally meet you. Mina’s been so excited to have you around.”

Jirou nodded, her earrings swaying. “Yeah, she’s been hyping you up. Glad you’re here.”

Y/N blushed, her shy smile growing as she mumbled thanks, and Katsuki’s eyes stayed glued to her, unable to look away. 

The way she fidgeted with her hands, the soft laugh she let out, it pulled at something in him he didn’t want to name. 

Kirishima, sitting next to him, noticed too, his red eyes narrowing as he watched Bakugo's intense stare. He didn’t say anything, but his mind was racing, wondering if Bakugo was still stuck on that dumb plan to use Y/n against Monoma—or if, maybe, he actually liked her. Kirishima couldn’t tell, and it bugged him.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Kirishima leaned back in his chair, his beer warm in his hand, his eyes flicking between Katsuki and the girls across the pool. 

His mind drifted back to a memory from months ago, back when the first semester ended and enrollment for the second semester was in full swing. 

The campus had been a madhouse, packed with students rushing to get their schedules sorted. He, Sero, and Kaminari had finished their enrollment early, but Katsuki was still stuck, grumbling as he helped out with the committee. 

He’d been in a foul mood, as grumpy as ever, his scowl deeper than usual. Iida, Tokoyami, and Todoroki were pitching in too, but it wasn’t enough—too many students, too little time. 

Bakugo had been ready to quit the committee right then and there, muttering curses under his breath, but he’d only joined in the first place to compete with Midoriya. That dumbass had passed his position to Iida instead, leaving Bakugo stuck, and Kirishima had to stifle a laugh at how annoyed he’d been.

As Kirishima watched from the sidelines, his eyes had caught on a girl standing off to the side, looking totally out of place. 

She was new, someone he’d never seen during high school at UA, so maybe a transferee? Her head was down, her voice low and hesitant as she tried to ask someone for help, but the busy crowd kept ignoring her. 

She seemed shy, her shoulders hunched like she didn’t want to be noticed, and Kirishima felt a pang of sympathy. 

He’d been about to walk over, ready to lend a hand, when Bakugo beat him to it. He’d stormed up to her, hoodie pulled tight and a mask covering half his face, it had been raining that day, and Bakugo hated getting wet, especially with the fever he’d been fighting. School had been mandatory, though, so he’d had no choice but to show up, grumbling the whole time.

“Hey, what the hell do you want?” Bakugo had barked, his voice muffled but sharp through the mask. The girl’s eyes had lit up instantly, relief flooding her face as someone finally paid attention. 

She’d stammered out something about needing help with her enrollment form, her voice barely audible over the crowd, and Katsuki had sighed, snatching the paper from her hands. 

Kirishima had watched, surprised, as Katsuki guided her through the process, his gruff tone softening just a bit despite the fever making him cough.

A few hours later, after the rush died down, Katsuki had finally joined them, pulling off his mask with a rough cough. “Who was that girl?” Kirishima had asked, curious, as they sat on a bench outside the admin building.

Katsuki had shrugged, wiping his nose. “Some first-year transferee,” he’d muttered, his voice hoarse. “Clueless as hell, but she got it done.”

Kirishima had studied him then, noticing how Bakugo's eyes had lingered on the spot where she’d been. He’d thought, back then, that Y/N might be Bakugo's type—Bakugo wasn’t the kind of guy to admit that, though. He was too hard, too stubborn, and saying something like that out loud? Not his style. Kirishima had let it go, figuring it was just a passing thought.

But then the second semester started, and things shifted. On the first day of classes (For freshmen, since second to fourth years started classes about a month ago.) Y/n had accidentally spilled paint water on Katsuki’s research paper during a individual project, and his temper had exploded.

He’d yelled at her and from then on, he’d acted like he hated her guts. Kirishima had been confused how could Bakugo go from helping her to despising her so fast? It didn’t add up, and it left a weird taste in his mouth.

Back in the present, Kirishima’s eyes narrowed as he watched Bakugo. Was Katsuki still plotting something with that Monoma grudge? Or was this more than that, something real? He didn’t know, and the uncertainty gnawed at him, his protective instincts kicking in as he kept a close eye on his best friend.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

You walked into Mina’s party, and the noise hit you right away, loud music, people talking over each other, and way too much going on at once. The place was packed. Everyone seemed to know someone, and you instantly felt out of place.

You hadn’t even made it to the pool yet. You were stuck in the crowded living room, standing awkwardly with your heart racing. You glanced around, hoping to spot a familiar face.

Then you saw Monoma.

Relief hit you fast and you smiled.

“Neito!” you called out before you could change your mind.

He looked over, and when he smiled, it made things feel a little easier.

You moved toward him, trying to stay steady even though your nerves were still there. He was surrounded by a group of people, all talking and laughing. You assumed they were his friends. You weren’t sure if you’d fit in, but you wanted to try.

As you got closer, the group turned their attention to you. No one seemed bothered. If anything, they looked friendly.

Neito stepped forward. “Y/n! You made it,” he said. “Good to see you.”

He pointed behind him casually. “These are my friends—Setsuna, Kendo, and that’s Tetsutetsu. You’ve met Sen and Awase before, right?”

Setsuna, a girl with a green hair, gave you a quick wave. “Hey! Nice to meet you!”

Her upbeat tone made you smile, and for the first time since you got there, you felt yourself relax a little.

Kendo nodded politely. “Nice to meet you, Y/n. Glad you’re here.”

Tetsutetsu laughed loudly and clapped Monoma on the back. “Finally! Neito’s been talking about you. Seems like he wasn’t exaggerating.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, but his energy didn’t feel fake. He's just loud.

Awase raised an eyebrow and smirked a little. “You look good tonight,” he said, clearly joking but not in a mean way.

Sen gave a small smile. “Yeah, you fit in already. Glad you came.”

You could feel your face warming up. You looked down for a second, your hands fidgeting, but you smiled even tho really hate the attention. They were all really nice. And with Monoma there, you started to feel like maybe you didn’t have to stand on the outside the whole night.

A little while later, the group’s attention shifted toward the pool area, where the party had spilled outside. Their eyes lingered there for a moment, and the mood changed slightly.

No one had an issue with Bakugo’s friends like Kirishima or Kaminari. They’d bumped into them before, and it was usually fine.

But Monoma was different.

Back in high school, the rivalry between him and Bakugo had been intense. Monoma had never held back, and neither had Bakugo. It wasn’t just competition, it had gotten personal.

Things had calmed down since then, but Monoma’s attitude hadn’t changed much. He still held on to that same edge, still carried himself like he had something to prove. And over time, his friends had started focusing their dislike on Bakugo more than anyone else. It all came down to something that happened about a year ago.

It had been a mess. No one talked about the details anymore, but whatever happened, it left Monoma hurt and his friends hadn’t forgotten. They’d taken it personally, even if Monoma never asked them to.

Now, whenever Bakugo or his crew showed up, the tension always came back. No one wanted drama, but the loyalty in their group ran deep. And even if no one said anything out loud, the shift in energy was hard to miss.

Sen leaned in, his usual calm fading into something more annoyed. “Ugh. There’s Bakugo again."

Awase folded his arms, not even trying to hide his dislike. “Yeah, I don’t get why people let him act like that. Remember last year? He completely lost it over something dumb.”

Tetsutetsu let out a frustrated breath and cracked his knuckles. “Guy needs to be knocked down a peg.”

Setsuna laughed, but it was short and dry. “Please. He’s all bark. Let him brood by the pool.”

Kendo, who usually kept things calm, spoke up too. “He’s not someone you want to deal with, Y/n. Trust me, it’s better to stay out of it.”

You glanced around at all of them, then looked at Monoma. He hadn’t said a word. His jaw was tight, and he looked like he was trying to stay cool, but something was clearly bothering him.

“Why do you all hate him so much?” you asked, your voice quiet but honest.

Everyone paused. No one gave a real answer. Just a few glances passed between them, silent and loaded.

Monoma shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “It’s not important,” he said flatly.

But the look in his eyes said otherwise. There was something there, something unresolved. Anger, maybe. Or something heavier.

You stayed quiet after that, your mind turning. You hadn’t expected this kind of tension at a party. And now you were wondering what exactly you’d walked into.

Before anyone could say more, Itsuka (Kendo), you remembered Monoma calling her, Her calm voice broke the tension.

“It’s old drama,” she said, steady but clearly over it. “They had a fight back in high school and during first year. Stupid stuff. It was about a girl, I think.”

She shrugged like it wasn’t worth talking about anymore. You were about to ask what actually happened, but the moment passed.

“Y/n! There you are!” Mina’s voice cut through the noise, bright and full of energy. You turned just in time to see her weaving through the crowd.

Relief hit you the second she reached you. She grabbed your hand, warm and confident, and you noticed how the group around Monoma seemed to loosen up a bit too. Apparently, they all knew Mina already, she must’ve smoothed things over earlier.

But now her focus was all on you.

“Come on, let’s get you to the poolside, my girls are dying to meet you!” she said, already pulling you with her before you could say anything.

Monoma gave you a small nod, like he was saying, You’ll be fine. His friends waved, and you caught a few faint smiles as Mina led you away.

The pool area was even louder. Music thumped from the speakers, and the water reflected the shifting lights from the house. As soon as you stepped out, a group of girls turned your way—Jirou, Hagakure, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu.

Their faces lit up as they saw you, and the compliments came fast.

Your chest tightened. You smiled back, trying to be polite, but it didn’t feel good. It felt like too much all at once. Like a spotlight was on you and you hadn’t asked for it. Your skin itched, and you shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Mina, still holding your hand, didn’t notice. She jumped right into the conversation, talking about random things to keep the vibe going. It was her way of helping.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You were mid-conversation with the girls, laughing a little, finally starting to loosen up, when you noticed some movement nearby.

A group of guys had taken over the table closest to yours. You glanced over casually—then froze.

Kirishima was there, his hair impossible to miss. He pulled Mina into a side hug, grinning. Sitting next to him, half-slouched in his seat with a backward cap and his arms crossed, was Bakugo.

Your stomach sank.

Without thinking, you dropped your eyes to the table, avoiding any chance of locking eyes with him. Your heartbeat picked up, not because of him at least that’s what you told yourself but because of the memory.

That day. The way he spoke to you. The way his words hit harder than they should have, pulling up all the insecurities you thought you’d buried.

You remembered the embarrassment.

He’d made you feel small. Like your confidence didn’t matter. Like all the progress you’d made in being yourself was fake.

Jirou jumped in, leaning forward with her usual chill tone. “Okay, important question. Music taste—what’s your go-to?”

Hagakure gasped. “Wait, yes! We need to know everything. Favorite artists, guilty pleasures, your vibe, we’re building a playlist for next week’s hangout.”

You laughed under your breath, grateful for the shift in topic. “Uh... definitely a mix. Some R&B, a little indie, and maybe too much early 2000s pop. Don’t judge.”

Uraraka grinned. “Absolutely judging—in a good way. That’s solid.”

“Exactly,” Tsuyu added, sipping from a cup with a lazy blink. “Classic party music.”

Yaoyorozu nodded politely, always composed. “You have good taste. I’ve been trying to expand my playlists lately. I’m open to suggestions.”

You found yourself relaxing again, pulled into their energy. They weren’t forcing anything or making it awkward. Just asking questions, cracking jokes, pulling you into the conversation without making it a big deal.

It felt... nice.

Hagakure leaned across the table, hands waving excitedly. “We should totally have a girls’ night! Like, snacks, bad movies, no drama.”

“Absolutely,” Uraraka agreed. “We’ll keep it super chill. You’re one of us now.”

You laughed, feeling a weird warmth settle in your chest. “You all decided that pretty fast.”

Mina grinned, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Yeah, that’s how we work. If we like you, we adopt you.”

You smiled again, more real this time.

The night kept rolling, louder and livelier with every minute. You were still sitting with Mina’s group, and by now, the awkwardness had mostly worn off. People were laughing, chatting, and cracking jokes. You weren’t used to this kind of energy, but it wasn’t bad. Honestly, it was kinda nice.

Someone mentioned shots, and the suggestion caught on fast.

Mina’s eyes lit up. “Oh, this is getting good,” she said, already getting hyped. She stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Neito! Bring your crew over here!”

You looked across the pool and spotted Monoma, who raised an eyebrow at being called so loudly. He hesitated, but Mina waved him over like she owned the place, already turning back to the group with a grin. “He better not take forever.”

Across from you, Bakugo had been quiet, just hanging around the edge of a different group with Kirishima and Midoriya. The second Monoma’s name came out of Mina’s mouth, his jaw tightened.

Kirishima noticed too. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for just the three of them. “Party was actually decent.”

Bakugo didn’t even bother hiding his scowl. He sat back with his legs spread, arms resting heavy on the chair’s armrests, a half-empty glass of liquor in one hand. “Why the hell is that clown even here?” he muttered, eyes locked on Monoma.

Midoriya shot them both a look, trying to keep things neutral. “Come on, it’s Mina’s party. She’s inviting everyone.”

“Exactly,” Bakugo snapped quietly, keeping his voice low but sharp. “Doesn’t mean I gotta sit around and act like Monoma’s not a complete bullshit.”

“Man,” Kirishima muttered, glancing toward Monoma’s group

Midoriya sighed. “Just ignore him. This isn’t high school anymore.”

Katsuki muttered something under his breath, probably another insult, but let it drop for now, his eyes still following Monoma with an annoyed glare. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in his shoulders said enough.

Back at your side of the party, you hadn’t picked up on the small exchange. You were too focused on what was happening in front of you.

Yaoyorozu, who had been off to the side, pulled out her phone and typed something quickly. After a few seconds, she sighed and put it away. “Shoto’s not coming,” she said quietly. “He’s swamped.”

“Oh well,” Mina replied, brushing it off. “We’ll just catch him another time.”

From there, things started moving fast. People were splitting off—some dancing near the speakers, others hanging out by the pool, a few already lining up for drinks. Mina came back to the group with a handful of shot glasses.

“Alright!” she called out. “No pressure, but if you’re drinking, we’re doing a round together. One and done. Or three and done. I don’t judge.”

You still felt a little tense, but the girls helped keep you grounded. Yaoyorozu was offering up random trivia facts without even realizing it. 

Uraraka was hyping everyone up. Hagakure couldn’t stop bouncing around, and Jirou was teasing everyone but still keeping an eye on you to make sure you weren’t getting overwhelmed.

You glanced over toward the guys again, not expecting much—but then your eyes met Bakugo’s.

He was already looking at you.

Not just in a passing, casual way either. His gaze was steady, unreadable, like he’d been watching you for a while. Your breath caught a little as your eyes swept over him without meaning to.

White tank top. Backwards cap. Baggy jeans hanging low on his hips. His arms were resting lazily on the chair’s sides but damn, he was built. You didn’t remember him looking like that.

Your gaze dipped before your brain could stop it. The key ring hooked to his belt loop drew your attention… which unfortunately was hanging right there, near his—well, yeah. 

You looked too long.

Way too long.

Bakugo’s brow twitched, and you instantly ripped your eyes away, pretending to focus hard on the drink in your hand.

Your face was on fire.

When you risked another glance, he was still looking making your stomach drop.

Nope. Not dealing with that tonight.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You smiled when Monoma slid back into the seat next to you. His eyes met yours, steady and confident. You held his gaze for a second longer than planned before quickly looking away.

Across the table, Bakugo noticed. His eyes flicked from you to Monoma, and then he scoffed, loud enough for Kirishima and Midoriya to hear, but not loud enough to make a scene. His lip curled like he was chewing on something bitter.

You didn’t even clock it. You were too wrapped up in the moment.

Neito leaned a little closer, voice low. “Let’s just have a drink, have some fun, no pressure, yeah?” His tone was casual.

You hesitated. Drinking wasn’t really your thing. You’d had the occasional sip at family events, but never enough to feel it. Still… tonight felt different. You were trying to loosen up.

Mina handed you a shot glass, eyes wide with excitement. “Just a little one,” she grinned.

You took a small sip. It burned, and your face scrunched up, but you managed a laugh as the girls cheered like you’d done something heroic. 

The game kicked off Truth or Dare, of course and it didn’t take long for things to get loud. Uraraka dared Hagakure to do a weird little dance, which she did, making everyone laugh harder. Setsuna picked “truth” and ended up telling a story about a crush on someone from general studies who didn’t even know her name.

But Bakugo?

He's glaring at anyone who dared to look at him. Every time the bottle pointed his way, he muttered, “This is stupid,” 

The tension between him and Monoma still thick. He didn’t even try to hide it, every time Monoma spoke, Bakugo’s jaw tightened. Like he was ready to launch across the table and start swinging.

You didn’t get it. You didn’t know the full story. But whatever it was, it was obvious he really didn’t want Monoma near him.

The night dragged on, and honestly, you weren’t even sure how many shots you’d had anymore. Maybe Nine? Ten? It all blurred together. Everything felt soft, floaty, like your body was here, but your head was a step behind.

Mina was still going strong, laughing like a maniac as she reached for another shot. “This is my villain era!” she yelled, immediately coughing after downing one. Everyone burst out laughing.

Tsuyu, ever the calm one, was nursing her drink at the corner of the table, barely tipsy. “You’ll regret that in the morning,” she said to Mina, but her voice was calm.

You rested your elbow on the table, trying to keep your balance. The lights seemed brighter now, and everyone’s voices started to sound far away and way too close at the same time. 

Your cheeks were hot. Your head was heavy. You weren’t blackout drunk or anything, just… a little gone. Enough that standing up felt like a full-body workout.

By now, most of the guests had either passed out on the couch, dipped early, or disappeared into some corner of the house. 

Monoma slid into the seat beside you, the warmth of his body a little too noticeable in your tipsy state. His cheeks were flushed, his smile still intact, but his movements had that slow, clumsy edge of someone who definitely shouldn’t be driving.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft and kind of slurred, “lemme give you a ride home.”

You blinked at him, trying to process what he just said. That sounded… logical? Maybe? You gave a small nod, not fully trusting your brain to make decisions right now.

Then he paused, furrowing his brow. “Wait—crap. I don’t even know where you live.” He laughed at himself, rubbing the back of his head.

That made you laugh too, a small, drunk giggle that slipped out before you could stop it.

And then—

“I’ll take her.”

The voice was rough, steady, and way too close. You turned your head, and there was Bakugo, already standing. His cap was pushed back a little, and his expression? Completely unreadable.

Monoma’s whole vibe shifted. His smile dropped. He looked between you and Bakugo like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “Why the hell are you offering?” he said, not even trying to hide the irritation in his voice. “Seriously, what’s it to you? You know her?”

Bakugo let out a low laugh. more like a snort, really. as he tilted his head slightly. “You serious right now?” His eyes locked on Monoma’s, sharp even through the haze of alcohol. “I know where she lives. You don’t.”

The air changed instantly.

Monoma stood up, shoulders squared, jaw tight. “Yeah? And why exactly do you know that, huh?”

You could feel the shift, even in your fuzzy state. Like something was about to go off.

Bakugo took a step forward. “Do I have to tell you?.” His voice wasn’t even raised, but it hit harder than if he’d yelled.

Monoma’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a second, it looked like he was ready to throw hands right there in the middle of the half-dead party.

You slumped back in your seat, you weren’t even sure what was happening anymore. Something about rides, addresses, and… something stupid probably.

Kirishima suddenly stood, sliding between them with a quick, “Yo, can we not do this right now?” He clapped a hand on Bakugo's chest, gently pushing him back, even tho he hated monoma too. “Come on, bro. She’s drunk. Nobody’s driving tonight anyway.”

Mina groaned, throwing her head back. “Oh my god, not this again,” she muttered, clearly over it. “Can we not turn every hangout into a dick-measuring contest?”

Bakugo didn’t say anything after that. He just stood there, watching Monoma like he was waiting for an excuse. His jaw clenched, eyes low, like he was holding something back.

And Monoma, he didn’t say anything either. Just gave Bakugo one last look. He stopped in front of you, just close enough to lower his voice, but not enough to make it weird. His eyes shifted for half a second—just a quick glance in Bakugo’s direction. You caught it, and so did Bakugo, even though he didn’t move a muscle. That tiny flicker of spite behind Monoma’s calm voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“You need to be careful, Y/n,” Monoma said, his tone even but a little too sharp to be casual. “Some people aren’t what they seem.”

The words hung there. You didn’t even have to ask who he meant.

Sen waved from behind him, already halfway out the door with the rest of their group. “Come on, Neito!” one of them called. Monoma didn’t look back at you again. He just followed, his shoulders tense.

Behind you, Bakugo let out a dry scoff.

You turned slowly, catching the way he stared after Monoma with a dead look on his face. Izuku came over then, looking tired but trying to smooth things over like always. “Uh, hey... maybe let it go, Kacchan. He’s drunk.”

Kirishima, still hovering close by, gave a low grunt of agreement. “Yeah, but drunk or not, he always pulls that smug crap.” He looked over at you with a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Monoma’s always got something to prove.”

You just nodded, not sure what to say. The quiet tension in Bakugo’s jaw didn’t budge, even after Monoma was long gone.

The party was definitely winding down now. Mina was yawning into her palm and stretching her arms. “Y/n,” she said, walking over, “you good?” Her voice was soft this time, a lot more grounded than earlier. “Need someone to call you a ride?”

You blinked slowly, nodding without thinking. “I... yeah. I think I should go.”

Bakugo was quiet behind you, but still there, too close to ignore.

Mina glanced between you and him, then gave a tiny smirk like she was putting two and two together. “Alright, well… if you’re going with him, let me know when you get home, kay?”

You hesitated. You didn’t even say yes yet, but Mina was already walking away, pulling out her phone.

You turned around again—and there was Bakugo, watching you.

“I’m not gonna do anything weird,” he said flatly, almost like he hated even having to clarify it. “I just wanna make sure you get back safe. That’s it."

You rolled your eyes. Bullshit.

“C’mon, get on my back,” Bakugo muttered, bending down a bit to offer a piggyback ride. His voice was rough.

You blinked, your brain fuzzy but catching up, and shook your head with a stubborn little pout. “No way, I hate you,” you said, your voice kind of slurred but still trying to sound tough. He just rolled his eyes and grabbed your wrists gently, his hands warm.

“Quit it, you’re way too drunk,” he said, not mad, just kind of annoyed. “Just hold on, damn it.” Without waiting for you to argue, he lifted you up. Your arms flopped around his neck, and your head lolled against his shoulder. You muttered something that didn’t make much sense, too tired to fight anymore.

From across the pool, the others watched, mouths hanging open. They’d never seen this side of Bakugo before, the grumpy guy suddenly carrying you like it was nothing.

Jirou tilted her head, earphone earrings swinging, and whispered, “What the hell...?” looking totally thrown off. Tsuyu blinked slowly, breaking the quiet with a soft, “That’s... unexpected.” Uraraka grabbed Hagakure’s arm, whispering with wide eyes, “Is he… being nice?” 

The girls exchanged looks, full of questions, but nobody said a word. They just let the weirdness of the night settle as you disappeared into the dark with him.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Katsuki trudged forward, your weight heavy on his back as he carried you out of Mina’s house. Your voice slurred, broke the silence, cutting through his own drunken thoughts. “I hate you,” you mumbled, your words tripping over each other. 

“I really, really hate you.” Your arms tightened around his neck, and he felt a weak, drunken punch land on his chest, followed by another, your fists barely making an impact. The absurdity of it almost made him smirk, but he kept his face hard, his jaw tight.

He didn’t say a word, just kept walking, his boots crunching against the pavement. He was hyper-aware of your skirt. Damn, it was short, riding up as you slumped against him and a flicker of discomfort hit him. 

Not wanting any nosy party stragglers gawking, he veered toward a side door, the one leading to the quieter alleyway where fewer people lingered. The darkness swallowed you both, the distant thump of music fading as he focused on getting you to his car. 

His Porsche sat parked a few steps away, sleek and black, and he eased you off his back with a grunt, his hands gentle as he lowered you into the passenger seat. You swayed, muttering something incoherent, and he buckled you in, his movements careful despite the buzz in his head.

He stood there for a second, catching his breath, eyes flicking over to you. His stare lingered a little longer than it needed to, but then he shook it off and slammed the door shut.

He walked around to the driver’s side quietly.

Why the hell did he even step in tonight?

The question sat heavy in his head, but he didn’t want to deal with it right now. He slid into the seat, gripped the wheel, and started the engine. The low rumble filled the silence as he focused on one thing only.

getting you home safe.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

Bakugo had first seen her during the second semester enrollment, He’d been stuck helping out, a fever making him miserable as rain tapped against the windows. She’d stood out, not because she was loud, but because she was so quiet. Her voice barely a whisper as she struggled with her forms.

Something about her caught him off guard, Love at first sight? Maybe not, but it was close—some stupid, unexpected pull he couldn’t shake.

The admin office was a madhouse, students shouting over each other, papers flying, and he was stuck helping. He was ready to ditch the whole committee gig, his patience razor-thin, when he noticed her.

Standing off to the side, her head ducked low, her voice so faint it was practically nonexistent. She was trying to ask someone about her enrollment form, her words barely a whisper, maybe 15% audible over the noise. It drove him up the wall—how could someone be that quiet? He stomped over and barked, "Hey, what the hell do you want?"

Her eyes widened and she stammered something even quieter, her hands clutching the crumpled paper. Frustrated, he grabbed her arm, not rough but firm, and pulled her toward a quieter corner near the water cooler, away from people. “Over here,” he muttered, his voice dropping to match the space, the mask making it sound gruffer than intended. 

Her voice was still tiny, barely a breath, as she explained she didn’t know where to sign or what classes to pick. He rolled his eyes, It annoyed him, sure, but a part of him wanted to help, like he couldn’t just leave her floundering.

So he took over. He snatched the form, his pen scratching as he filled it out, double-checking her schedule and muttering curses when the system lagged. “You’re hopeless,” he grumbled, but he kept going, guiding her through each step until her enrollment was locked in. 

She thanked him, her voice quiet but genuine, and he just shrugged it off, mumbling something under his breath as he pulled his hoodie tighter and coughed into his sleeve. The fever was creeping in harder now, and he honestly didn’t think much of it in the moment. Just another thing he did—whatever.

But later, for some reason, he kept thinking about it. That small “thank you,” the way she said it like she actually meant it 

When the second semester started, seeing her in the halls threw him off.

At first, she didn’t even seem to notice him. But then she opened her mouth—confident talking to her classmate, a little sarcastic that didn’t match the quiet girl he remembered from enrollment.

He blinked, caught off guard.

Was this how she really was? Or was it just something she put on?

He thought back to that rainy day—the way she’d looked so small, barely able to meet his eyes. This version of her? Loud, sharp, sure of herself. It didn’t line up.

Nah, it had to be a front.

She was still that same quiet girl underneath.

And for some reason, that hit him harder than he expected. He didn’t say anything about it, obviously, but after that, he started noticing her more. Every time they passed in the hallway, he found himself watching, quietly curious, a little confused, and more drawn in than he wanted to admit.

Days passed, and it was starting to eat at him.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, he's not the type of guy who'll act like a creep infront of a girl but part of him wanna talk to you.

During break, Bakugo ended up near the trash bins outside the art building, holding his printed research paper in one hand and his phone in the other. He wasn’t really thinking about where he set it down—just plopped it on a nearby ledge while answering a call from his mom.

“No, I already ate,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, okay? Stop calling me during school”

His mom keep talking and talking until he hung up with a groan, already annoyed.

Then it got worse.

The next thing he knew, cold paint water splashed across his paper.

He looked up fast, you were standing there, eyes wide, a now empty jar in your hand and panic all over your face. You must’ve been trying to dump it in the bin but missed, because now his entire paper was soaked and dripping.

Katsuki stared at the mess for half a second before snapping.

“What. The. Fuck.” he barked.

He wasn’t even mad about the paper, not really (well he is but not really). The way you hadn’t looked at him twice until now—it all stacked up and boiled over.

Still, he didn’t back down. He clenched his jaw, crumpled the wet paper, and muttered something under his breath before walking off—leaving her standing there, still saying sorry, not even knowing who he really was.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugo gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight as he drove through the quiet streets. He wasn’t exactly sober, but he had enough control to get you home safely.

The clock on the dash read 11:41 PM. Late.

He pulled into the parking lot outside your building, the headlights washing over the front of the sleek high-rise. With a short sigh, he cut the engine and climbed out. Then he walked around to your side and opened the door.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice low and flat.

You tried to get out, but your legs didn’t want to cooperate. You were still tipsy, and it showed. He caught your arm before you stumbled, clicking his tongue in irritation.

“Tch… seriously?” he muttered, shaking his head.

After a quick glance at your skirt, he popped the trunk, pulled out a spare black jacket, and tied it around your waist without a word. 

Then he picked you up like it was no big deal, one arm under your knees, the other behind your back. You were light, and he held you like it was nothing. You mumbled something he couldn’t make out, your head resting against his shoulder.

The lobby was quiet. The automatic glass doors slid open, and the security guard at the front desk looked up from his monitor.

“Evening, Sir.” the guard said. “I’ll need you to sign in and show your ID.”

Bakugo exhaled, already annoyed. “How the hell am I supposed to sign anything when I’m carrying her?”

The guard raised a brow. Bakugo sighed and carefully set you down, keeping an arm around your waist to hold you steady. You leaned against him, barely keeping upright.

He grabbed the pen and scribbled his name Katsuki then reached into his pocket for his license. The guard glanced at it, then looked at you.

“That Miss Y/n?” he asked, eyes narrowing with recognition. “She lives here.”

Katsuki didn’t answer.

The guard looked at him. “So… you her boyfriend or something?”

Katsuki’s face twitched, a sharp glare cutting straight through the guy.

“No,” he snapped. “Don’t be nosy.”

He shoved the clipboard back across the desk and picked you up again, not waiting for a response.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the 8th floor. The doors slid open, and Bakugo stepped out, still carrying you in his arms.

“Who the hell chooses the 8th floor…” he muttered, annoyed. “So damn inconvenient.”

The hallway was quiet, lit by a dull yellow glow from the overhead lights. He walked down it with a scowl, not because you were heavy (he could carry you forever if he had to) but because this whole situation was just a pain in the ass. Babysitting wasn’t exactly on his to-do list tonight.

He stopped in front of your door, Unit 808. A wooden door with a little silver number by the handle.

He set you down gently, keeping one hand on your arm so you wouldn’t tip over.

“Give me your key,” he said, voice low and clipped.

You blinked at him, swaying slightly, then started patting down your sides. After a second, you reached for your handbag, hands clumsy and slow. He watched you fumble with the zipper and sighed.

“Seriously?” he muttered. Without waiting, he grabbed the bag from you, unzipping it himself.

He dug through the mess, lip gloss, tissues, receipts, whatever—until he found it. A small silver key with a little flower keychain.

He slid it into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open with a quiet creak.

He scooped you up again, stepping into the condo and kicking the door shut behind him. It wasn’t some luxury penthouse, but it was clean, small, and quiet. A couch sat against one wall, a little kitchenette off to the side. The smell hit him first, soft and floral, like lavender or whatever scent came in those candles or plug-in things. Definitely not what he expected from someone who could barely walk straight ten minutes ago.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, setting you down on the couch. You flopped back into the cushions, completely out of it, and he stood there for a second, awkwardly taking in the space like he didn’t know what to do next.

Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, the silence pressing in harder now that the chaos of the night had slowed down. The drive over had been quiet, other than your half-asleep mumbling. Now, with you practically melting into the couch, it felt like he should leave. He turned toward the door. Then your voice stopped him.

“Why’d you help me again?” you mumbled, barely above a whisper, your eyes half-lidded but still on him. You sat up a little, swaying. “Don’t need your pity.”

He didn’t move for a second. Then he exhaled, annoyed—not at you, but at whatever this was turning into.

“Tch. It’s not pity,” he said, voice low. “If it was, I wouldn’t’ve bothered.”

You squinted at him, trying to read his face. “Thought you hated me.”

“Didn’t say that,” he muttered, turning his head just slightly. “Was just pissed that day. Said dumb shit. It happens.”

It wasn’t much, but for him, it was basically a full speech.

You stared, trying to make sense of it through the alcohol clouding your brain. “Then why… even care?”

He finally turned back around, facing you. His face was unreadable, eyes sharp, mouth in a tight line.

“I dunno,” he said flatly. “Didn’t feel right leaving you there. That’s it.”

He's honest.

Bakugo stood by the door, hand still on the knob, jaw tight. He could leave. You’d probably pass out in a minute anyway. But he looked back.

Your hair was all over the place, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. "Fuck it" He muttered a sharp curse under his breath, turned around, and stalked back into the room.

“Dumbass,” he muttered, yanking the armchair closer and dropping into it with a heavy sigh. “I’ll go when you knock out.”

You didn’t respond. Not right away. Just a small shift of your body—knees pulling up, head lolled to the side. He caught himself watching you again. Your voice was raspy when it came out. “Why’re you still here?”

He didn’t look at you. “Told you. Waitin’.”

A pause.

You scooted toward the edge of the couch. Katsuki’s gaze flicked over for a second before he looked away again, jaw twitching. You were too close now—close enough that your knee brushed the side of his.

“I don’t get you,” you mumbled, head tilting. “You’re always mad.”

He didn’t answer, just stared at the wall. "You don’t have to do this. I told you, I don’t want your pity. You’re a loser, and I hate you too," you added, your voice quieter now. "And I’m not your problem."

He let out a sharp breath through his nose, finally turning to face you. “Yeah, well. I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

Another beat of silence stretched between you.

Then you moved again, slow but unsteady, and leaned forward. Your fingers barely grazed his bicep. It wasn’t flirty but it still made his muscles tense.

“I think you like yelling because you don’t know how to talk,” you muttered, barely audible.

Bakugo turned toward you fully now, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Your gaze lifted to meet his. “You’re not that scary,” you added, lips twitching into the smallest, crooked smirk. “But you made me cry, so that still makes you a dick to me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched

Then it got quiet. 

He watched your eyes, your mouth, the way your breath came out soft and warm. The tension shifted from awkward to heavy, thick in the space between you.

“...You’re too close,” he muttered.

But he didn’t move.

Your head tilted again, that faint dazed look in your eyes. 

“I know,” you whispered. And you stayed there. Neither of you leaned in fully. 

Bakugo's breath hitched, his eyes flickering down to your lips, then back up. “You’re drunk,” he said, voice low.

You nodded. “I know.”

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with himself. “This is a bad idea.”

“I know,” you whispered again, barely audible now but you didn’t pull back, qnd he didn’t stop looking at you.

And that was it.

His hand shot up, fingers tangling in your hair as he dragged your mouth to his.

This was the weirdest kiss you’d ever gotten… well, you hadn’t kissed anyone since your ex, but your body went all weak and soft when he started pulling your mouth to his.

His lips crashed against yours with zero hesitation, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. You melted into it, your hands fisting in his tank top as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss like he had something to prove.

You tasted like liquor and sugar and something dangerously addicting. And god, the way you sighed against his mouth, he felt it in his gut. His hand slid down to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, not gentle exactly, but definitely not careless.

Your teeth bumped. His nose grazed yours. It was messy and hot and loud in his chest. He didn’t know where to put his hands.

On your waist, your face, in your hair again, so he touched everywhere, gripping desperately to feel you closer.

And then, all at once, the high started to dip. Not because he didn’t want you—he did, so bad it hurt but because the back of his mind screamed this wasn’t the time. Not with you drunk. Not with your eyelids drooping and your grip going slack.

He pulled back like he’d just burned himself, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours for half a second before he jerked away.

You blinked at him, dazed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “Baku–”

“Don’t,” he muttered, yanking his cap off and dragging a hand through his hair. His voice came out rough, lower than before. “Don’t say anything.”

He stood too fast, the chair scraping loud against the floor. Every muscle in his body screamed to stay, to kiss you again, to keep going until there was no turning back. But he forced himself to step back.

“I’m out,” he said, shoving the cap back on and tugging it low. “Not like this.” he muttered

And just like that, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugo stormed across the parking lot, jaw tight and eyes locked on his car. The cool air slapped his face, but it didn’t do shit to calm the heat burning in his chest. His shoes hit the pavement hard, fast, like he was trying to outrun the mess in his head.

What the hell did he just do?

He kissed her.

Seriously kissed her.

And not some accidental, brush-of-the-lips shit—he went in like he meant it. 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, yanking open the door to his Porsche and dropping into the driver’s seat. He slammed it shut hard enough to rattle the frame, gripping the wheel with both hands, knuckles white.

The taste of her was still on his lips. Still messing with him.

It shouldn’t have happened. She was drunk. He wasn’t much better. But that didn’t explain why his chest felt tight, like he’d crossed a line he wasn’t ready for.

He leaned back, staring out the windshield, his reflection faint in the glass—just enough to see the frustration written all over his face. He scrubbed a hand down it, jaw clenched, thoughts spiraling.

That kiss wasn’t supposed to feel like anything. It was heat, tension, dumb impulse. That’s it.

...Right?

But now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how soft her lips were, the way she didn’t pull back, the way her fingers curled in his tank top like she didn’t want him to stop. And that scared the hell out of him more than anything.

With a sharp breath, he shoved the key into the ignition and started the car. The engine roared to life.

“Stupid,” he muttered, shifting into gear and peeling out of the lot. The tires screeched, the city lights streaking past as he sped off, gripping the wheel.

He needed to forget tonight.

But deep down, he already knew he wouldn’t.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

The sun beats down hard, and you stand at the bus stop, your patience wearing thin. It’s almost 1 PM, and the heat makes you feel sticky and gross. 

You shift your weight, tugging at your bootcut jeans, the fabric clinging to your legs. Your tight blouse doesn’t help either, every breath feels like a struggle under the material. You glance at the empty road, your necklace swaying slightly as you move, and mutter under your breath, “Come on, where the hell is this bus?”

For the third time today, the bus whizzes past without stopping. Your eyes widen, a sharp sting of annoyance shooting through your chest. “Are you kidding me?” you hiss, kicking at the cracked pavement.

The heat’s unbearable now, sweat beading on your forehead, and you wipe it away with an irritated swipe. Inside, you feel a mix of frustration and exhaustion—three times left behind? This has to be personal.

You cross your arms, your earrings catching the sunlight as you tilt your head back, letting out a low groan. “This day sucks,” you mumble, your voice barely audible but heavy with feeling.

You pace a little, your doll shoes scuffing the ground, and keep muttering to yourself. “Stupid bus… I’m gonna melt here…” Your mind races, why did you even bother leaving your room? The thought of Bakugo’s stupid face flashes in your head, that kiss still burning in your memory.

You shake it off, annoyed at yourself for thinking about him. “Focus,” you whisper, clenching your fists. But the stickiness and the waiting are getting to you, and you can’t shake the restless energy bubbling up.

A sudden voice breaks your thoughts. “Rough day, huh?”

You flinch hard, your heart jumping into your throat. You spin around, eyes wide, and there’s Monoma Neito, standing a few feet away with a casual smile.

He looks cool despite the heat, his shirt neatly pressed, and wait, is that a hint of cologne? Your nose twitches, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in slightly, sneaking a quick sniff. Damn, he smells good, like fresh linen and something citrusy. You catch yourself, heat rushing to your cheeks, and straighten up fast, hoping he didn’t notice.

"What are you doing here?”

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Same as you, I guess—waiting for a bus that clearly hates us.” He glances at the empty road, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he masks it with a shrug. “Third time today it’s ditched me too. Figures.”

You blink, then let out a small, reluctant laugh. “Seriously? That’s… wow, we’re cursed.” You shift your weight, feeling a bit less alone in your misery. 

Monoma steps closer. “You okay missy?,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of concern. He tilts his head, studying you. “Want to sit? There’s a bench over there.” His voice is steady.

You hesitate, glancing at the bench. Part of you wants to say no, to keep pacing and burn off this annoyance, but the heat’s winning. “Yeah, okay,” you mutter, trudging over.

You plop down, the metal warm against your back, and let out a sigh. Monoma sits beside you, leaving a careful space between you, and you notice his hands resting on his knees, fingers tapping lightly. Is he nervous too?

For a moment, you sit in silence. You stare at the road, your mind drifting back to Bakugo again—his rough hands carrying you home, that kiss you can’t forget. You bite your lip, annoyed at how it keeps creeping in. 

You glance at him, taking in his calm posture, and feel a small wave of gratitude. He didn’t have to stay, but here he is. Still, your mind won’t quiet, Bakugo’s face looms large, and Monoma’s presence only makes you more confused. You shift, your shoes scuffing the ground, and mutter, “Thanks for sticking around, I guess.”

He turns to you, a soft smile breaking through. “No problem. Misery loves company, right?” 

You sit there, watching the empty road, the heat pressing down but the company making it bearable. Your annoyance fades into a quiet hum, your thoughts still tangled but less overwhelming. Monoma stays quiet too, his presence steady, and for now, that’s enough.

The wait drags on, the sun climbing higher, but finally, a low rumble breaks the stillness. You lift your head, squinting as the bus rolls into view, its faded blue paint glinting under the harsh light.

Relief washes over you, loosening the knot of frustration in your chest. “About damn time,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from the bench. 

Your legs feel stiff, and you grab your duffel bag, slinging it over your shoulder, while your suitcase stands upright beside you. The weight pulls at you, and you wince, already dreading the climb onto the bus.

Monoma stands too, brushing off his pants with a quick flick of his hand. His movements are smooth, like he’s not fazed by the heat or the wait, but you catch the slight crease in his brow, maybe he’s more annoyed than he lets on. 

He glances at you, noticing your struggle with the bags, and steps forward without a word. “Here, let me help,” he says, his voice steady but with a hint of concern. He reaches for the suitcase, lifting it easily, and nods toward the bus. “You’ve got enough to deal with.”

You hesitate, your instinct telling you to say you’re fine—you hate feeling like a burden. But the ache in your shoulder wins out, and you give a small nod. “Thanks,” you mumble, your tone gruff but grateful.

Inside, you feel a flicker of embarrassment, wondering if he thinks you can’t handle it. You adjust the duffel bag, following him as you move toward the open bus door.

Monoma climbs on first, setting your suitcase in the aisle before turning to take the duffel from you. His hands brush yours briefly, and you pull back fast, a jolt of awkwardness hitting you. He doesn’t seem to notice, just stows the bag under a seat and motions for you to sit. “Take the window,” he suggests, his voice calm but firm, like he’s already decided it’s the best spot.

You slide into the seat, pressing against the cool glass, and let out a slow breath. The bus smells like old leather and faint air freshener, a welcome change from the sticky heat outside. 

Monoma sits next to you, relaxed, hands resting on his knees. Neither of you says anything at first. You just stare out the window, watching the empty bus stop disappear behind you. Your mind always drifts to him because he's still stuck in your head, and it’s heavier than you expected. You shake your head, trying to push it aside.

The bus jerks forward. You grip the seat in front of you, heart skipping a beat. Monoma catches himself with a hand on the armrest, fast but calm.

“You good?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks genuinely concerned, but there’s also a tiny smirk, like he thinks your jumpiness is kind of cute.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. You can feel your face heating up and hate how easy it is for stuff like this to throw you off. Monoma’s calm energy makes you feel a little more grounded, though. You take a deep breath and let the cool air from the vent hit your face.

He lets out a soft laugh and leans back. “Fair. These buses are ancient. You get used to it.”

His tone is easygoing, but you catch the way his fingers tap against his knee. It’s subtle, but it says a lot. Maybe that long wait got to him more than he’s letting on.

You nod, turning to look out the window again. The city rolls by, shops and trees blurring together, and you let your mind wander. The camp sounds like a hassle, but maybe it’ll be a distraction from Bakugo—and that confusing mess of feelings. 

Monoma shifts beside you, pulling out his phone to check something. His profile is sharp in the afternoon light, and you catch that faint cologne again. You don’t sniff this time, but the scent brings a small comfort. He glances at you, catching you looking, and raises an eyebrow. “What?” he asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, turning away, your face heating up. Inside, you kick yourself—why are you so awkward? Monoma just smirks, letting it drop, and goes back to his phone. The silence returns, but it feels easier now, like you’ve settled into a quiet understanding.

You shift, your doll shoes scuffing the floor, and decide to break it. “Hey, Neito,” you start, your voice low but curious. “Why do you and Bakugo hate each other so much?"

Monoma’s hand pauses on his phone, and he turns to you, one eyebrow arching slightly. His lips curve into a faint, knowing smirk, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes, old frustration, maybe. “Straight to the point, huh?” he says, his tone smooth. He pockets his phone, leaning back against the seat. “You really wanna know?”

You nod, your jaw tight. You’re not sure why you care, but the tension between them has bugged you since the party. “Yeah."

He lets out a short laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Before answering, he tilts his head, studying you. “Hold on—do you even remember what happened last Saturday? At Mina’s party?” He’s testing your memory. His voice is casual.

You freeze for a split second, your heart thudding. You remember—oh, you remember. Bakugo carrying you home, that messy kiss, the way he bolted after. But you’re not about to spill that to Monoma.

You shrug, keeping your face neutral. “Some stuff, yeah. Not everything, though. It’s all kinda blurry.” Your voice wavers slightly, and you hope he doesn’t catch the lie. Inside, you feel a twist of guilt, but you push it down, focusing on him.

Monoma nods slowly, like he’s not fully convinced but doesn’t want to press. “Fair enough. That night was a mess anyway.” He looks out the window for a moment, his jaw tightening before he speaks again.

“As for Bakugo… it goes back a while. We were in high school together. There was this girl, someone we both knew. I liked her, maybe more than I should’ve. Turns out, she was with Bakugo. Had been since the start of high school—four years, apparently. She was a senpai, a year older, and she’s in another country now.”

Your eyes widen, your breath catching. You hadn’t expected that. “Four years?” you echo, your voice soft. You picture Bakugo with someone that long, and it stings more than you want to admit. Why does it hurt? You don’t even like him, or do you? You shake your head, brushing it off, and lean closer. “So what happened?”

Monoma’s smirk fades, replaced by a tight line. “She cheated. With me, I guess. I didn’t know she was his—I mean, Bakugo’s not exactly the type to broadcast his life. He’s secretive as hell. When he found out, he lost it. We’ve been at each other’s throats ever since.”

He pauses, his fingers tapping his knee, a rare sign of unease. “They broke up a year ago, but he’s still holding a grudge. Can’t let it go.”

You feel a weird feeling in your chest. The idea of Bakugo hurting like that of someone breaking his trust makes your stomach twist. You don’t get it; he’s a jerk, yet this feels… different. You frown, rubbing your arm, and try to shake it off. “Wait, so why’s he still mad at you? It’s been a year. Hasn’t he moved on?”

Monoma shrugs, his expression hardening. “Beats me. Pride, maybe? Bakugo’s not the forgiving type. He acts like I stole something from him, even though she made her choice. I think he’s just too stubborn to let it die.” His voice carries a hint of bitterness, but also a tired acceptance, like he’s replayed this a hundred times in his head.

You lean back, processing it. Bakugo, with a girlfriend for four years, betrayed like that, it doesn’t fit the loud, arrogant guy you know. But then again, he’s been weird lately, saving you, that kiss. Is this why? You bite your lip, your mind racing. “He acts violent,” you mutter, half to yourself. 

Monoma chuckles, a dry sound. “That’s Bakugo for you. He holds onto things like a dog with a bone. But yeah, it’s his problem, not mine.” He glances at you, his eyes softening a bit. “You seem pretty hung up on it, though. Something I should know?”

Your heart skips, and you wave a hand quickly. “No, no, just… curious. He’s annoying, that’s all.” Your voice is too fast, and you curse inwardly.

Monoma raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push, just nods and looks away. Inside, you feel a mess, part of you wants to defend Bakugo, which is insane, and part of you just wants to forget him. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“So,” you say, shifting the topic, “what about you? Are you over it? Or are you still mad at him too?” Your tone’s lighter, but you watch him closely, curious about his side.

Monoma pauses, his gaze distant for a moment. “Me? I was pissed back then, sure. But it’s done. She’s gone, and I’m not the type to dwell. Bakugo’s the one stuck in the past.” 

After a moment, he tilts his head, his tone shifting to something more curious. “So… you and Bakugo. You seemed pretty close at Mina’s party. He got all worked up, saying he’d take you home. Did he really know where you live, or was he just trying to get under my skin?”

You swallow hard, keeping your face neutral. “I… know him, yeah,” you say slowly, your voice cautious. “But barely. We’re not close or anything.” You pause, your mind racing. Should you say more? Monoma’s steady gaze pushes you, and you let out a breath.

“He’s a jerk, though. The first time you saw me crying on the stairs? That was because of him. He said something awful about me, and it just… hit hard.”

Monoma’s eyebrows shoot up, the fan pausing for a second before he resumes its motion. “Seriously?” His voice carries a mix of surprise and irritation, his usual calm cracking just a bit. He leans in slightly, his eyes narrowing. “What did he say?”

You shrug, eyes dropping to your hands. “I don’t even remember exactly what he said… just that it stung.” You pause for a second, then add, quieter, “Something about pitying me.”

Your chest tightens as the memory comes back. It’s not fresh, but it still hits in that same spot, sharp and uncomfortable.

Monoma’s expression shifts, a little darker now. “He always acts like he’s better than everyone.” His voice drops, edged with frustration. “That night at the party? He was ready to throw hands with me over you. If this is his idea of pity, it’s a pretty messed-up way of showing it. Guy’s got issues.”

You nod slowly, your thoughts spinning. Nothing about Bakugo makes sense yelling at you one second, stepping in to help the next. That kiss didn’t feel like pity at all… but you’re not about to admit that out loud.

“Yeah, he’s a total ass,” you mutter, bitterness slipping into your voice. Still, there's a sting in your chest. Hearing about that other girl, about his past, it shouldn’t bother you. But it does. 

He studies you, his tone softening a little. “You sure you’re okay with him being around? If he’s treating you like that, you don’t have to just put up with it.”

His usual confidence is still there, but it’s layered with something more protective now. Real concern.

You force a smile. “I’ll survive. He’s just… I dunno, normal?” You shrug like it’s no big deal, even though your chest feels tight. There’s anger in there, yeah but also something else you don’t really want to name. 

The bus finally starts to slow down, pulling into the school’s drop-off zone. You exhale, grabbing your duffel as the doors creak open.

Stepping off, the heat hits you again, not as bad as earlier, but still enough to make you squint. You pull your suitcase behind you, as you both head toward the main campus.

Then you stop, blinking.

The place is packed. Students everywhere, voices overlapping in a hum. You weren’t expecting a crowd like this, and it throws you off. Your chest tightens a little, the noise and movement suddenly overwhelming. You adjust your bag and mutter, "So draining."

As you walk, bits of conversation drift past.

“Did you hear? The camp’s changing,” a girl says to her friend, practically screaming.

You frown.

Another guy chimes in, “Yeah, principal just announced it. We’re moving to campsites instead of staying here. Thank God.”

You feel your shoulders relax a little. No more cramped school grounds. Just open space, tents, something different. For the first time all day, you feel a little relief.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Monoma hears it too, and you see his shoulders drop a little. He turns to a nearby student, some guy with messy hair and a backpack hanging off one shoulder.

“Hey, what’s going on with the change?” Monoma asks. His voice is polite, but there’s a sharpness to it.

The guy shrugs. “Principal said the school’s too small for whatever setup they had planned. So now we’re doing campsites, but just two nights, starting tomorrow.” He grins like he’s all for it, then disappears into the crowd.

Monoma nods slowly, a small smile forming. He glances at you, eyes brighter now. “Honestly? That’s a win. Campsites sound way better than staying here.”

“If you haven’t found your friends yet, stick with me,” he says casually. “No point getting lost in this crowd.”

You hesitate. Your first instinct is to say you’re fine, like always—but the crowd’s thick, and Monoma’s offer feels solid. Safe.

“Yeah, okay,” you say. Your tone comes out rougher than you mean, but it’s genuine. You’re thankful. Even if you don’t say it out loud, you feel it, Monoma always steps up when you need it.

You both keep moving, weaving through the crowd. Your suitcase bumps along behind you, wheels catching on the uneven pavement.

Then a voice cuts through the noise.

“Monoma! Over here!”

You turn and spot Tetsutetsu waving from a group near the edge of the field. His grin is wide, full of energy, and Monoma lifts a hand in response. You catch the way his posture straightens, like something clicked back into place.

“Looks like my crew found me,” he says, sounding proud but still casual. “You good to tag along?”

He looks at you, checking in, not just asking to be polite. You nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”

Before you can say anything, a familiar voice cuts through the noise—rough, unmistakable. Bakugo.

You hear laughter from his group nearby, and your heart skips. You glance over.

There he is, standing with Kirishima and Kaminari. His eyes scan the crowd, and for half a second, they land on you and Monoma. Then he looks away like nothing, saying something to Kirishima with a blank expression.

Like you’re not even there.

Your stomach twists. It shouldn’t hit this hard, but it does. That cold indifference, it messes with your head more than if he’d actually said something. You grip your duffel tighter and mutter, “Typical.” You can’t help wondering if he even remembers the kiss from last night. But the way he’s acting makes it easy to shove that thought back down.

Monoma notices right away. His eyes flick to Bakugo, narrowing slightly.

he says quietly. “Let’s go.”

You nod, forcing yourself to keep walking. The crowd moves around you, and soon Bakugo fades from view.

You stick close to Monoma, the two of you heading toward the edge of the field. The main ground is loud and packed, students brushing past, talking over each other, totally wrapped up in their own little worlds.

You shift your bag on your shoulder, the weight dragging a bit, but Monoma carries your suitcase like it’s nothing. The two of you talk about whatever—class schedules, how hot it is, random stuff to fill the silence.

His voice stays calm and steady, grounding you.

Still, underneath it all, you’re tense. That split-second look from Bakugo is stuck in your brain, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, it lingers.

Across the field, Monoma nods toward a group of girls near a picnic table. “There,” he says.

You follow his gaze and spot Mina. Her hair stands out even from a distance. Just seeing her calms your nerves a little, finally, a familiar face.

Monoma glances at you with a small smile. “Looks like you’ve got someone to watch over you now. Let’s go.”

You nod, already feeling a little lighter. “Yeah, good call.”

You walk beside him, Tetsutetsu following with his usual chaotic energy, throwing a hand on Monoma’s shoulder like they’ve been hyped for this all week. You’re quietly thankful, Monoma’s been solid today. You’re not in a rush to let that go.

As you approach the group, Mina looks up and immediately beams. “Hey! You made it!” she calls out, voice bright and warm.

She steps forward with a grin. “And Monoma, thanks for bringing her.”

Monoma sets your suitcase down and gives her a polite nod. “No problem. She was stuck with me at the bus stop, figured she’d rather be with you guys.”

His tone is casual, maybe a little too smooth, but he steps back to give you space.

Mina laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Ugh, yeah, bus stops suck. Thanks again, though. You good?” she asks, turning to you with a softer tone. “That crowd looked rough.”

You adjust your duffel bag and shrug. “Yeah. Was kind of overwhelming. But Neito helped me out.”

Mina leans against the table, still smiling. “That’s Monoma for you, he's such a gentleman.” She flicks a glance his way, then back to you. “You sticking with us? We were just talking about food.”

Before you can answer, Hagakure jumps in, bouncing a little. “Y/n! You’re here!” Her energy is full throttle, like always. “Remember girls’ night? We have to do it.”

Ochako claps her hands, grinning. “Seriously, it’s really good to see you! You’ve gotta tell us everything, how’ve you been?”

Tsuyu nods beside them. “Yeah. It’s nice having you back. We missed your vibe.”

You smile for real this time. Their energy is a lot—but in a good way. It’s kind of overwhelming how warm they are, but comforting too.

Monoma chuckles, arms crossed. “Looks like you’re in good hands.” He nods toward Tetsutetsu, who’s waving him over like he can’t wait anymore. “I’ll leave you to it. Catch you later?”

“Yeah. Thanks again,” you say, quieter now, more genuine.

He nods once and heads off with Tetsutetsu, and you turn back to Mina and the others. 

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

After a while, Mina glances over at the row of parked buses. “Come on,” she says. “Looks like they’re sorting everyone out.”

The group starts moving, and you follow, dragging your suitcase behind you and adjusting the strap of your duffel bag.

Four buses sit in a line, engines idling. With how many students UA has, they’re splitting everyone into waves. This week, your group’s up about 80 people heading out to the campsite, with the rest going later.

You grit your teeth and shift your bags, the weight already getting on your nerves. Your shoes, a pair of doll-like heels you thought were a cute idea this morning are now your worst enemy. The uneven ground is brutal, and you wince with each step.

“Dumbass,” you mutter under your breath, annoyed with yourself. You make a mental note to change into sneakers the second you’re on the bus.

As you get closer, Mina picks up her pace and veers off toward a group standing by one of the buses. You spot Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima laughing about something, and then you see him.

Your stomach tightens instantly. He’s leaning against the side of the bus, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual blank expression on his face.

His eyes sweep over the crowd once, pausing for a second, long enough to notice you, then move on like you weren’t even there.

You quickly look away, staring at the sky, the ground, the tires of the bus, anything but him.

Mina waves as she walks up. “Hey, babe!” she calls out to Kirishima.

He grins, jogging over to meet her and throwing an arm around her shoulders. Kaminari and Sero wave at the rest of you too, full of loud energy and big smiles.

Bakugo stays where he is, quiet. 

You roll your eyes. Typical. Acting like nothing happened. Acting like you’re just some random in the crowd.

Inside, there’s a sting, but you shove it down and focus on Mina and Kirishima’s cute little reunion. The girls keep chatting as you adjust your bags and keep moving, trying not to think about Bakugo’s cold shoulder. If he wants to act like nothing happened, fine. 

Eventually, the group heads toward the buses. The crowd starts thinning out as students form lines, and you follow behind Mina and the others, your suitcase feeling heavier by the second. But before you can complain, a couple of staff members step in, collecting luggage and loading it into the bus compartments with practiced ease.

You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief. No more dragging your stuff around. You nod at one of the staff grabbing your suitcase, muttering a quick, “Thanks,” and head up the steps.

The inside of the bus is cool, the air conditioning a much-needed break from the heat. You glance around, looking for a spot, and your eyes land on an open seat in the very back.

Perfect.

You slide into the window seat, letting your body sink into the cushion. It’s clean, quiet, and tucked away from the chatter up front. You lean against the glass with a faint grin. “Nice,” you mutter to yourself.

Outside, the school starts to fade from view, and for a second, it actually feels like you’re leaving the stress behind.

Luck’s on your side, Ochaco drops into the seat next to you, her round face lighting up with a warm smile. You glance around the bus and recognize most of the faces from Mina’s party. Kirishima’s a few rows up, laughing with Mina. Kaminari and Sero are joking around nearby. There are a couple of unfamiliar students, but it’s mostly familiar territory.

Ochaco turns to you, her voice upbeat. “I’m so excited for this camp! It’s gonna be fun, right?”

Her energy is contagious, and you feel yourself relax a little.

She leans in, curious. “What course are you in? I bet it’s something cool.”

You shift a bit, lowering your voice. The last thing you want is attention, especially with Bakugo and Midoriya sitting right in front of you. Their broad shoulders take up most of the view ahead, and you catch a glimpse of Bakugo’s spiky hair through the window reflection. 

“Uh… art. Nothing special.”

Ochaco just nods, smiling like it is special. She doesn’t seem to notice your nerves, or maybe she’s just too polite to mention them.

After a second, she digs through her bag and pulls out a strawberry milk and a pack of mochi, holding them out to you.

“Here! For the ride. It’s like four hours, I think.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, uh… thanks,” you say, taking them with slightly shaky hands. She’s so nice it almost throws you off.

You reach into your duffel and pull out the strawberry sandwich you made earlier. Holding it up, you give her a small smile.

“This and the drink, pretty solid combo, right?”

Ochaco’s eyes light up. “Oh my gosh, yes! Are you good at cooking or baking? That sounds amazing!”

You laugh under your breath. “Just baking. I’m terrible with real food. Last time I tried cooking, it was so salty I almost cried.”

You take a bite of the sandwich, the sweetness settling your nerves a bit.

Ochaco giggles and leans closer. “That’s so cute! You should totally bring some sweets to camp. Everyone would love that.”

Then her gaze shifts to the front. “Speaking of food… Bakugo’s actually a really good cook. Him and Izuku, they’re total opposites, but they both know what they’re doing in the kitchen.”

Your hand pauses mid-bite. You glance up toward Bakugo, he’s still staring out the window, completely unbothered. No reaction at all.

Midoriya, though, turns halfway in his seat. His eyes meet yours for a moment before he smiles.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, voice soft and a little shy. “Bakugo’s been cooking since high school. I’m alright, but he’s kind of the pro.”

He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. You notice how similar he and Ochaco are, gentle, polite, kind of eager to make people feel included.

Bakugo doesn’t move, his silence loud in your ears. You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Of course he is.” Inside, you feel a mix of annoyance and curiosity, him being good at something feels so typical, yet it bugs you. You take another bite, focusing on Ochaco and Midoriya chatter, their voices a buffer against the tension ahead.

The bus rumbled along, the strawberry milk and mochi settling nicely in your stomach. You leaned back in your seat, the window cool against your cheek. 

“So, Y/n!” Izuku started, his tone eager. “I heard you’re from Shibuya, right? That place is awesome! The crossing, the shops, Do you like living there?” his hands gesturing wildly, and you blinked, caught off guard by the flood of questions.

You shifted, your voice low to avoid Bakugo hearing. “Uh, it’s nice. Busy, but… yeah.” You weren’t sure how to keep up, his energy was relentless. Inside, you felt a bit overwhelmed, but his excitement was kind of cute.

“Nice? It’s epic!” Midoriya grinned, not noticing your quiet tone. “The lights, the arcades, have you been to the Shibuya Sky? And what about anime? You into shounen?” His eyes sparkled, and you couldn’t help but smile a little.

You nodded, relaxing a bit. “Yeah, shounen’s cool. But, uh, I love shoujo too." Your cheeks warmed, admitting that felt a bit personal, but Izuku’s nod encouraged you.

“Romance, huh? That’s sweet!” He paused, then leaned closer. “What about Roblox? You play?” His voice was so hopeful, you had to laugh softly.

“Yeah, I do,” you said, your voice still hushed. Inside, you wondered if Bakugo was listening, but his back stayed turned.

“Awesome! Horror games too?” Midoriya's grin widened, and you nodded again.

“Yep. The mimic is my favorite, but…” You hesitated, a bit embarrassed. “I get stuck on nightmare mode. I’m still kinda noob, keep getting killed halfway.”

Midoriya eyes lit up. “No way! Kacchan played The Mimic with us once, he and I finished it in twenty nine minutes!” He laughed, glancing at Bakugo, who stared out the window, silent as ever. “You should join us sometime. Kacchan’s crazy good at it.”

Your jaw dropped, shock hitting you. “Twenty nine minutes? Are you serious? I can’t even get past the middle without dying!” You shook your head. Bakugo being good at something else, great. You rolled your eyes, muttering, “Figures.”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The four hours slipped by, the bus’s hum lulling you and Ochaco into sleep. Your head rested against the window, her soft breathing beside you. You didn’t stir until a loud voice jolted you awake. You blinked, groggy, as a tall guy with blonde hair, Hizashi Yamada, stood at the front, mic in hand. Beside him was Ms. Nemuri Kayama, your advisor, her voice firm.

“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Hizashi’s voice boomed, making you wince. “We’re here! Campsite’s set, but a few rules.

No wandering deep into the woods, stick to the paths. The site’s split into four areas to keep things organized. Activities will bring you all together, though!”

Ms. Kayama nodded, crossing her arms. “Safety first. Follow the guides, and no funny business. We’ll sort you into groups soon.” Her tone was strict, but you barely registered it, your face lit up when you caught the part about separation. Girls and boys in different tents? No nearby guys? Relief flooded you, and you let out a quiet, “finally.”

Ochaco rubbed her eyes, sitting up with a yawn. “Do you have a tent, Y/n?” she asked, her voice sleepy but kind.

You nodded, stretching. “Yeah, packed one.” But Ochaco waved a hand, smiling.

“No need! Yaoyorozu brought a big tent for us. You’re with us!” Her words were warm, and your cheeks flushed. They were including you, really including you. Inside, you felt a rush of happiness, a grin breaking through. You looked so happy, you almost didn’t care about the ache in your legs.

The bus doors opened, and the camp stretched out ahead, trees, open spaces. You grabbed your duffel bag, ready to step into whatever came next.

You step off the bus, the pine scent hitting you as you sling your duffel bag over your shoulder. The campsite stretches out, trees towering, a clear sky above, and patches of grass underfoot. The girls are already walking around, grabbing tent bags from the pile the staff unloaded. You join them, your doll shoes swapped for sneakers, and Mina tosses you a bundle of poles with a grin.

“Alright, team! Let’s get these tents up!” Mina chirps, her voice cutting through the rustle of fabric. She’s all energy.

Jiro smirks, adjusting her earphones “If we mess this up, it’s on you, Mina. I’m not sleeping under the stars.” Her tone is dry, but there’s a playful glint in her eyes.

You fumble with the poles, your fingers clumsy. “Uh, how do these even go together?” you mutter, glancing at Yaoyoruzu, who’s already organizing the pieces with precision.

Yaoyoruzu looks up, her dark hair falling neatly. “Here, let me show you. Slot this into the base—see?” She guides your hands, her voice calm. “We’ll have it done in no time.”

Ochaco bounces over, holding a stake. “This part’s easy! Just hammer it in—oh, but not too hard!” She giggles, and you nod, feeling a bit less lost.

Tsuyu crouches nearby “This reminds me of scout trips. Keep the tarp tight, okay?” Her soft voice steadies you, and Hagakure pops up beside her.

“Girls’ night vibes already!” Hagakure squeals, her excitement clear. “We’re gonna crush this tent game!”

You laugh, the chatter filling the air as you work. The poles click into place, fabric stretches, and soon, a sturdy tent takes shape. “Not bad,” you say, wiping sweat from your brow. Inside, you feel a warm feeling, these girls are loud, but it’s nice.

As dusk falls, the group gathers around a crackling campfire. Logs crack, sparks float up, and Mina hands out marshmallows on sticks. “Toast ‘em good!” she says, shoving one at you.

jiro rolls her eyes, skewering hers. “Only if you don’t burn mine like last time.” Her smirk earns a laugh from Tsuyu.

Ochaco giggles, her marshmallow golden. “Mine’s perfect! Y/n, how’s yours?” She leans over, and you nod, the sweet smell making you smile.

“Good, I guess,” you mumble, rotating it. Hagakure’s voice cuts in, bubbly as ever.

“Let’s talk about boys! Who’s the cutest here?” she asks, and Mina cackles.

“Eijiro, duh! My man’s got that charm!” Mina winks, and you chuckle, feeling comfy.

Yaoyoruzu sips water, calm. “I’m just here for the camp. But Kaminari’s funny.” Her dry tone gets a nod from Jiro.

“True, he’s a dork,” Jiro agrees, and the talk flows, gossip, classes, random stuff. You join in, your voice soft but growing, the fire’s warmth sinking in.

After a while, Mr Yamada’s voice booms from the center. “Activities start tomorrow. For now, do what you want, explore, chat, sleep. Lights out at eleven!” Ms. Kayama nods beside him, her arms crossed.

Mina stretches, yawning. “Sweet, free time!” The group disperses, and you head to the tent, the night quieting down.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The morning sun filters through the trees, casting dappled light over the campsite. You wake early, the tent quiet except for the soft breathing of The girls and the sound of nature. Feeling gross from yesterday, you slip out, grabbing your towel and heading to the showers. The water’s cold but refreshing, and you scrub off the sweat, emerging with wet hair and a clean scent, lavender from your shampoo. You dress in a fresh shirt and sweatpants, feeling human again.

Back at the campsite, you start breakfast with your friends. Each of you has your own crew, but today it’s a mix, Mina’s laughing with Kirishima, Ochaco’s chatting with Izuku, and Jiro’s tuning her earphones. 

You pull out a skillet, cracking eggs with Tsuyu, who’s slicing fruit. “Morning,” you mumble, flipping the eggs.

Jiro glances over, sniffing the air. “Whoa, Y/n, you smell amazing! Did you shower already?” Her voice has that dry edge, but she’s impressed.

You nod, focusing on the pan. “Yeah, woke up early. Can’t start a day feeling dirty, total dealbreaker for me.” You smirk, and she chuckles.

“Fair. I’m jealous, I’m still a mess,” she says, ruffling her hair. The group gathers, plates clattering as you serve eggs and fruit. Mina swoops in, grabbing a slice.

“Breakfast queen!” she teases

After a while, Monoma strolls over, his friends trailing behind. He holds out a shiny red apple, his smile soft. “Found this on a tree while we were walking in the forest,” he says, handing it to you. “Thought you might like it.”

You take it, surprised. “Thanks, Neito. That’s… nice.” Your voice is gruff, but you’re touched. Inside, you wonder if he’s always this thoughtful. He nods, stepping back to his group, and you bite into the apple, crisp and sweet. The morning drags on, your friends finally shuffling off to shower. 

By 11 AM, you stand with the group as Mr. Hizashi and Ms. Nemuri take the center, their voices carrying over the campsite. Beside them stands a tired-looking guy, Aizawa, then your eyes widen—wait, is that Toshinori Yagi? The popular professor? You blink, stunned. “No way,” you mutter under your breath.

Hizashi claps, grinning. “Morning, campers! Third activity. Team relay! Pair up, shoulder races, obstacle course. Winners get bragging rights!” His energy’s infectious, and Ms. Kayama nods.

“Safety first,” she adds, her tone firm. “No roughhousing. Aizawa and Yagi are watching, don’t test them.” Aizawa grunts, barely moving, while Yagi offers a energetic smile, his tall frame towering.

Monoma sidles up to you as the crowd disperses. “Wanna team up?” he asks, his voice smooth but with that sharp edge.

You shrug, nodding. “Yeah, sure.” Inside, you feel a flicker of excitement.

The race starts, pairs line up, and Monoma kneels. You climb onto his shoulders, your legs shaky but his grip steady. “Ready?” he asks, standing.

“Go!” you say, gripping his head. He takes off, your balance wobbling as you navigate the course, tires to step through, a low net to duck. You’re laughing, “Faster, Neito!” and he chuckles, “Working on it!”

Then Bakugo appears. walking fast, shoulders squared. There’s a random girl sitting on his shoulders, laughing way too loud. He doesn’t look at you or Monoma, just barrels forward like nothing else matters.

Suddenly, he swerves.

His shoulder slams into Monoma’s side without warning. It’s hard enough to jolt you. You grip Monoma’s shoulders tighter, gasping as you nearly slide off.

“Watch it, dumbass,” Bakugo snaps, not even glancing back. His voice is rough, annoyed like always. The girl on his shoulders snickers like it’s all a joke.

Monoma stumbles but keeps you balanced. He grabs your legs tighter to keep you from slipping. “What the hell is your problem?” he snaps at Bakugo, eyes narrowed. “You keep doing this crap on purpose.”

Bakugo stops for a second, turning just enough to glare. “Then move next time, loser. Not my fault you’re slow.” His tone is cold, sharp, and clearly doesn’t care if you’re caught in the middle.

The girl on his shoulders nudges him, saying something you can’t hear. Bakugo just scoffs and walks off again without another word.

You breathe out hard, still steadying yourself. Your heart’s pounding now, a mix of surprise and anger.

“Seriously? The professors said no roughhousing” you mutter, watching him walk away.

Monoma adjusts his hold on you and shakes his head. “He’s been acting like this since the first round,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “Trying to mess with me."

You glance at him. “Does he always do that?”

“Pretty much,” Monoma says, sounding annoyed but focused. “Just ignore him. We’ve got this.”

You nod, shifting your grip and getting ready to keep moving. You’re irritated, but you’re not about to let Bakugo ruin your momentum. Whatever his issue is, it’s not your problem right now.

The shoulder race keeps going, and the uneven ground around the campsite makes every step harder. You hold onto Monoma’s shoulders tightly, your legs starting to shake, but he keeps pushing forward. His pace picks up, fast, focused, competitive.

Monoma glances ahead, spotting Bakugo, then smirks. “What’s the matter? Falling behind already?” His voice is loud enough to carry, teasing but sharp.

Bakugo throws a look over his shoulder, clearly annoyed. “Tch. You never shut up, do you?” he snaps. His eyes narrow as he adjusts the girl on his shoulders, picking up speed like he’s ready to run straight through Monoma if he has to.

You stay quiet, not wanting to add to the mess. Instead, you keep signaling Monoma with quick taps on his head, making sure you're both in sync. He gives you a quick nod. “Almost there,” he says, voice low and steady.

Around you, the other teams are struggling in their own way. Kirishima and Mina laugh as they nearly trip, Kaminari fumbles and bumps into Sero and Hagakure. But you and Monoma stay focused, your eyes locked on the red line ahead—the finish line.

Out of nowhere, Bakugo shouts, “You’re so fucking done!” and bolts forward. The girl on his shoulders leans in, looking smug as they close the gap. Monoma tries to move out of the way, but the girl throws out her hand and shoves you—hard.

You lose your balance fast, slipping. “Shit—!” you gasp, your grip tightening on Monoma as you fall. He can’t steady himself in time, and both of you hit the ground. Your back slams into the dirt, and the back of your head knocks against a smooth rock near a shallow stream.

The water’s still, but the pain in your head is sharp and instant. Everything around you blurs for a second as you try to blink it off.

Panic spreads fast.

“Y/n!” Mina’s voice cuts through the noise as she runs over. Ochaco stumbles after her, eyes wide. “Wait—is she okay?” Tsuyu’s usually calm tone is sharp. “Someone get a teacher!”

A small crowd starts forming around you. People are whispering, faces full of concern. “Is she bleeding?” someone asks. “She hit her head, right?” The voices blend together, making your head spin worse.

Monoma reacts instantly. He kneels beside you, one arm behind your back as he gently props you up, the other brushing through your hair to check for injuries.

“Don’t move,” he says, calm but firm. His hands are careful as he scans for anything serious.

“No blood,” he mutters under his breath, sounding relieved.

You feel him exhale, then he pulls you a little closer so your head rests against his chest.

“You’re alright,” he says more softly. “Just breathe, okay?”

Your head’s throbbing, and the world’s spinning a bit, but his heartbeat is steady. You give a small nod, not trusting yourself to speak yet.

Across the stream, Bakugo stands frozen. The girl still perched on his shoulders twists around, scowling.

“It’s not my fault! She shouldn’t have been standing there!” Her voice is sharp and defensive, like she knows she messed up but doesn’t want to own it.

Bakugo doesn’t respond. He just stares at you, at Monoma, his jaw tight.

Then, without a word, he grips the girl’s legs and yanks her off his shoulders.

“Off,” he says, voice flat.

She hits the ground with a startled yelp, totally caught off guard.

“Are you serious right now?!” she snaps, scrambling to her feet.

Bakugo ignores her completely. He turns around and walks off into the trees, not saying a thing.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

The room smells faintly like rubbing alcohol and dried leaves, clean, but a little too quiet. You’re sitting on the medical cot, legs swinging slightly, a cold pack pressed against your head. The lights aren’t too bright, but they still make your eyes squint a little.

“Y/n.” Ms. Nemuri crosses her arms. She’s not yelling, but her tone has that teacher energy—the kind that makes you feel like you're five again, even if you’re technically an adult now. “This could’ve been worse. You need to be more careful during these games.”

You're so tired to even defend your self “It wasn’t even my fault.”

Nemuri raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That’s not what I heard.”

“No, seriously, miss.” you sit up straighter. “It was Bakugo and that girl, who even was she? She literally pushed me.”

“We already talked to both of them,” she says, her voice softening just a bit. “They’re benched from the rest of the games. That’s final.”

You nod, not saying much after that.

There’s a knock at the door before it creaks open. Monoma pokes his head in first, followed by a blur of pink hair and then more familiar voices trailing in.

“Yo! Is she okay?” Ashido asks, walking in like the whole group owns the place.

“She’s sitting up, that’s a good sign,” Jiro adds, hands in her jacket pockets but her eyes scanning you carefully.

“We brought snacks,” Ochaco offers with a small smile.

“Seriously, Y/n, you scared the crap out of us,” Hagakure says from somewhere near the corner of the room.

Monoma walks over to your side and nudges the blanket up over your shoulders again. “You should still be lying down.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, even though your head still feels a little heavy.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Jiro says casually, pulling a chair over and sitting backwards on it. “You’re not allowed to almost get a concussion and not get at least ten minutes of friendship bullying.”

Ashido snorts. “Exactly.”

The room feels lighter with them in it. Less like a medical check-in and more like a random hangout with people who actually give a crap. You sink a little further back into the cot, the blanket warming up around you.

Ms. Nemuri gives you a look that says see, you’re in good hands, then steps out to give you all some space.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You’re not sure how much time has passed maybe twenty minutes? but the room’s starting to feel less like a clinic and more like a weird sleepover. 

It’s cozy. Comfortable, even. Like they’re all trying to smother what happened earlier with casual noise and small laughter.

But eventually, Mina claps her hands together and stands up. “Alright! Chef squad, rise.”

“Wait, what?” Jiro lifts her head.

“Someone’s gotta feed the injured,” Ashido says, wiggling her brows at you. “She needs something other than stale crackers.”

Ochaco grabs the bag of snacks. “We’ll raid the kitchen cottage. Don’t die while we’re gone.”

“Should I be worried?” you ask.

“Only if Monoma tries to lecture you about proper walking form,” Jiro jokes as she follows the group out, yawning.

“Hey,” Monoma says with mock offense. “I’m helpful.”

They all head out, voices fading down the hallway, the door closing gently behind them. And just like that, it’s quiet again.

You glance at Monoma, who’s sitting beside the cot, still looking like he’s halfway between annoyed and concerned.

“You scared me,” he admits, voice lower now, more careful.

You blink. “Really?”

“You just—went down so fast,” he says. “And the way you weren’t answering for a second... I don’t know. I panicked”

You glance down at your hands. “I didn’t think that girl would actually shove me.”

He sighs, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, well. People suck.”

You laugh under your breath, soft but real. “You’re not wrong.”

Monoma’s not looking at you, just staring at the floor. “I didn’t expect you to be the one who caught me,” you say quietly.

He looks at you, one eyebrow raised. “Well, obviously I'm closer... Did you want Bakugo to?”

You snort. “God, no.”

A small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think so.”

Monoma stretches his legs out in front of him, glancing at the small medical fridge humming in the corner of the room. “You’re lucky you didn’t get a concussion,” he says after a bit. “You might’ve been stuck in here overnight.”

“Hlnestly wouldn’t have minded,” you mutter, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “At least in here, people aren’t shoving me off of rocks.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Good point.”

You didn’t cry when you hit the ground. Not even when your head started ringing or when your vision blurred. But now? With everything slowing down… your chest kind of aches. 

You keep replaying the moment in your head, her sitting on his shoulders. Bakugo standing there. Not saying anything. 

And even then, he didn’t help. Didn’t move. Just stared.

You blink hard, pressing your lips together and forcing yourself back into the present.

Monoma doesn’t say anything, but maybe he notices the shift in your expression because his tone softens again. “I know this trip was supposed to be fun,” he says, voice low. “Sorry it’s turning into a mess.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say quickly.

He shrugs one shoulder. “Still. I was right there. I should’ve said something sooner.”

“You did what you could.”

After a while, a voice cuts through the faint sounds outside.

“Monoma! Yo, we need you!” Tetsutetsu’s shout carries from somewhere across the field.

Monoma stiffens a little beside you. You see him glance toward the door, then back at you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his expression like he doesn’t really want to go.

“I should stay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You’re not alone yet.”

You shake your head gently, even though the motion makes your skull throb a bit. “Go. It’s fine,” you say, keeping your tone calm. “You’ve been here long enough.”

Monoma’s brows pull together, clearly conflicted. “I don’t want you to think I’m just ditching you.”

“You’re not,” you say quickly. “Seriously. Go have fun. I’ll just be here"

That gets the smallest smile out of him. 

He stands, slow like he’s giving you time to change your mind, but you just nod at him. He gives your shoulder a light squeeze and heads for the door.

“I’ll come back,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.

“I know.”

You watch him jog off. The space beside you feels a little emptier now, but not in a painful way. You shift the ice pack against your head and exhale, letting yourself settle into the stillness.

You stay where you are. The camp behind you is alive with chatter, people calling out, laughing, moving around but you don’t feel like joining. The ache in your head has dulled, but your mood hasn’t.

Then you hear it, the creak of a cabin door opening. You glance up, and your body goes tense without meaning to.

Bakugo steps out.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, hands jammed into his pockets, his tank top a little wrinkled like he’s been pacing around for a while. His eyes land on you and don’t move. For a second, you think he might walk off again.

But he doesn’t.

You stay quiet, not really sure what this is. He looks like he wants to say something. Finally, he mutters, voice lower than usual, “You good?”

You blink, caught off guard. His tone isn’t cocky or sharp. Just flat. Rough. Like he's forcing the words out.

“I’m fine,” you say. It's automatic, even though it's not really true. You don’t look at him right away, staring at the glass of water instead.

He shifts on his feet. Doesn’t leave. Doesn’t talk either.

The silence stretches too long.

You exhale through your nose and finally glance up at him. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

He meets your eyes now, and his jaw tenses like he’s biting back the rest. Like he had more to say, but now you’ve said something and he’s not sure how to follow up.

You huff, leaning back on your hands. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

There’s a beat of silence. He walks over slowly and sits on the edge of the wooden steps nearby, not too close, but close enough to make it clear he’s not just passing by.

Neither of you says anything.

Then he mutters, barely audible, “Didn’t think it’d go that way.”

You glance at him again. His eyes are locked on the ground like he's annoyed with himself, maybe.

“No shit,” you say, but it’s softer this time. 

Bakugo doesn’t argue, doesn’t snap back. He just stays there, shoulders tense, he’s not used to sitting still and doesn’t really know why he’s here.

“Fine,” he mutters, “It was my fault.” He says it casually, almost like he doesn’t care. “Sorry about the whole thing,” he adds, still not looking directly at you.

You blink, honestly stunned he even said it out loud. Before you can figure out what to say, he steps closer, his hand suddenly reaching out. You flinch a little, instinctively, but he just brushes his fingers lightly over your head, checking the spot where you hit the rock.

You freeze.

His touch is rough, but there’s a carefulness to it. His hand lingers just a second longer than needed, and for some reason, it throws you off more than the fall did. You glance up, your eyes meeting his closer than expected.

He doesn’t say anything. It's quiet. Heavy.

Then he pulls back, rubbing the back of his neck like the moment never happened. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice lower now. Still rough, but not as distant.

You swallow hard, steadying your voice. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t move right away. Then, with a sigh, he drops down beside you, sitting in the cot like it’s nothing. He just… sits there. It’s weird. But kind of calming too.

Time passes. You don’t know how long. Maybe an hour. Maybe longer. Eventually, he shifts again, glancing at you. “You good now?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m good.”

He watches you for a beat, then stands up, "Can you walk?”

You hesitate, then nod. “I think so.”

He holds out a hand. Doesn’t say anything. just offers it. 

You take it.

His grip is steady, strong, and he pulls you up like it’s nothing. For a second, your fingers linger in his before you let go.

You don’t say anything about it. But as you stand there, legs steady, you can feel it, the quiet tension between you. A weird kind of understanding that neither of you knows what to do with yet. And he doesn’t walk away. Not right away.

After a while, he breaks the silence, voice rough but a little unsure. “You wanna come with me?”

You glance at him, raising a brow. Seriously?

“Come with you where?” you ask, a little sharper than you mean to. After everything that just happened, your guard’s still up, and the question feels like it came out of nowhere.

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets again, like he’s trying to play it cool. “There’s a spot with signal. Figured we could play that game you were talkin’ about.”

That catches you off guard.

You blink. Of all the things he could’ve said, that wasn’t even on your list. You hadn’t thought he was paying attention when you were rambling to Midoriya on the bus. About how you couldn’t beat the nightmare. About how you’d been trying for weeks. And now he’s… offering?

You study him, unsure. His face is blank, but his ears are a little red, and he won’t quite meet your eyes.

It’s weird. Kinda sweet, though. Not that you’d say that out loud.

“Why?” you ask instead, arms crossing over your chest. “So you can carry and act like you’re better than me the whole time?”

He scoffs, but there’s a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I am better than you,” he mutters. “Just figured I’d prove it.”

You smirk a little despite yourself, shaking your head. Typical. But you get it, this is him trying. In his own weird, half-aggressive way, he’s reaching out. And that does something to you, even if you’re still a little mad, a little hurt. It’s complicated.

You let out a quiet breath. “Fine."

He turns, heading toward a narrow path between the trees. His pace is slow, not rushed, and he doesn’t say anything els, but you notice how he glances back once, making sure you’re following.

You are.

The path stretches out in front of you, trees thinning as you follow Bakugo through the quieter side of camp. Your head still aches, a dull throb pulsing behind your temples, but you grit your teeth and keep walking. You’re fine. Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. 

Bakugo's a few steps ahead, his shoulders tense but steady. You notice the way he moves. pushing branches out of the way, kicking aside rocks without making a big deal out of it. It’s subtle, but it’s not random. He’s clearing the path for you. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s making sure you don’t trip again. It throws you a little.

The ground shifts under your feet, turning softer and easier to walk on. Less chance of falling. Still, the way he keeps glancing back every now and then, it does something weird to your chest.

You decide to break the quiet. “How do you even know where this path goes?” you ask, voice low, just enough to reach him.

He doesn’t stop walking, just shrugs like it’s obvious. “I walk here when I don’t wanna deal with the others. Too loud.” 

You glance over at him, his face unreadable. “Didn’t think you’d do that"

He snorts. “I’m not. Just like when people shut the fuck up.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. That tracks. Still, it’s kind of funny imagining him storming off just to find peace and quiet.

A few minutes pass in silence before he subtly shifts again, nudging a stick out of your way with his shoes. You catch it this time.

“Weirdo,” you mutter, raising a brow.

“I heard that” he says without looking at you. His voice is sharp, but not mean. If anything, it feels like his way of saying I noticed.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small tug at your lips. You’re not used to this version of him. It's weirdly... decent.

He keeps glancing at you every now and then, like he’s checking for signs you’ll drop. The first time he speaks up again, it’s short.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you answer quickly. “I’m fine.”

But a minute later, he asks again. “Seriously.”

You glance at him and his eyes actually meet yours for a second before flicking away. That brief flicker of care makes your chest tighten.

“I said I’m okay,” you say, a little firmer this time. “It’s not that bad.”

He grunts, clearly not buying it. As you walk, he stops briefly to toe a small stone off the trail. Doesn’t say anything, just keeps going.

Then, after a beat: “If you’re dizzy or anything, just say it.”

His voice is low, almost grumbled. But there’s no bite. It’s the concern that catches you off guard again.

You shake your head. “I’m not. Just sore.”

He nods once, accepting the answer, but he doesn’t stop looking back every few steps. Every time, it’s another quiet check-in:

“You sure?”

“You still good?”

“Don’t push it.”

"Be careful"

Each one is gruff, like the words physically pain him to say. But he says them anyway, and they settle in your chest like something warm and heavy. 

By the time you reach the clearing, the reception bar on your phone flickers back to life. The signal spot’s just a bench under a tall tree, nothing special, but it feels like something shifts the second you both stop walking.

You take a breath. He stands next to you, arms crossed, eyes on the sky like he’s pretending he didn’t just play trail guide the entire way here.

You look at him, taking in the way he’s still keeping just close enough to catch you if you wobbled. And maybe that’s what gets you, the fact that he hasn’t walked off, hasn’t brushed this whole thing off like he usually would.

He drops down beside you, leaving a careful gap between your shoulders. His presence isn’t exactly comforting. It’s not like Monoma’s had been. Monoma was warm. Like a weighted blanket after a bad day. Bakugo, though? He’s the opposite. Raw and tense, like sitting next to a live wire that might spark at any second.

There’s no real reason to be nervous, but your heart won’t calm down. You shift slightly, trying to shake it off.

Then your brain betrays you.

You remember that day, his voice, the way he hurted your feelings. The sting comes back instantly, that same hot flush of embarrassment prickling at your skin.

But right on its heels, another memory rushes in. One you’ve been trying not to think about.

The kiss.

That messy, charged moment after he carried you home from Mina’s party. Your face heats up. What even was that? Was it a mistake? Did he regret it?

The thought of playing with him feels stupid now. Like... what are you even doing? Acting normal? After that?

You let out a small laugh under your breath and immediately regret it. Great. Now you’re the weirdo laughing at nothing. You focus hard on the fallen tree trunk in front of you, willing your face to cool down.

Beside you, Bakugo pulls out his phone. The screen lights up. You catch a quick glance as he types in his passcode—1225. You weren’t trying to look, but now your brain won’t stop spinning.

December 25th?

A birthday? An anniversary?

You shake it off. Doesn’t matter.

You pull out your own phone, the signal finally catching, two bars, barely enough, but it’s something.

Then he speaks, voice low but not as sharp this time. “What’s your username?”

You look over at him. His expression’s neutral, but something about it feels like he’s waiting for your reaction. Maybe even nervous.

You hesitate for a second, thumb hovering over your screen, then quickly type it in and send the friend request without saying anything out loud.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You squint at your screen, watching the signal bar twitch between one bar and none, like it’s mocking you. Bakugo sits beside you, quiet, his thumb hovering over the app but not tapping it. It’s clear he’s waiting to see if the connection holds, but after a few more seconds, he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“Nah” he mutters. “Shit connection.”

You sigh, “Figures. I finally get roped into playing with you and the universe blocks it"

He grunts in agreement, but doesn’t move to leave. He stays planted beside you, one knee up, arms resting over it, eyes on the treetops.

You close your eyes for a second, letting the silence settle. It’s not uncomfortable, not really.

Then, without thinking, you start talking.

“I used to think signal was a sign from the universe,” you say, staring up at the clouds. “Like, if the bars dropped, it meant I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. Total main character complex, I know.”

Bakugo doesn’t respond, but you catch the tiny twitch in his eyebrow. He’s listening.

“I had this weird superstition about it in middle school,” you continue, your voice easy now, casual. “Like, if I texted someone and the message failed to send, I’d take it as a cosmic ‘shut up.’ Sometimes I’d delete it and pretend I never wanted to send it in the first place.”

You pause. Still no response. 

“I guess I still kinda do that,” you add, softer this time. “Let silence speak for me. Or I wait for signs. Dumb, huh?”

“Not dumb,” he says after a beat, his voice low.

It catches you off guard. You glance over, but he’s still looking ahead, like he didn’t just say something oddly validating. You let it sit for a second before going on.

“Sometimes I talk too much when I’m nervous,” you admit. “Like now. I know you’re not a talker. You’re more of a... silently glare at people until they crack type.”

That earns a very faint huff. You almost smile.

“But talking helps me feel real, y’know?” you say, fingers fiddling. “Like if I say enough things, I won’t spiral. I won’t overthink. I’ll just... exist in the noise I create.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Then talk,” he says, still not looking at you. “I don’t mind.”

Your breath catches a little at that, not because of the words, but the way he said them. 

So you keep talking. About random things. How you used to write dramatic poetry in your Notes app. How you’re convinced pigeons are government spies. How you once ghosted a guy because he called spaghetti “noodle soup.” Dumb, funny, chaotic things. You’re handing him little pieces of yourself, like petals pulled from a flower. Offered one by one without knowing if he’ll keep them or let them drift away.

And the weird part? He listens.

He doesn’t interrupt. Just sits there, quiet, like a wall you can lean against.

The game never loads. Your phones stay forgotten in your laps.

But something else settles in. A thread pulling taut between you and him.

You glance at him. He meets your gaze, unreadable as always.

“Tch,” he mutters, eyes flicking away. “You’re weird.”

You smile. “Takes one to know one.”

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

He’s messing around on his phone, scrolling or pretending to. But then you feel his eyes shift. You look up, and sure enough, he’s watching you. Not in a weird way, just kind of... quietly. He probably forgot to look away fast enough.

You catch his gaze “What?” you ask, voice soft but not shy.

He pauses like he got caught. Then shrugs. “Nothing,” he says quickly and flicks his eyes back to the screen. You wouldn’t even think anything of it, except his ears turn slightly red.

You blink. “Okay… well, that didn’t look like nothing.”

“It is,” he mumbles.

You squint at him. “You’re acting weird.”

“You’re acting nosy,” he shoots back and you laugh under your breath and shake your head. “Really weirdo.”

After a short pause, he speaks again, lower this time. “That Monoma… Is he a thing for you?”

The question catches you off guard. Your face heating up. “No,” you say quickly. “We’re just friends.”

You say it with a little too much certainty, You're trying to convince both him and yourself. Still, it’s true. Mostly.

You shift on the edge of the bench. But the question lingers in your mind. Then your eyes caught something, a tiny flash of light floating by, and you gasped.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “A firefly.”

You stood up without thinking, your eyes following the gentle glow as it drifted through the clearing. “That’s only the second one I’ve ever seen,” you said, grinning. “Last time was when I was like, six? It flew into our backyard. It was just one, too. I thought it was magic or something.”

Bakugo stayed seated, arms crossed loosely, watching you with a raised brow.

You turned to him, still smiling. “Aren’t they cool? They’re like… little flying lights.”

He shrugged. “It’s just a bug.”

You made a face. “No, it’s not just a bug. It’s a firefly, Bakugo. Like… proof nature’s still got some magic left.”

“Magic, huh,” he muttered under his breath.

You ignored his sarcasm and looked up at the sky, which was now streaked with soft oranges and pinks, the clouds thin and glowing. “I love this time of day,” you said quietly. “Golden hour. Everything feels enchanted.”

He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“I really love nature,” you added, sitting back down beside him. “Like… the animals, trees, all that. I used to want to catch a firefly so bad, but I never did.”

He glanced at you. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want it to die in a jar,” you said simply. “They’re better out here.”

Katsuki scoffed lightly. “You sound like a kid.”

You turned your head, meeting his eyes. “No, I sound like someone who cares about the earth,” you said honestly.

You both fall into an easy rhythm, just talking. Nothing serious, but still... kinda personal. Stuff about old classmates, weird dreams, food you hate, stuff like that. He’s mostly quiet, just listening, throwing in a dry comment here and there, but you can tell he’s actually paying attention. Every now and then, you catch him looking at you.

You’re mid-sentence about some dumb thing you saw online when he cuts in.

“Wanna walk a bit more?” he asks, eyes flicking to the trail ahead.

You blink. “Oh. Uh, yeah—sure.”

You try to sound casual, like it’s no big deal, but your brain is spiraling a little. Why does this feel like... something? It’s just a walk. People walk all the time. But the way he said it, makes your heart do this weird thing. It’s stupid. You’ve walked with people before. This shouldn’t feel different but it does.

Bakugo doesn’t say anything right after, just starts walking ahead a bit, He looks calm, like always, but inside, he’s overthinking too.

Why did he ask that? A walk? What the hell was that about?

It just came out before he could stop it. She was talking, and he wasn’t even really listening to the words anymore, he was just watching her. 

Her hands moving when she talked. The way she looked around like the forest was a painting. The way her face scrunched up when she was trying to remember something. And suddenly the idea of the conversation ending felt weirdly... disappointing.

So yeah, he asked. And now he’s wondering if she thinks it’s weird. Or if she noticed how his voice sounded a little off when he said it.

You catch up beside him, and neither of you talks for a few seconds. 

Then it happens.

A spider drops from a tree branch right in front of you.

You don’t even think. “AH—!”

You squeak, jumping back and practically launching yourself behind Bakugo, He doesn’t flinch. At all. He just stands there, completely unbothered, glancing over his shoulder at you like you’re the weirdo.

“Seriously?” he says, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t judge me,” you mutter from behind him, still clinging to his tank top .

“It’s literally a spider. It’s not even moving.”

You peek around his shoulder and immediately hide again. “It has too many legs.”

“That’s… what spiders have.”

“Exactly!”

He sighs and steps forward. “I’ll kill it.”

“No!” You grab his bicep. “Don’t kill it!”

He turns to you, actually looking confused. “You just freaked out and hid behind me, and now you don’t want me to kill it?”

“I’m scared of it, but that doesn’t mean it should die!” you say quickly. “It’s just small! Like, look at it—it’s not doing anything. We can just walk around it.”

He stares at you for a second, completely deadpan. “So you want me to leave the spider, but also protect you from it?”

“…Yes?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“You’re the one walking through the forest like this is normal. What if it jumps on your face?”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

He steps closer to it anyway, and you immediately pull on his bicep again.

“Okay, okay, let’s just go the other way,” you say, backing up and tugging on him a little. “There’s literally like three other paths. Let’s just pick a different one.”

“You’re literally avoiding a spider"

“And you’re underestimating how fast those things move!”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, barely noticeable, but you catch it. For a second, his expression softens, and you swear there’s something amused in his eyes.

“Fine. We’ll go the other way, coward.” You don’t even mind the insult. Not when he’s walking next to you again.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The forest path stretched ahead, winding through tall trees and patches of sunlight. Well, technically you were walking. Bakugo was walking in silence. You were talking. 

And talking.

And talking.

A lot.

Mostly about random stuff, He didn’t say much, but he wasn’t ignoring you either. He gave little grunts or half-smirks now and then, and every once in a while, he actually responded like he was kind of interested.

“And I’m just saying,” you continued, waving your hands around as you stomped over a rock, “the egg obviously came first. Evolution, duh. Something had to lay an egg that eventually hatched into what we now call a chicken.”

“It doesn’t even make sense,” he muttered, side-eyeing you. “How would there be an egg if the chicken didn’t exist first to lay it?”

“Okay, but you’re ignoring biology,” you argued, pointing a finger at him like you were giving a TED Talk in the middle of the woods. “The creature that laid the egg wasn’t technically a chicken yet. It was some pre-chicken dinosaur bird whatever hybrid. The egg mutated. Bam—first chicken.”

He snorted. “You’re literally making that up.”

“I’m not! It’s scientific—look it up.”

“I’m not looking up chicken history on my phone. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like what?”

“…Shut up.”

Honestly, it felt good to just bicker with him like this. It wasn’t serious tho it was just dumb fun. And the fact that he didn’t tell you to shut up for real or walk ahead to avoid you meant something. At least to you. He was still listening. 

You were mid-rant about evolution and chickens when you noticed him stop walking. You kept going a few steps before you paused and turned back.

“What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, squinting slightly at you.

“…What?” you asked again, slower this time. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He raised a brow and stepped toward you, snickering. “Don’t move.”

Your stomach dropped. “Why?”

“There’s a spider in your hair.”

You froze.

“WHAT?!”

Your hands immediately flew to your head, fingers shaking as you frantically patted at your scalp. “GET IT OUT—GET IT OUT RIGHT NOW—”

“Stop moving—you're just making it crawl more.”

That sentence made you lose all control. You let out a loud, panicked screech, thrashing like your hair was on fire.

“GET IT OUT, BAKUGO, I SWEAR TO—”

He laughed.

He actually laughed. Full-on chest-shaking, smirky-ass laugh, right in your face.

“DAMN,” he wheezed, grabbing your shoulders to stop you from flailing. “You’re such a freak, calm down.”

“I CAN’T—IS IT STILL ON ME?!”

“Yeah,” he said between chuckles, “but it’s—oh—wait—”

You reached up again and slapped your hair in pure panic. Hard.

A tiny crunch followed.

The horror hit you immediately.

“...I think I killed it,” you whispered, slowly pulling your hand back and seeing the tiny remains. “Oh my god.”

Bakugo stepped back, eyes wide. “You killed the spider.”

You stared at him, horrified. “You didn’t help me fast enough!”

“You literally smacked it to death!”

“I panicked!”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “Poor guy. Probably just taking a nap in your hair. Murdered in cold blood.”

You glared. “Shut up.”

“I should call animal control.”

“I SAID SHUT UP—”

“I mean, you freaked out over a spider and then killed it. You’re unstable.”

“Okay, you know what?” you snapped, turning away dramatically. “Give me a stick.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m going to bury it.”

“…What?”

“I’m serious. I need a stick. Or a leaf. Something to scoop it. He deserves a burial.”

“You want me to help you bury a dead spider?”

“Yes!”

“Are we having a funeral too, or—?”

You spun to glare at him again.

He sighed, muttering under his breath. “This girl’s seriously unhinged.”

Still… he crouched down, picked up a twig, and helped you gently scoop what was left of the spider. You found a small patch of dirt near a tree and dug a tiny hole with your shoe. Katsuki stood there like he was debating every life choice he ever made that led to this moment.

“I hope he comes back as a butterfly,” you said softly, covering the spider with dirt. Katsuki stared blankly. “You need therapy.”

“And you need to learn compassion,” you replied, standing up and dusting off your hands.

He smirked. “If you cry over this, I’m leaving you in the woods.” You didn’t cry. But when he started walking again, you noticed he slowed down, just a little, so you could walk next to him again.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

By the time you both started heading back toward the camp, the sky had darkened and stars were starting to peek through. The air had that cool, early evening feel where you weren’t sure if you were cold or just tired.

You stretched your arms above your head with a small groan. “Ugh, my legs are gonna hate me tomorrow.”

“Told you to stop walking in circles earlier,” Bakugo muttered.

“I was exploring, thank you.”

He rolled his eyes, the silence was kinda nice for a second. Peaceful. Until—

“GO! GO! I’M COUNTING TO TWENTY!”

A loud voice echoed through the trees, followed by the sound of running footsteps and laughter. You both turned your heads toward the noise.

“…Are they seriously playing hide and seek?” you asked, blinking.

Bakugo groaned under his breath. “Fucking college students.”

“…We’re also college students,” you pointed out.

“Not the same,” he grumbled. “I have a brain.”

You snorted. “Wow. Such maturity.” You stepped over a branch and glanced at him, raising a brow. “Says the guy who acted all childish earlier and nearly gave me a concussion.”

He shot you a look. “I did apologize, didn’t I? And I wasn’t the one who shoved you.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. “Well, duh—you were with her.”

“That girl was annoying,” he muttered. “And Monoma was worse.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “Still. You were acting childish.”

His jaw tensed, eyes narrowing a little. “Monoma pisses me off.”

You sighed. “I just don’t get why you’re so mad at him when he’s kind of a victim too. Just saying.”

The second those words left your mouth, you knew you fucked up. You felt it. The sudden pause in his step. The way his head turned toward you a bit slower than usual. You kept walking for a second like nothing happened, but your brain was already screaming abort mission abort abort abort—

“…What the fuck do you mean by that?"

“Huh?”

He stopped. You did too, reluctantly. His stare was sharp.

“How the hell do you know that?”

You tried to play dumb. “Know what?”

His eyes narrowed more. “Don’t mess with me. That wasn’t just guessing. You said it like you knew.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again, and looked away. Shit. Shitshitshit. Why couldn’t you just keep your damn mouth shut?

“I dunno,” you muttered, brushing some hair behind your ear. 

The moment you said that, something shifted in his expression. It wasn’t rage it was worse. A quiet, cold realization.

“So that bastard’s out here sharing shit about me now?”

Your heart jumped. “I mean—not like that! He didn’t say anything mean, it was just… I don’t even know the full story, okay? He was just talking and I didn’t—”

“You knew,” he cut in, voice low. “You knew something personal"

You opened your mouth again, trying to fix it, but before either of you could say another word—

“THERE’S SOMEONE OVER HERE—GO, GO!”

Voices. Footsteps. Flashlight beams through the trees.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god—they’re still playing?!”

Katsuki cursed under his breath. “Nope. Not dealing with that.”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you off the trail. You stumbled after him, whisper-yelling, “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Shut up—they’re gonna see us!”

“I don’t care!”

“I do!”

You both ducked behind a big tree, crouched low in the bush. You were practically pressed up against him now, trying not to breathe too loud while the sound of students laughing got closer.

“This is so stupid,” you hissed. “We look like we're on the run"

“They’ll ask questions if they see us,” he muttered, peeking around the tree. “I’m not in the mood.”

“What, like ‘why were you walking alone with a girl’ questions?”

He didn’t answer, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.

You narrowed your eyes. “You do care.”

“Shut up.”

You leaned closer, smirking a little now despite the situation. “Bakugo, is your reputation really gonna crumble if someone sees you not being a complete jackass?”

He glared at you. “Keep talking and I’m throwing you out of this bush.” he grabbed your arms and you thought he was just pulling you off the trail somewhere quick and quiet. Maybe behind another tree or into a bush. But no. Of course not. That would’ve been too normal.

Instead, Bakugo dragged you straight toward an old, broken-down cottage hidden behind a thick patch of trees. It looked abandoned as hell. Dusty windows. Cracked wooden frame. Creepy energy for days.

You stopped dead in your tracks. “Wait, wait—what the hell? We’re not going in there, right?”

“Yeah, we are,” he said like it was obvious, yanking open the door like he owned the place.

You stared at him. “Bakugo, this is trespassing.”

He gave you a look. “It’s not trespassing if no one owns it.” He ignored you and stepped inside like it was no big deal. You stood there for a second, completely baffled. Then the sound of voices nearby made your heart skip and—ugh, fine. You followed him in.

The air inside was musty. Dust danced in the faint beam of moonlight slipping through a cracked window. There were cobwebs in the corners and a weird smell that you couldn’t place. Old wood? Dead leaves? Abandoned vibes in general? You nearly gag because you're a princess. Well, not really. But you nearly act like one because of the way you react right now.

Bakugo closed the door softly behind you and you spun toward him. “Seriously, what is wrong with you? We could get arrested or cursed or—” Before you could finish, he suddenly reached out and slapped a hand over your mouth.

Your eyes went wide. “Mmph?!”

“Shhh.” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “Someone’s outside.”

Your whole body froze. Footsteps were crunching outside, laughing and talking. You didn’t recognize all the voices, but you could tell they were close.

And you also realized how close he was.

Bakugo had pulled you back into the shadows of the room, and now you were basically backed up against the wall, chest-to-chest, with his hand still covering your mouth. You were so close, you could feel the heat coming off his skin. His breath hit your cheek, It felt weird. And kind of sweet. But also weird. But also…

Ugh.

You frowned at yourself in your head. Stop thinking it’s sweet. It’s not sweet. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. This whole night is annoying—

But then you heard voices again, clearer this time.

“…I checked the cottage already, man. She’s not in there.”

Your heart stopped. Monoma?

“You really went all the way over there?” another voice asked—Sen, probably.

“Yeah. I just wanna know if she’s okay,” Monoma answered.

Someone laughed lightly. “You care about her, huh?”

“I barely know her,” Monoma said, “but I dunno… I wanna. She seems cool. Kinda funny, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Wait, what?

You didn’t even realize you were reacting until you started trying to pull Bakugo's hand off your mouth. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at you. But his face, something about it changed. His thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He didn’t speak. Just kept his hand where it was, like he was thinking too hard to care that you were trying to pry it off.

Your fingers tugged at his wrist again, more insistent this time. You gave him a look, like dude, let go already, and finally FINALLY he slowly moved his hand away. Your heart was racing for way too many reasons, and none of them had anything to do with being caught.

Students were probably too chicken to come near the place, which honestly worked in your favor. You were tucked into one side of the room, sitting on a half-broken bench while Bakugo leaned against the opposite wall. Neither of you really said much for a bit.

Then, out of nowhere, Bakugo muttered, “Did he say anything about me?” You looked over at him. His voice was quiet but guarded

“Monoma?” you asked. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, and you hesitated before speaking. “Uh… I mean. Yeah. Kinda.”

You kept your voice soft and careful. “Just… stuff about what happened between you guys. But he didn’t really go into detail.” You kept it vague on purpose. You weren’t even sure if what Monoma told you was the full truth. Honestly, you didn’t want to get involved in their drama. But the way Bakugo sat there made you wonder how bad it really was.

You stand and glanced at him again, and just as you did, a small piece of your hair blew across your cheek from a breeze slipping through the cracked walls. You started to reach for it, but he beat you to it.

Bakugo leaned in, reaching out and brushing the strand off your face with two fingers. It was a small thing, quick even, but it made you pause completely.

Your eyes lifted to meet his, and his hand lingered just a second longer than it needed to.

“What?” he asked, noticing the way you were staring.

You blinked. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

You didn’t know why, but your brain instantly jumped to that thought. Like, was he gonna kiss you again? Was it happening right now? Was this the moment?

You swallowed, heart thumping, and without even realizing it… you leaned in. Just slightly.

He didn’t move. He just stayed there. Watching you. 

And that’s when it hit you, you were doing this alone. You were leaning in like a total idiot. Oh my god.

You panicked and sat back so fast, it was almost like you’d been burned. Your eyes darted away. “I—I wasn’t—uh, I just…” you stammered, voice cracking halfway through.

His voice cut through the awkward tension. “Were you gonna kiss me?”

Your whole face lit up with heat. Your neck, your ears, even your scalp felt warm. “What? No. No way. Why would I—?”

He gave you that look, the one that made it feel like he could see every stupid thought in your head. Like your face wasn’t doing a very good job hiding anything right now.

You scrambled to recover. “I was just… shifting positions. My back hurts.”

“Sure,” he said flatly, not buying it for a second.

“I was!” you insisted, crossing your arms defensively like that would somehow erase the embarrassment crawling all over your skin.

He raised one eyebrow, that classic 'okay dumbass, keep lying' expression all over his face. He didn’t even have to speak. It was the judgmental silence for you.

You looked away again, trying to act unbothered, but your body was still buzzing. It was like your nerves didn’t get the message that this was not, in fact, a kiss scene. This was humiliation in real-time.

Then, like the jerk he was, he leaned back a little against the wall, arms relaxed, voice casual as hell.

“You ever kissed someone before?”

You snapped your eyes to him, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He smirked, cocky. “Simple yes or no.”

“I mean… yeah,” you muttered, instantly regretting it. It came out way too fast. Way too defensive.

He tilted his head, like he was sizing you up. “Middle school, huh?”

You squinted at him, deadpan. “You don’t know that.”

“I can just tell.”

You huffed, standing once again trying to ignore how dead-on accurate that guess was. Of course, he could tell. It wasn’t like you were out here kissing guys left and right. Your middle school relationship barely counted and lasted what? Two weeks? Bakugo didn’t push further though. He just sat there, slightly slouched.

“You remember Ashido’s party?”

The question hit fast, like it had been waiting in his throat for a while.

You hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah.”

His eyes serious like he was trying to read something off your face. “You were drunk,” he said.

“So were you,” you replied, voice low.

He gave a short nod. Then, after a beat, he asked, “But you remember it?”

Your mouth felt dry. You did. Every second. It had stayed with you longer than you’d admit. “Yeah. I do,” you said quietly.

He didn’t react right away. Just kept looking at you, eyes drifting over your face like he was trying to find something. The tension in the air started to shift heavier now, but not in a bad way. More like something unspoken was right on the edge of breaking through.

And then he said it.

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

Your mouth opened, and the answer came out too fast. “No.”

You wanted to take it back. Or at least explain. But nothing came out. The silence came back, thicker than before.

You wondered if he could tell, if he knew the truth behind your answer. That it wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him. It was that the idea of actually wanting it scared you more than the kiss itself.

He raised an eyebrow, voice steady. “You sure?”

But before you can talk, his hand grabs your cheeks and he crashes his lips into yours. He kisses you desperately, hungrier than the first time, trying to steal every bit of your breath, swallowing your saliva, devouring you as if he can’t get enough. You’re frozen, overwhelmed, unsure what to do.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your body is pressed against his chest. You go soft instantly, completely useless in his arms. Your hands freeze midair, unsure where to go, while his other arm wraps around your waist and pulls you in tighter.

A small, muffled gasp slips out of you. You’re terrible at this and it shows. You’ve never kissed like this before, not with this kind of intensity. Your lips move wrong, You try to keep up, but you’re fumbling, and he can tell. He pulls back just enough to let you catch your breath.

A shaky breath slips past your lips, chest rising and falling way too fast. Heat floods your face, and when your eyes meet his, it’s clear—he’s nowhere near done.

Before thought can catch up, he leans in again. His mouth meets yours, slower this time, but deeper, more intentional. His tongue brushes your lips, then slides past them, and your eyes snap open. The sensation hits hard and wet but almost warm, completely unfamiliar. He moves with a confidence that makes it clear he knows exactly what he’s doing and you don’t.

Everything goes tense. Hands hover in the air, awkward and useless. Lips part too late, and the response is clumsy at best. It’s bad, obviously bad, and the self-consciousness only makes it worse.

But after a few seconds, the panic starts to loosen its grip. Shoulders drop. Fingers finally shift, resting lightly against his chest. The rhythm slowly clicks into place. Movements grow less stiff, lips learning the shape of his, tongue still shy but starting to respond.

His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you in so close that your thighs bump into his. The kiss slows down. It’s still intense, but not as rushed. You lean into it, letting your fingers curl into his shirt as you try to kiss him back properly. It’s still messy. Still uneven. You’re learning in real-time, and he can tell.

Then the kiss breaks.

For a second, he gasps for air, his mouth still hovering close to yours.

Your lips are still tingling. Your chest is rising and falling like you ran a mile. You realize you’re gripping his shirt, and his arms have loosened but not fully let go. He’s breathing just as hard

The two of you stand there. Thoughts scatter in every direction. What the hell just happened?

“I—uh—” you start, but your voice is too loud in the silence. You drop your hands from his chest. They twitch at your sides. You’re completely overwhelmed, and it’s spilling out in awkward stammering.

Bakugo rubs the back of his neck, his eyes shifting away for a second. “Tch… my mouth moves on its own…” he mutters, barely above a whisper.

Your hand flies up before you even think. A quick, sharp slap hits his cheek. The sound echoes in the quiet room, and you freeze, your hand still half-raised.

“Why the hell did you kiss me?!” you snap, voice shaking. You’re not even sure if you’re mad or just embarrassed. Maybe both.

Bakugo’s head turns slightly from the hit. A faint red mark blooms on his cheek. He stares at you like he can’t believe it just happened.

“You’re the one who leaned in first, dumbass,” he fires back, voice defensive. He rubs his face, his brows pulled together. “Don’t act like I forced you.”

You cross your arms over your chest, trying to calm yourself down, but your whole body feels overheated. “That’s not— I didn’t mean to!” The words tumble out. “You’re the one who asked if I wanted to kiss you and I said no!”

He scoffs and folds his arms, mirroring you. “Eh?” He gives you a look. “You were all over me.”

Your eyes widen. “I wasn’t!” Your voice cracks. “You kissed me!”

You take a step back and hit the wall behind you. Dust falls from the wood, and you flinch. Everything feels too much. And the worst part? He’s kind of right. You don’t want to admit it, but your lips are still looking for him.

He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. He lets out a long, frustrated breath.

“You didn’t pull away,” he says, this time softer. The anger is gone. He’s just stating it.

You can feel him watching you, but you can’t look at him. You’re too embarrassed.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you mutter, clenching your fists. “You’re so annoying.”

You turn your head away, trying to block out the memory of the kiss, but it’s stuck on repeat. The way he held you. The way it felt. How it still feels.

He steps closer, stopping a foot awa but he doesn’t touch you.

“You started it,” he says. 

You glare at him, even though you know he’s not wrong. “Shut your mouth. Zip it.”

Your arms tighten around yourself like you’re trying to hold everything in, but the tension won’t go away. You’re stuck in this weird space between what the hell just happened and what the hell happens now.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

You didn’t know what to feel. Everything in you wanted to bolt, to scream, to get out of here before this turned into something else.

“Zip it, huh?” His voice was rough, but there was a smirk tugging at his lips now, he stepped forward, shoes scuffing the dusty floor. “You’re real mouthy for someone who leaned in like that.”

Your stomach turned. Heat crept up your face. He was loving this, clearly. It made your blood boil. And still, you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was. How his breath smelled faintly of—Seriously? Why now?

“Back off,” you snap sharper than you meant. “You’re the one who—who—”

You lose your grip on the sentence. He’s just standing there, eyes locked on yours, annoyingly calm and way too good-looking for your brain to function. 

“You attacked me,” you blurt. Then, quieter, “With your face.”

He didn’t back off. Instead, he stepped in again, closing the space between you without a word. That annoying smirk still tugged at his lips, but it was his eyes that got to you, holding your gaze like he was undressing you with just a look. 

Totally eye fucking you at this point.

He was way too close. His face was on the edge of a full on laugh, eyes locked on yours, and he wouldn’t stop staring. It was driving you insane, you were two seconds away from headbutting him.

“Attacked you?” he repeated, voice dropping. “Pretty sure you were right there with me, Y/n.” He leaned closer, one hand braced against the wall beside your head.

Your breath hitched. He was too close. Too calm. You slapped your hand over your mouth, panicked. His brows lifted slightly, and the smirk faded into something quieter, more amused than cocky.

You were cornered, and you could feel it. But he wasn’t just teasing anymore. His eyes said too much and none of it felt harmless.

There was something about Bakugo that messed with your head. Your thoughts spiraled in seconds—Oh my god. He’s gonna kiss me again. I’m not ready. I need to move before I do something dumb.

“Why’re you covering your mouth?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Think I’m gonna try somethin’?”

You swallowed, hard. Your hand stayed in place, heart still racing. The worst part? He wasn’t wrong—and that’s exactly what scared you. Being around him felt dangerous, but not in the way it should. You didn’t even trust yourself.

You looked at the door. Back at him. Then finally let your hand fall, hoping he couldn’t tell how much your nerves were shot.

“We need to go back,” you said. Your voice wavered a little, but you stood your ground. “People are gonna notice we’re gone.”

He stayed still for a second, just looking at you. Then he leaned in, not rushing it, almost like he was waiting for a sign to keep going.

You turned your head quickly, and his lips brushed your cheek instead. Your breath caught in your throat. He pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing as he looked at you, reading your face.

Then he leaned in again, this time aiming closer to your lips. You dodged again, but just barely, his mouth catching the corner of yours. Not a real kiss, but close enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“Can you just stop avoiding me?” he said, tone low but steady. His gaze dipped to your lips, then locked back on your eyes. “You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be.”

You stared at him, trying to hold onto your anger, to anything that kept you grounded. But your chest was tight, and your mind was a mess. You didn’t say anything, you just stepped toward the door, needing the space.

“You’re a pervert,” you muttered, speeding up. ”Who the hell says ‘just one kiss’? Idiot. You kissed me like I dunno... lot of times." 

“Twice,” he corrected, his voice casual as his shoes scraped lightly against the ground. He trailed after her, keeping just enough distance.

“We should head back,” you said, turning to face him. “People are probably freaking out by now.”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Firelight flickers across everyone’s faces, some students gathered in worried huddles, a few teachers pacing around. Hizashi’s talking a mile a minute to Aizawa, who looks completely over it.

Your stomach sinks. You didn’t mean to cause this much panic.

Kaminari’s the first to notice. “Yo, they’re back!” he shouts, way too loud. Heads snap around. The whole vibe shifts, relief washes over everyone fast.

Mina sprints over, eyes wide. Ochaco and Jiro followed her

Bakugo walks off before anyone even really registers he was with you. He heads straight to his friends like nothing happened. 

You catch him glancing at the crowd, shoulders tense. And just like that, he’s back to being distant. Everything that happened in the cottage? It’s like it didn’t even matter.

What’s his deal? Is he seriously messing with you?

Mina grabs your arm. “Y/n, what the hell?” Her voice is high-pitched with panic, but the relief’s obvious too. “You can’t just vanish! You hit your head, remember? I made you food. It’s cold now!”

You looked at her. “Sorry—”

“Where were you?” she cuts in, grabbing your arm tight. Her voice cracks a little, and her eyes are glossy “Do you have any idea how freaked out we were? I thought something happened to you, Gosh, Y/n, you can’t just disappear like that!”

Before you can explain, Hizashi’s voice booms. He’s marching over with Ms. Nemuri, Aizawa trailing behind looking half-dead. Nemuri’s arms are crossed tight, and her expression is all business.

“You two,” Hizashi says, pointing between you and Bakugo. “What part of ‘don’t wander off’ didn’t land?"

You glance at Bakugo. He’s a few feet away, staring at the ground like none of this has anything to do with him. Of course.

You step forward. “We got lost,” you lied. “Sorry. We didn’t think it would get that bad.”

Nemuri sighs, her arms still crossed. “As your adviser, I was seriously worried. You’re lucky nothing bad happened. Stay close next time."

Hizashi claps his hands, loud enough to snap everyone’s attention. “Alright! That’s enough drama for one night. No more sneaking off"

He points between you and Bakugou, eyebrows raised like a disappointed dad but there’s still that usual energy in his voice.

Everyone starts to relax again, and the teachers head back to the fire.

Mina doesn’t let go of your arm. She pulls you toward a log and plops you down. “Seriously, that was messed up. You scared me.”

She hands you the new plate of food. You poke at it, not really hungry.

“Why were you with Katsuki, hmm?” Mina asks softly. She’s not being nosy, just genuinely trying to understand. Her eyes flick to your face. You can tell she already knows something. Because she does.

Kirishima told her. And while he’s not the type to spill secrets, especially not Bakugo’s. He couldn’t keep quiet about this one. He knew what Bakugo was doing wasn’t fair to you, and Mina’s been worried ever since. But you? You’re still in the dark.

You looked at her, forcing a shrug even though your heart’s kind of freaking out.

“We just… bumped into each other,” you lie, voice a little too casual. “Didn’t even talk at first. I was walking and he was there. That’s it.”

Mina raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. So you keep going.

“We didn’t do anything weird, okay?” You add quickly. “We just ended up walking back together. That’s all.”

It’s not a great cover, and you can tell she’s clocking how weird you sound. But she doesn’t call you out. She just gives you this look like she wants to say more but isn’t sure if now’s the time.

You look down at your plate and stab a piece of food just to have something to do.

The last thing you need is anyone digging deeper into whatever this is. Not when you barely understand it yourself.

But your eyes keep drifting over to Bakugo.

He’s half-listening to Kirishima, throwing out the occasional grunt or nod, but it’s obvious he’s not into the conversation. And he hasn’t looked at you once. Of course.

"Such a dick," you mutter, stabbing a rice harder than necessary. You glance at him again. His jaw tightens when Kaminari says something dumb. It just makes you more annoyed. "You know what? Fine. I’ll ignore him too. Pretend he doesn’t exist. Way better." 

You nod like that settles it, even though there’s a weird tightness in your chest when you say it. Mina’s still talking, but it all fades into background noise as you keep glaring in Bakugo's direction. 

You sigh and look back at your plate.

“Y/n!”

You look up. Monoma’s weaving through the crowd with his usual smirk, though this time it’s softened a bit, almost like he’s relieved.

“There you are. Where’d you disappear to? I was starting to think you fell in a ravine or something.”

His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes flick across your face, his eyes checking if you’re actually okay. You quickly set your plate down and shrug.

“Just went for a walk. Got a little lost. No big deal.” It’s a weak excuse and you both know it, but Monoma doesn’t push. He just raises a brow, smirk twitching like he’s not convinced.

He drops down on the log next to you, his shoulder brushes yours. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Bakugou’s head turn just slightly and his eyes narrow for a second before he looks away, jaw clenched even tighter than before. 

Monoma keeps talking like he didn’t notice anything.

“A walk, huh? Kinda bold, disappearing while everyone’s losing their minds.” He laughs softly. “Next time, maybe take your favorite tour guide with you. Me obviously"

You roll your eyes, but a small smile slips out anyway. That’s the thing about Monoma, he’s always easy to talk to. Always says just enough to pull you out of your head, without forcing it.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugo leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching her.

Y/n was sitting across the fire, next to Monoma. Her head tilted back a little as she laughed at something he said, her smile glowing in the orange light. Katsuki’s jaw flexed. His eyes narrowed. That bastard was too close. Too damn comfortable. And Y/n? She didn’t even look uncomfortable. She looked… fine. Relaxed. Like nothing had happened between them. Like he hadn’t kissed her a few hours ago and basically lost his mind doing it.

His chest tightened.

No—he wanted to kiss her. He asked.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

That moment in the cottage? It wasn’t some accident. It wasn’t just heat or timing or her looking at him a certain way. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He asked if she wanted to kiss him, because he needed to know if it would feel the same as the first time. If her lips still tasted as warm. If that pull between them was just a fluke or something worse.

And yeah. It was worse.

Because it did feel the same.

Maybe even better.

And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She got in his head, fast. Too fast.

He barely knew her. And that was what freaked him out the most.

He didn’t catch feelings for people. Not like this. He wasn’t the type. But here he was—jealous, twitchy, and zoning out in the middle of a damn bonfire while watching her talk to some other guy.

His stomach twisted.

Monoma leaned closer, said something cocky again, and Y/n smiled. Not a fake smile either, a real one. Bakugo's hand curled into a fist.

Part of him wanted to go over there and pull her away. The other part wanted to act like he didn’t give a shit. But that second part was losing its grip quick.

He couldn’t tell if this was just him being territorial or something worse. Wanting her? That was one thing. But he was starting to care. And that was a problem.

Kirishima’s loud laugh snapped him out of it. He glanced to the side, where the others were joking around nearby. Normal. Chill. Nothing like what was spinning through his head right now.

“Yo, Kacchan,” Kaminari called, grinning like always. “Your mom still grilling you about Camie? Thinks she’s gonna show up at the house again or something?”

Bakugo's expression dropped instantly. He looked away from Y/n, his jaw locking.

Camie.

That name still made his stomach sour. She always knew what to say to calm him down when he was about to snap. She saw sides of him no one else got to, and she didn’t run. That meant something.

And then suddenly it didn’t.

She ended up with Monoma.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like.

Bakugo still didn’t know the full story. Hell, Monoma probably didn’t either. The guy wasn’t even aware Bakugo and Camie had been a thing, because Bakugo kept it private and Camie never said a word. Maybe Monoma was just another pawn in her messy way of ending things. But it didn’t matter. Not to him.

All Katsuki saw now was that guy, sitting next to Y/N, leaning in too close, making her laugh like he had a chance.

And it messed with his head.

Because if Monoma could take Camie without even knowing she wasn’t his to take… what’s stopping him from getting to Y/n too?

Bakugo hated that thought.

Hated how it made his chest feel tight and hot.

Hated the way it made him want to pick a fight.

Because Y/n was supposed to be different.

But every time he saw her smiling at Monoma, that old burn came back. And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear, quiet, bitter fear that maybe he wasn’t enough again. That maybe he’d fall for someone, and lose them the exact same way.

“She’s just being nosy,” Bakugo muttered. “Forget it.”

Kirishima leaned forward a bit, his tone softer. “You and Camie still talk at all?”

“Not really. She sends stuff sometimes.” Bakugo shrugged. “I don’t reply.”

It was the truth. Sort of. Sometimes he typed something back and deleted it before sending. Sometimes he ignored her completely. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

Sero and Kaminari exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. Bakugo noticed how Kiri kept looking at him though—like he saw too much. 

Bakugo had said something dumb once, half out of it, half angry about how maybe being with Y/n would shut Monoma up. Make him jealous. Rub it in his smug little face.

But it wasn’t like that anymore. Not really. Not after that kiss.

That kiss changed everything.

And now? Now she was over there, laughing with Monoma, totally unaware that Bakugo couldn’t stop thinking about her. That she was living rent-free in his brain. That he meant every second of that kiss and hated that she might not feel the same.

She was messing with his head without even trying.

He didn’t know if he wanted her to like him back because of Monoma...

Or because she was the first person in a long time who made him feel something real.

Maybe both.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

It had been a week since camp ended, and nothing made sense anymore.

He hadn’t seen her all morning. Not in the halls. Not in the courtyard. Not even in that weird little art corner on the second floor she always hung around like it was her second home.

Well—scratch that. He had seen her.

Y/n had passed by him twice today. Once near the guidance office. Another outside the library.

And both times… not even a glance. Not even a flicker of recognition. Not even an awkward “oh crap, it’s you” eye contact.

It pissed him off. Not because he was entitled to her attention but because, for some reason, he wanted it. Last week, he was the one doing the ignoring. Pretending that kiss didn’t happen. Acting like he hadn’t stood in that damn cottage and basically invited her to kiss him.

Like it wasn’t something he’d wanted since the moment he met her.

Now that she was doing the same thing back? It sucked.

Worse than he thought it would.

He muttered something under his breath, something grumbly and incoherent and stood up, grabbing his folder off the table. Guidance committee duty started in ten minutes. Normally he’d skip it, or drag himself there late. But lately, it had one unexpected perk: It gave him an excuse to show up in places she’d be

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugo's shoes echoed in the Fine Arts building’s hallway. Legal Management majors had no business in this artsy corner of campus but guidance committee gave him an excuse to roam. And yeah, maybe he’d picked this floor on purpose.

He spotted her before she saw him. Y/n was sprawled on the floor, back against the wall, sketchpad propped on her knees. Her pencil scratched lazily across the page and her brows furrowed just enough to show she wasn’t totally zoned out.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, right by an emergency exit, technically a fire hazard or whatever. Not that he cared about the rules. He just needed a reason to stop.

Then came the voice.
She didn’t need to look to know it was him. His presence was loud, even in silence.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the opposite wall. “You can’t stay there. Emergency exit.”

Her shoulders stiffened, pencil pausing mid-stroke. She didn’t look up. “Seriously?” Her voice was low, edged with annoyance. “There’s no sign.”

Bakugo's jaw ticked. That did something to him. Made his pulse kick up a notch, even if it pissed him off. “Doesn’t need a sign. Use your head.”

Her grip on the pencil tightened, she erased a smudge on her sketch with short, angry strokes. “Use yours and stop patrolling where you’re not assigned.”

Finally, she looked up. Her eyes were flat, unimpressed, slicing through him like he was just another annoying schoolmate. Not the guy who’d kissed her. Not the guy who’d spent a week replaying every second of it.

“What do you want?” she asked, voice steady but cold.

He shrugged, too casual, like his heart wasn’t thudding against his ribs. “Committee rounds.”

Her eyebrow arched, calling his bluff. “On this floor?”

“Yup.” He held her gaze, daring her to push.

“You’re in Legal Management.” She leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Why’re you even in Fine Arts?”

“Public building.” His voice stayed even, but his fingers twitched against his biceps. “Can walk wherever I want.”

She scoffed, a small, bitter sound. “Go walk somewhere else, then.”

He watched her, taking in the way her hair fell over one shoulder, the faint graphite smudge on her cheek, the way her lips pressed into a thin line. She was mad. Good. Mad was better than nothing.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Her face didn’t twitch. She snapped her sketchpad shut, one-handed, and stood, brushing off her skirt with quick, jerky movements. “Maybe I’m just busy.”

He stepped closer but not enough to crowd her, “Busy dodging me?”

She crossed her arms, mirroring him, her posture a wall. “I didn’t know we were suddenly besties who talk every day.”

“Didn’t say that.” His voice stayed low, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. He was searching for something.

“Then stop acting shocked.” Her words were clipped.

“You mad?” he asked, softer now, testing the waters.

“No.” The word snapped out too fast. “I’m fine. Thrilled. Over the moon.”

Sarcasm dripped from her voice, she dusted graphite off her fingers, “Seriously, don’t you have places to be?”

“Here’s fine.” He leaned against the wall, arms still crossed, looking way too calm for how fast his mind was racing.

She stared at him, eyes narrowing. “Why here?”

“Public hallway.” He smirked, just a twitch of his lips, but it was enough to make her huff.

“You’re not even in Fine Arts.” Her voice rose slightly, frustration bleeding through.

“Guidance committee.” He tilted his head, like it was obvious.

She stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. “That’s your excuse for stalking now?”

His smirk widened, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Didn’t know walking was stalking.”

“Didn’t know being annoying was your job description,” Y/n snapped her fingers in his face, breaking his stare. “Go bother someone else.”

He shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets. “Tried. Wasn’t as fun.”

Her mouth dropped open, a mix of shock and exasperation. “What is wrong with you?”

Another shrug, but his eyes softened, just a fraction. “You make weird faces when you’re mad.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice pitched up, hands flying to her hips.

“It’s true.” He nodded toward her, voice deadpan. “Like that spider thing at camp.”

Her eyes widened, mortified. “That was self-defense! And i'm not mad back then!”

“You killed it with your bare hands.” He raised an eyebrow, fighting a grin.

She slapped both hands over her face, groaning so loud it echoed down the hall. “I hate you.”

Bakugo's smirk faded, his chest tightening at her words. “No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Sure.” He stepped closer, voice quieter now, almost gentle.

She shot him a glare, face heating up, then brushed past, her shoulder bumping his. 

“Why are you like this?” she muttered, half to herself, staring at the floor.

“Like what?” He glanced at her, keeping his tone even.

“So…” She waved a hand vaguely. “Annoying.”

He didn’t answer, She slowed down. So did he. She sped up. He matched her without missing a beat. She stopped dead, and he stopped too, turning to face her.

“You’re not funny,” she said, glaring up at him, but her voice was softer now, frayed at the edges.

“Not trying to be.” He held her gaze, something heavy settling between them.

She looked at him and for a second, her guard slipped. Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, she shook her head, muttering, “You’re so confusing.”

His brows pulled together. Confusing? She was the one avoiding him… okay, maybe that was partly on him. But before he could say anything, she kept talking quieter now, almost like she was thinking out loud.

“If you’re just gonna ignore me again or throw in something worse than last time, then don’t bother talking to me.” Her eyes met his “And now you’re here, acting like this. Soft. In a different font.”

Bakugo stared at her, annoyed with himself. Why the hell was he yearning for this girl? “A different what?” he asked.

She groaned, rubbing her temple. “Forget it. You don’t get it.”

He looked at her, letting the words sink in. Is that really what she thought? His jaw tightened, guilt and frustration creeping in. That was never what he meant. He’d been keeping his distance, but not because he didn’t care. Honestly… he wasn’t even sure why. Was it because of Monoma? Because Camie? Or maybe because liking Y/n felt risky, like one wrong move would blow everything up.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice low, almost accusing.

Her eyes snapped to his. “You avoided me first.”

His lips parted, about to push back but nothing came out. Because she wasn’t wrong. He had pushed her away. After camp, after the kiss, after letting her get too close to something he’d kept guarded for so long. 

“That’s different,” he muttered, but it sounded weak, even to him.

“No, it’s not.”

They stood still in the hallway, caught in the silence. The noise from the rest of the school felt far away, Bakugo’s heart was pounding, each beat loud and heavy in his chest. He wanted to say something. To tell her he didn’t mean to hurt her, not when all she wanted was to apologize back then. That he thought about her more than he should. And that maybe he wanted to see her in a way he hadn’t let himself before.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Y/n huffed, breaking the silence. “You’re the worst.”

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Probably.”

She stared at him, like she was waiting for more. For an apology. For an explanation. For something. But when he stayed quiet, her shoulders slumped, and she turned away, walking down the hall.

His feet moved before his brain caught up. “Oi,” he called, voice rougher than he meant. She didn’t stop. That pissed him off. Or maybe it scared him. Same difference.

He jogged a few steps, catching up to her side, his folder slapping against his thigh. “Y/n, hold up.”

She kept walking, eyes fixed ahead, her jaw tight. “What now?” Her voice was low “Got more rules to lecture me about?”

He scowled, falling into step beside her. “No. Just—stop for a sec, dammit.”

She slowed, barely, throwing him a side-eye “Why should I?”

Katsuki’s heart was pounding, like it was trying to rat him out. He stopped and grabbed her wrist lightly, just enough to make her pause. She froze, eyes darting to his hand, then up to his face.

He dropped her wrist after that, “Look, I—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. Why was this so hard? He could ace exams, scare off punks, cook a damn gourmet meal, but saying one stupid thing to her felt like defusing a bomb. “I didn’t mean to… make you feel like that."

Her brows shot up, like she hadn’t expected him to even try. “Okay…?” She crossed her arms, “And?”

And? He took a breath, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I’m not good at this"

“No kidding,” she muttered, but her eyes softened, just a fraction. It was enough to keep him going.

“I don’t know how to do this without ruining it.” He shifted, like the words were too heavy to carry, but too honest to hold back.

Her mouth parted, but no sound came out. She blinked, like his words had short-circuited her brain. “Do… what?”

Bakugo’s face heated up. Great. Here we go.
He glanced down the hallway to make sure no one was around, then lowered his voice.

“Go out with me.”

Y/n stared at him. Her sketchpad slipped in her hands as her face turned pink—then red—then seriously-is-she-okay red.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she said, voice rising. “Did you hit your head or something? Is this a joke?”

Bakugo frowned, crossing his arms to keep himself from doing something dumb like leaving. “I’m not joking, dumbass. I mean it.”

“You’re serious?” she said, letting out a short, nervous laugh. “You’re asking me out?"

He clenched his jaw. She wasn’t wrong, and he hated that. “I told you—I’m not good at this."

She just stared at him, still trying to make sense of it. Her expression was all over the place, confused, doubtful, frustrated.

“Trying?” she repeated. “Bakugo, you can’t—.”

“It’s Katsuki.”

“Huh?”

“My name,” he said, eyes avoiding hers. “You just… called me Bakugo. But if we’re doing this, I don’t want you calling me that.”

“Oh.” She paused, thrown off for a second. “Okay. Um… Katsuki.”

His ears turned red. He nodded once, like it took effort. “Better.”

“You’re… actually serious?” she asked, voice softer now, almost a whisper.

He nodded, slow, deliberate. “Yeah.”

She bit her lip, hesitating. “What if I say no?”

He shrugged, but his chest tightened. “I’ll deal. But I’m not gonna act like I don’t want this.”

Y/n exhaled, hugging her sketchpad tighter, like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “I’m not saying yes right now.”

“Figured.” His voice stayed even, but his hands twitched in his pockets.

“But…” She glanced away, cheeks still burning. “I’m not saying no either.”

His brows lifted, just a fraction, and for the first time in this whole mess of a conversation, his shoulders loosened. Not much, but enough to breathe. “Alright,” he muttered, quieter than usual. “Cool.”

She nodded, eyes darting to the floor, clearly not over it. Her face was a furnace, and without another word, she turned and started walking toward her class.

Bakugo watched her go for a second, then before he could talk himself out of it, fell into step behind her.

Halfway down, Y/n stopped short and spun around, catching him mid-step. “Are you seriously following me again?”

He raised a brow, hands still in his pockets. “I’m walking.”

“To where?” Her eyes narrowed.

He glanced around, realizing he hadn’t thought that far. “Wherever you’re headed.”

She scoffed, a sharp, annoyed sound. “I’ve got class.”

“Cool. I’ll walk you.” He said it like it was obvious, but his ears felt hot.

“No, you won’t.” She crossed her arms, sketchpad pressed against her chest.

“Why not?”

“’Cause we’re not friends.” Her words were blunt, but her voice wobbled, like she wasn’t sure she meant it.

That stung. Just for a half-second, his step faltered, barely noticeable. He recovered fast, jaw ticking. “Didn’t say we were.”

“Then quit acting like it,” she snapped.

“I’m not acting like anything,” he said finally, voice low.

“Exactly.” She muttered, almost to herself. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

He stepped closer, slow, careful not to crowd her. “And you do?”

She held her ground, though, eyes locked on his. “I know I don’t need to be dragged into whatever’s going on in your head.”

His eyes narrowed, but not in anger—something else. Guilt, maybe. “I’m not dragging you.”

“You kissed me,” she said, voice steady but sharp.

“You kissed back.” He didn’t miss a beat, his words quieter but firm.

Her eyes widened, face flushing again. “Are you kidding me right now?”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just saying.”

She froze staring at him, her cheeks were blazing, and for a second, she looked ready to yell. Instead, she groaned. “You’re such a—”

“menace?” he offered, smirk growing.

“I was gonna say idiot,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. Then her expression shifted, softening into something… 

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, almost gentle.

She shook her head, quick. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He frowned, genuinely confused.

“Act nice.” Her voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

“I’m not nice.” He crossed his arms, brows furrowing.

“You are,” she said, eyes flicking to his. “And it’s messing with me.”

He stared, thrown off. “How’s that messed up?”

“’Cause the second I get used to it, you’ll ignore me again.” Her words slipped out, raw and unguarded. She looked away, jaw tight, regretting it already.

Bakugo's chest twisted. She wasn’t wrong. He’d done it because letting her in felt like handing over a loaded gun. But hearing it from her, seeing how it’d hurt… it sucked. Worse than he thought it would.

He glanced at her hands “I’m not ghosting you now,” he said, voice low.

“Yeah, I can tell,” she mumbled, still not looking at him.

He hesitated, then added, quieter, “I’m not… good at this.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly thrown off. “At what?” she said slowly. “Talking?” What was with him repeating that like she didn’t hear it the first time?

“At you.” The words came out before he could stop them.

Her eyes widened, just for a second, and she went quiet. Katsuki’s face burned, and he scratched the back of his neck, wishing he could take it back. At you? What kind of dumb line was that?

“You’re… different,” he muttered, trying to fix it. “Loud. Weird. Too smart for your own good.”

Her brows shot up, like she wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a jab.

He cleared his throat, ears red. “But… not bad. Which is annoying, ‘cause you should be.”

A laugh slipped out of her and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Too late. Bakugo's eyes flicked away, “Forget it,” he grumbled, turning his head.

“No, no,” she said fast, still half-smiling. “That’s… kinda sweet. In a weird, Katsuki way.”

“I wasn’t being sweet,” he snapped, but there was no bite in it. He shook his head, muttering something incoherent.

Y/n shifted her bag on her shoulder, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I’m gonna be late for class—Hold up,” she said, spinning around to face him. Her eyes narrowed, but her tone wasn’t harsh. “You’re not actually walking me to class, are you?”

He shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets. “Said I would.”

She gasped. “That wasn’t a real offer.”

“Too bad. I’m doing it anyway.”

She gave him a look. “You’re weirdly sweet. It’s freaking me out.”

“I told you I'm not sweet!” He scowled. 

“You totally are,” she muttered, trying not to smile. “In, like, a grumpy cat kind of way.”

“Shut up.”

Their shoes squeaked against the tiles as they moved through the halls. The Fine Arts wing was half a mess but Bakugo didn’t look around. His eyes kept drifting to her. The way she walked fast when she was nervous. How her bag bounced against her hip. The faint smudge of pencil dust on her cheek.

He wanted to wipe it off.

“I can walk myself.” she said after a moment, her voice lower now.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

He shrugged. “Felt like it.”

She gave him a sideways look. “You’re such a liar.”

They rounded the corner and her classroom came into view—door already closed.

“Crap,” she muttered, checking her phone. “I’m late again.”

Bakugo raised a brow. “This a regular thing for you?”

“Shut up.”

She pulled her bag tighter, already bracing herself for whatever lecture was waiting behind that door. Her hand was just about to grab the handle when it swung open.

Professor Tanaka stood there bald head shining under the fluorescent light.

“Miss L/n,” he said, voice heavy with disappointment. “Late again. I was just about to mark you absent. You know my policy—”

“She’s with me.” Katsuki cut in smoothly, stepping forward.

Y/n’s head whipped toward him like, What the hell are you doing?! But he ignored her.

“Committee stuff,” he added, pulling out his folder and flashing the official seal like it meant something. “Ran long. My bad.”

Tanaka eyed him. “Committee business during class time?”

“Guidance priority,” Bakugk said, calm and dead serious.

The professor hesitated. Everyone knew Bakugo didn’t play around. If he said it was official, it probably was. Probably. (He's lying rn)

Tanaka exhaled. “Don’t make it a habit, Miss L/n. And Bakugo, next time, try not to disrupt other departments.”

“Won’t happen again,” Bakugo said, already backing up.

Y/n gave him the nastiest side-eye known to man as she slipped past Tanaka and into the classroom. She didn’t say a word, just mouthed, Seriously? before disappearing inside.

Tanaka gave Bakugo a final look, then shut the door.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Bakugo leaned against the wall just outside the Fine Arts building. He wasn’t thinking about school, or the forms he still had to sign, or the club requests piling up.

He was waiting. But then he saw them. Y/n, at the exit. Bag over her shoulder. Laughing.

Monoma stood a little too close beside her, talking with that grin, she nodded along, laughing again, casual and light, like she wasn’t being flirted with by the guy Katsuki couldn’t stand.

Bakugo's jaw tensed. His hand flexed around the folder until the paper bent.

He’s there. Again.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed the second he saw that slick bastard. Monoma—leaning in too close, talking too much, smiling like he had something worth smiling about.

Leech. That was the word. The guy looked like he fed off attention. Always hanging around whoever gave him the time of day, like he was one half-second away from grabbing whatever (whoever) he could get his hands on.

He probably thought he was smooth. He was the type who got off on making girls laugh like it meant something. Like he wasn’t the biggest try-hard in the building.

Bakugo's grip on the folder tightened again.

He better not touch her.

The thought hit before he could stop it.

She’s not even yours, some annoying logical part of him whispered.

But it didn’t matter. That didn’t change the way it felt watching her smile like that. That didn’t erase the way his gut flipped seeing her look that damn comfortable around another guy.

Especially him.

Monoma’s hand moved just slightly gesturing or something stupid and brushed her bag.

Katsuki’s jaw locked. "Back the fuck up. That’s my girl you’re standing next to."

Never mind that they weren’t something. Never mind that she still barely looked at him like he was anything more than a walking headache. That wasn’t the point.

The point was: Monoma didn’t get to stand there and act like he belonged in her space. He didn’t get to pull that fake cute bullshit and pretend he was someone she could trust.

Not when Bakugo was right here, trying like hell to be noticed.

He took a step forward but stopped. What was the point? He couldn’t just walk over and drag her away. He’d look unhinged. Worse, he’d look insecure. And that wasn’t who he was.

Except... maybe right now, it kind of was.

Y/n shifted her bag on her shoulder, brushing hair behind her ear. Her face lit up like she was actually enjoying herself. Bakugo hated how natural it looked.

He muttered a quiet “leech” and looked away. Not because he didn’t want to watch, but because watching made everything worse.

She hadn’t answered him yet, about the whole “date” thing. She hadn’t said no, but she didn’t say yes either. And maybe that indecision was eating him more than a straight-up rejection would’ve. Because now it felt like he was just... waiting.

No. He wasn’t gonna stand there like some background character in her life.

But he wasn’t gonna make a scene either.

He turned around and walked off, keeping his pace steady even though his blood was anything but calm.

He didn’t even get a chance to say anything. To walk her home like he planned. Instead, Monoma slid in, easy as always, and Katsuki was left standing there like an idiot with a folder and a headache.

Monoma didn’t even know he was in a fight—but Katsuki did.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

He was almost at the gate, ready to call it a day and just leave, maybe cool off before he did something stupid.

When he heard it.

“Katsukiiiiii!”

He froze. Mid-step. Like his whole body just glitched.bThat voice? That timing? His heart lurched, and he turned so fast it was borderline defensive.

Monoma was still there, off to the side, surrounded by his friends, gesturing big and laughing loud. Not even looking this way.

Good.

Bakugo's attention snapped back to her. Y/n jogged up, bag bouncing against her side, her cheeks flushed from the run. Her breathing was uneven, but her eyes were clear. She stopped just a few feet away.

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just looked at her and waited.

“I…” she started. She looked like a red tomato right now. “I wanna go on that date. With you. Like… now.” The silence between them stretched for maybe a second too long.

Bakugo stared, and his brain stalled out. Completely. He’d replayed this moment in his head before, giving him a shot, but not like this. Not chasing after him. Not right now.

“You serious?” he asked finally, his voice quieter than he meant it.

Y/n nodded, biting her lip, “Unless you’re busy. I just—figured I should stop overthinking before I chicken out.”

His lips pulled into a smirk, almost on reflex. “Not busy.”

He glanced past her, toward Monoma, who was still flapping his mouth in the distance. Loud as hell. Clueless as ever. Bakugo didn’t know what the hell the guy was even talking about, probably some story nobody asked for, but whatever it was, it didn’t matter now.

That annoying twist in his chest? Gone. Just like that. Because she was here. Not with him. With him—Katsuki. And yeah, maybe they were barely anything yet, but this felt like something. Something that Monoma didn’t get to be part of.

“Alright,” he said, calm like he hadn’t just won the lottery. “Let’s go.”

Y/n's caught totally off guard by how fast he said yes. “Wait—seriously? Just like that?”

He gave her a look. One brow lifted, deadpan. “You changed your mind, didn’t you? So I’m going with it before you freak out and change it again.”

She huffed a laugh, the sound soft but honest. Some of that weird tension in her shoulders finally started to ease. “Cocky.”

“Efficient,” he shot back, already turning toward the gate like this was just a normal day and not the one where she literally sprinted after him to say yes. “You coming or what?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile—yeah, that one was real.

“Ok, take care of me.”

And hell if that didn’t make his chest feel way too full.

He slowed his pace just enough for her to walk beside him.

Monoma’s voice was still echoing somewhere behind them, but Bakugo didn’t care anymore.

This time, he won.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

CAMPSITE—Y/N'S POV

The fire snapped, sending amber flecks spiraling into the dark. Camp noise floated somewhere behind her, laughs spilling from tents, the scrape of metal against plates, and a guitar being played with the enthusiasm of someone who only knew two chords. It all blurred into the background, muffled by the flicker of heat and the low sound of Monoma’s voice beside her.

“It’s nothing glamorous,” he was saying, elbows resting on his knees. “The bookstore’s kind of a mess, honestly. But it’s quiet. Helps me not lose my mind between classes and all the med school pressure.”

Y/n nodded, eyes trained on a loose thread unraveling near her sleeve. Her fingers worked at it mindlessly, letting it go again. She was listening. Sort of. It wasn’t that Monoma bored her. He didn’t. He had a calmness to him that made things feel breathable. But her thoughts were elsewhere. Or maybe everywhere.

“That sounds good,” she said, her voice softer than intended. “I’ve actually been job hunting. Feels weird still asking for money from my family. Doesn’t sit right.”

She didn’t explain what she meant, how “asking” had started to feel more like owing. Like every time she accepted help, something invisible curled tighter around her neck. That wasn’t something Monoma needed to carry.

His posture straightened, “No way. You’re serious?” His tone lifted, surprise cutting through his usual smooth delivery. “We’re hiring. It’s nothing wild, just organizing shelves, working the counter, chatting with lonely old ladies who come in just to reread Murakami. I could totally vouch for you.”

Then he smiled genuine and nudged her knee with his. “Come work with me. I promise it won’t suck.”

Y/n let out a quiet laugh. Not because it was funny, but because it was easy. Monoma made things easy. He didn’t push. He didn’t prod. He didn’t make her question every word that left her mouth. His smile didn’t set off alarms or tie knots in her stomach, it simply landed and stayed, steady and unassuming.

He wasn’t Bakugo. That was the difference.

Bakugo made her feel like every look was a lit fuse. Everything about him was sharp and hard and heat. Monoma was… not that. He was warmth, not fire. Someone who would offer you his hoodie without turning it into a moment. Someone who asked how you were and actually meant it.

“Yeah,” she said, meeting his gaze for a second longer this time. “I’d like that. Something low-stakes. Something to keep my brain from melting after all the oil painting critiques.”

He chuckled and leaned back, one shoulder grazing hers. Not quite an accident, but not something he made a big deal out of either. “Consider it done,” he said. “I’ll text my boss tomorrow. And don’t worry—I’ll hook you up with the shifts that don’t suck. I’ve got you.”

The fire let out a sudden snap, scattering sparks. Her eyes followed them as they disappeared into the sky, one by one.

Monoma stayed beside her, talking about work, probably something about customers or coworker drama, but her mind had already wandered off again. Back to a pair of red eyes across the campfire. A look she shouldn’t have noticed.

He hadn’t spoken to her once, but something in the atmosphere pulled tight whenever she moved, like a thread being stretched between them that neither of them wanted to touch first. She didn’t need to look to know he was aware of her. That was the worst part, knowing and not knowing, all at once.

Why touch her like she mattered if he was going to act like she didn’t? Why let her fall into that moment, only to walk away like it hadn’t even scratched him?

“Hey,” Monoma’s voice broke through, quieter this time. He wasn’t teasing anymore. “You good?”

The noise around her fading back in like a volume dial turning slowly. She tucked her knees closer.

“Yeah,” she replied, the lie barely stitched together. “Just thinking.”

His fingers paused their tapping, his whole body leaning slightly toward hers without realizing it.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked. His voice had dropped.

Y/n let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “I don’t know. Just… stuff, I guess,” she said, eyes flicking toward the fire. “Trying to stay on top of school. Figuring out how to not drown financially. Wondering what the hell I’m doing, basically.”

She paused, then added, quieter this time, “And thanks for the bookstore thing. That was nice of you.”

Monoma gave a small nod, his smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, like he didn’t want it to come off as too much. “Of course. You don’t always have to figure it all out alone, you know.”

She looked back at him, this time letting the silence stretch. Then she glanced past him, past the fire, to where Bakugo had been earlier half hidden in the flickering dark.

He wasn’t looking now. Or maybe he was, and she was just too tired to care. Either way, something clicked in her chest. If he was going to pretend none of it mattered, then fine. She’d stop wondering what it meant. She’d stop giving space to someone who never stepped into it. Y/n turned back to the flames, feeling the decision settle inside her.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

PRESENT

The second that classroom door clicked shut behind her, she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since roll call. Her bag was slipping off her shoulder again, she barely remembered the last twenty minutes of class. What Artistical Beauty? More like emotional damage.

She was halfway down the hall, tuning out the chaos of student voices and sneakers squeaking across tile, when monoma called her once again.

She turned just as he jogged up, all bright eyes and that dumb charming smile he always wore when he was about to say something.

“Good timing,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Just got off the phone with my boss. She wants you to come in Wednesday.”

She gasped. “Wait—like, actually? For the bookstore?”

“Yup.” He fell into step beside her. “You’re in. No interview or any of that corporate nonsense. Boss just wants someone who’ll, you know, show up and not be weird about the cats.”

There were cats?

“Okay, cool,” she said, adjusting her bag again. Her brain was still halfway stuck on Katsuki, but money. She needed money. “That’s... awesome. Are they hiring for night shifts, too?”

Monoma almost tripped. “Wait, night shifts?” He looked at her like she’d just asked if the bookstore sold vodka. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah?” she said, side-eyeing a pebble on the path before kicking it. It bounced twice and vanished under a bush. “Pays more, doesn’t it?”

His lips pressed into a line. “I mean… yeah. But that’s cafe territory. We're open all night, yeah, but—Y/n, night shifts suck. And you’ve got school. You sure?”

There it was. That worried tone. She was getting used to it. “I’m fine,” she said, which was a lie, obviously. But it was easier than dumping all her home drama out here like a sob story. Easier than admitting she needed the cash like it was oxygen. She wasn’t trying to depend on anyone.

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. Which she appreciated, even if the silence between them now felt kind of heavy.

So they started talking about the bookstore again. About the regulars and how weirdly loyal they were, and how he once found a handwritten love letter inside a copy of Norwegian Wood. She smiled at that. But then—Her whole body tensed. Because he was there.

Katsuki was standing alone. He wasn’t even pretending not to look this time, his eyes were locked. And then he turned.

She stopped walking before she even realized it. “I gotta go,” she said quickly, cutting Monoma off mid-sentence.

“Huh? Go where—?”

“To him,” she muttered, already backing up. “Katsuki. I—I need to talk to him.”

And just like that, Monoma’s smile dimmed. His whole vibe changed in this quiet, controlled way that made her feel weirdly guilty, even though he didn’t say a word about it.

“Oh,” he said. That was it. One syllable, flat but polite.

Y/n didn’t catch the flicker of disappointment on his face. She was already halfway across the lawn, her chest felt like it was caught in limbo.

She didn’t hear Monoma’s friends calling him over. Didn’t see the way he hesitated before joining them. He laughed at something one of them said, but it didn’t sound right. His eyes kept drifting back to where she stood, now face-to-face with Katsuki.

He watched as Bakugo’s eyes lifted and softened. And that’s when Monoma knew.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

“You eat yet?” he asked, his eyes flicked to her, then right back to the sidewalk like he hadn’t just made her heart do a weird somersault.

The sky was glowing orange behind him, like some dramatic-ass anime filter, and it hit the side of his face just right. Made him look—ugh, no. Not cute. Not cute. That wasn’t the word. Katsuki Bakugo was not cute. But the way his eyebrows twitched like he was lowkey stressing out? Yeah, okay. That was doing something.

“Uh, no,” she blurted, way too high-pitched for comfort. Her fingers fumbled with her wallet like they had no bones. Two crumpled bills. A couple coins. She could maybe afford a bottled water and a half-assed donut.

“I got, like, enough for—”

“Put that shit away.” Katsuki stopped walking and actually pushed her wallet back toward her bag, like it offended him just seeing her wallet. “I asked you out. I’m paying. Don’t argue.”

Her mouth hung open, cheeks instantly on fire. “But I can—”

“No,” he said again, he actually looks annoyed, then he kept walking slower now, making sure she followed.

Heart thudding like it didn’t know what to do with itself. What was his problem? Grumpy one second, weirdly sweet the next? It was unfair. Criminal, even.

“Fine,” she muttered, eyes on the sidewalk “But where are we even going?”

Katsuki shrugged, his shoulder brushing hers for half a second before he shifted away again. “Dunno. Somewhere. You got an idea?”

Wait—what?

He didn’t have a plan? This guy? She blinked. Her brain had totally built up a version of him that would bark out some perfectly calculated destination, demand punctuality, maybe throw in a side insult. But no.

“You’re winging it?” she asked, voice laced with disbelief and a little teasing.

He grunted. “You got a problem with that?”

She smirked, lips twitching up before she could stop them. “Nope.” But oh god, her chest felt like soda fizz. Was she really out here? Walking next to him? Like this was an actual date?

They went quiet again. The city noise filled the space between their steps, and his were steady, but his jaw was all tense, and her? She was dying. Absolutely spiraling. Because normally she’d be talking nonstop, probably. Snapping at his dumb comments or throwing something back. But now? Tongue tied. Voice missing. Heart doing backflips.

This was a real date. Like, with a real boy. A scary hot, complicated, kind-of-an-asshole boy who made her feel like her chest was two sizes too small.

Then he hit her with: “Why the hell you so quiet?”

She choked on air.

His eyes cut to her, and yup. His ears were red again. “You’re always mouthing off or rolling your eyes at me. What’s the deal?”

Her face burned so bad she had to cover it with her hands. “I’m not—shut up!” she stammered, voice all squeaky and embarrassing. “I’m just—this is weird, okay?! You’re weird. And you’re making me nervous, asshole!”

Katsuki's eyes locked into hers. The surprise flickered on his face for a second before he looked away, “Nervous, huh?”

“I know a place,” she blurted, way too loud. Immediate cringe. “Uh—I mean, there’s this café. Capybara one. It’s cute. They got actual animals.”

Katsuki stopped walking like she just said they’d be eating dinner on Mars. He turned to her, totally deadpan. “A what café?”

“Capybara. You know, the big ones? Chillest animals on earth? You can feed ‘em lettuce and pet ‘em and stuff.” She nudged his arm, daring him to hate it.

He squinted at her like she was contagious. “You’re serious?”

“Duh.” She grinned, her confidence crawling back. “I like animals. Remember?”

His eyes narrowed, like he was scanning his own memory files. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice low. “You were on your whole nature freak shit at camp.”

Her face flamed, but she laughed anyway. “Hey, that was one time! And I wasn’t screaming—I was being respectful of the ecosystem.”

He snorted—but he remembered that dumb little moment. Of course he did. Just like he remembered all the other random stuff she said or did, even when she thought he wasn’t looking. Because he was. Always. Noticing everything even if he acted like he wasn’t. It hit him kind of stupidly hard, like damn. How long had he been doing that?

And now here he was, next to her, walking slower than usual and agreeing to a café full of rodents like it wasn’t even a big deal. “Fine,” he said, “But if one of ‘em bites me, I’m suing you.”

She beamed, her nerves finally starting to chill. “Deal,” she said, a little too happy. His shoulder hovered next to hers again.

The sidewalk was kind of gross, honestly—cracks everywhere, old gum spots, some leaf that looked like it had been stepped on a hundred times, but none of that mattered, because she was too busy trying not to freak out about the fact that Katsuki Bakugo was walking next to her. Like, beside her. Casually. Like this was a thing they did.

Y/n’s words kept spilling out of her mouth, something dumb about animals again, and she couldn’t even tell if she was making sense anymore. She just needed to fill the silence before it turned into something serious, or awkward, or worse something flirty.

“So who’s more built for survival? Polar bears or camels?” she asked, spinning toward him with way too much energy. “Like, obviously polar bears are fluffy tanks, but camels just chill in heat with zero water. Which one’s tougher?”

He blinked at her like she just asked which Pokémon would win in a knife fight. “Why the hell would I know that?”

“Because you’re smart?” she offered, shrugging.

He scoffed. “Camels. Easy.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause they deal with worse shit longer. And they don’t cry about fish.”

That earned a loud snort from her. “Okay, rude. Polar bears don’t cry.”

“They look like they would,” he mumbled.

Y/n couldn’t stop grinning. God, he was so weird and he's lowkey arguing with her about imaginary desert vs. arctic death matches.

Her head spun. Was this… a good moment? A real one? Because he was suddenly here, walking beside her like this wasn’t weird. Like he didn’t ghost her and then pull a 180 with a damn date invite.

She opened her mouth to switch topics, penguins were next, obviously but the crosswalk light flashed red. They both stopped, traffic flying past. And then—

His hand grabbed hers.

Grounding grip on her wrist, then fingers sliding into hers like it was the most normal thing in the world. Her brain tripped over itself.

“Shut the fuck up for once,” he muttered, eyes on the road.

And okay, rude, but it didn’t sting. His voice wasn’t sharp this time. It came out quiet, almost unsure, as if actually looking at her might short-circuit his brain.

The light changed. He stepped forward, tugging her with him, and she nearly tripped from how fast her heart was going.

She stared at their joined hands like they were some rare species she’d never seen before. Should she pull away? Was this a joke? But he wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t looking at her either.

When they reached the other side, he loosened his grip. Like, barely. Enough that she could’ve let go. But she didn’t. Her fingers stayed curled around his, he didn’t tighten it back, but his thumb oh god it moved. A little brush over her knuckle. Could’ve been nothing. Could’ve been everything.

She shut the hell up. Her mind was loud, yes—louder than ever, but her mouth had officially clocked out. Because he was still holding her hand.

And that—ugh, that made her chest hurt. In the dumb, fluttery, annoying way crushes always do when you realize they might not be one-sided anymore.

“Where the hell’s this dumbass café?” he muttered, low and gravelly, just loud enough for her to hear over the street noise.

Y/n tilted her head up, catching the way his brows were pulled together in a full scowl but his eyes flicked to hers for a second. Soft. Kinda weird. “It’s behind Kiyashi Mall,” she said quickly, tripping over the words. Her brain was still short-circuiting from his palm being literally wrapped around hers. “Y’know, the big mall with a cute fountain? The capybara place is tucked way at the back, kinda hidden and tiny.”

“Hidden,” he repeated under his breath. Then he sped up, his pace jumped like he was in a damn rush, and suddenly she was being yanked along.

“Bro—slow down, I have tiny legs!” she half-whined, trying not to trip over her own feet. He didn’t even look at her. Just kept walking with that dumb angry stride, dragging her like she was a balloon he forgot he was holding.

But his hand stayed on hers. And that’s what messed with her. Because Katsuki Bakugo? Mr. Bipolar? Holding her hand in the middle of the sidewalk? In public? Was that a thing now? She didn’t know how to act. Her brain was fully spiraling. If he was comfortable doing this, then… what else was he comfortable with?

Which opened up a whole other annoying can of thoughts like, what was his ex like? The one who had probably seen all the sides of him she hadn’t. Who maybe held his hand in public first. Who maybe taught him how to not be so weird about emotions. Who probably didn’t have to guess what he was thinking all the damn time.

She hated herself for even wondering. But she still did. She wondered if that girl helped him grow into this version of him, the one answering dumb animal questions, and now holding her hand, Or maybe that ex was the reason he got all emotionally constipated in the first place. Maybe she broke something in him.

Y/n sucked in a breath, tried to blink the thoughts away before they got too loud. Nope. Nope, not doing this. Not when she was about to walk into a goddamn capybara café. Not while her hand was still wrapped in his, warm and real and kind of sweaty but whatever.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The capybara café was cramped behind Kiyashi Mall, half-hidden behind a mess of overgrown plants and crooked signs. Katsuki narrowed his eyes at the place, already annoyed. It looked like a damn tourist trap, but whatever. She was still holding his hand, and for some dumb reason, he still hadn’t let go.

He was just about to push the café door open when a voice behind him called out.

Fuck. He knew that voice, he didn’t even need to turn around to know it was trouble. The voice was smug, too familiar, and way too loud.

He pivoted slowly. Three guys were slouched against the wall near the café entrance, blocking part of the sidewalk. And yeah, he recognized them immediately.

His childhood friends.

Old faces. Old bullshit. Straight out of middle school back when he still swung first and asked questions never.

The one in front hadn’t changed at all. Mouthy, twitchy, always needing to be the loudest in the room. The tall one looked half-dead, hoodie sliding off one shoulder like he was trying too hard to look careless. And the last one? Shorter than he remembered, round in the face, chewing gum with his mouth open like a slob.

They looked the same, like the past had frozen them in place while he moved on.

And seeing them now? Felt like something he thought he buried was crawling back up.

“Didn’t think you had the balls to show up again,” the first guy said, stepping forward, breath laced with nicotine and ego. “Thought you went all clean and classy. What’s it now—legal something? You tryna outgrown us now?"

Katsuki didn’t answer. Just stared him down with that flat, unamused glare he’d perfected over the years. His silence hit harder than words ever could.

Another guy chimed in, tone mocking. “Man, you used to be wild. And now? You’re walking around with… that?” His chin jerked in Y/n’s direction. “She with you or something?”

Katsuki didn’t move. The first guy took that as permission to keep going. “Didn’t peg you for the clingy type,” he said, looking her up and down “You really downgraded, huh? What happened to that model chick? What was her name again? Camie?"

Y/n stiffened. Just a little. Barely noticeable if you weren’t looking. But he felt it. Her hand started to slip, a quiet signal she was ready to let go but his grip tightened before she could.

“And bro,” the guy kept talking, still disgusting. “Not to be rude or anything, but she’s kinda flat, don’t you think?”

He closed the distance without thinking, right up in the guy’s space. His face gave nothing away.  “What did you just say?” His voice didn’t rise but it dropped low the kind of tone that made people shut up fast.

The guy chuckled, but it faltered quick. “Relax, man. I’m joking—”

“I said,” Katsuki cut in, “say it again.”

No one laughed anymore. Even the quiet one took a step back, eyes avoiding his. They knew what came next, this wasn’t a bluff. He didn’t do second chances, and he sure as hell didn’t care who was watching.

Katsuki didn’t take his eyes off the one who ran his mouth. “Come on, Talk about her again."

His voice was steady when he added, “She’s with me. So shut your fuckin’ mouth before I make you.”

For a second, nobody moved. Then finally, the guy looked away, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling something half-assed under his breath. Katsuki didn’t care what it was.

He took a small step back, not out of fear, but to make space. His hand was still locked around hers, but it wasn’t gentle. No. It was restraint. Because if he let go right now, he might throw a punch.

Y/n hadn’t said a word through any of it, and that bothered him more than it should’ve. The mention of her (camie) hit him sideways. Not because he gave a shit about the past. He didn’t. He’d left that version of himself behind a year ago. But hearing them drag Y/n into it, like she wasn’t enough, like everything he’d moved on from, somehow made her less, it pissed him off in a way that burned.

So yeah. That shit mattered.

He shifted in front of her slightly, placing himself between her and those idiots like a shield. She didn’t pull away. If anything, her fingers curled tighter around his.

“C’mon,” he muttered, not looking back as he finally turned toward the café door. His voice dipped, low and meant just for her. “Forget them. They’re nothing.”

She didn’t speak, but he felt her nod. And that small, shaky squeeze of her hand. He felt that all the way down.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

Y/n hadn’t said a word. She just stood there, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He’d seen her pissed. Snarky. She always had something to say, even when she didn’t mean it. But this? This was different. It was quiet in a way that made him feel like something was wrong with him for letting it happen. 

The second they brought her up (the other girl), it shifted. You could feel it. Like walking into a room that still smelled like someone who’d already left. 

He don't give a fuck about that name anymore, it wasn’t about that. Not about missing her. That part of his life was gone and buried. He’d been a different person back then, loud, image-first, always half-performing. Camie fit that version of him. Glossy and perfect. Filtered, even in real life. So no, it wasn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or regret. 

It was the fact that the comparison didn’t even make sense. Not really. Like someone had just grabbed two people who happened to stand near him and decided one was worth more than the other. Because she was shiny. Because people knew her.

Because Y/n wasn’t.

And maybe that’s what made his teeth grit, what made his fingers curl into fists even as he tried to stay still. It felt like they were saying that the version of him who chased someone like Camie was better than this one, than the him that stood here now, watching a girl who didn’t even look up when they mocked her.

They didn’t see it. They didn’t see how Y/n’s presence filled a space without trying. How she never asked for attention but still held his without meaning to. How she touched his hand like it was something private. No one looked at her and thought "peak." And that was the whole point.

He didn’t want loud anymore. He just wanted quiet that didn’t make him feel alone. And she without even knowing it made the silence easier to sit in.

That should’ve meant something. So why did he still feel like he couldn’t say a damn thing?

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The door closed behind them with a hollow thud, but she barely noticed. Her mind was somewhere else, looping the same stupid words over and over until they stuck like gum on her shoe. Average. Flat. Nothing special.

She wasn’t even trying to impress anyone. That was the worst part. She’d just existed and it was still enough for strangers to pick her apart.

She didn’t mean to pull her hand away. Her fingers had started to slip out of his without thinking, nervous habit, or shame, or maybe just the weight of those boys’ words sitting too heavy in her chest. But the second her palm began to leave his, his grip tightened just enough to say no. She stared down at their hands. His thumb didn’t move.

Katsuki walked beside her, silent too, but not the same kind. His was that rough edged kind of quiet. She didn’t want to talk. Not about it. The words felt sharp in her mouth, like they’d cut her open if she let them out.

“Welcome!” the girl at the counter chirped.

Y/n nodded. That was all she could do. Just enough to pass.

Katsuki barely looked at the girl. He scanned the room, then he asked for a table that was out of the way. Not for him. FOR HER.

She didn’t react, but she felt it. That silent way he noticed. The way he always had one foot planted between her and the world.

The girl pointed upstairs. He didn’t thank her, just nodded and turned to nudge her forward. It was small, the touch of his elbow against her arm, but she felt it. It lingered longer than it should’ve.

Upstairs, it was quiet. The kind of quiet she could almost breathe in. Hanging plants drooped from the ceiling, capybaras dozing in a soft corner.

She dropped into her seat. Her bag hit the floor with a dull thump.

He sat across from her. Their knees brushed under the table barely. Katsuki was staring. Arms crossed. Jaw tight.

“You were loud ten minutes ago,” he said. “Now you’re not even looking at me.”

She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine.” It sounded stupid. She sounded stupid. Her voice didn’t even sound like hers. She picked at the napkin. Tore the corner off. Crumpled it without thinking.

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He looked at her, hard, but not in a bad way. Just trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong between outside and now.

“You’re not fine,” he muttered. “You think I can’t tell?”

She flinched a little. Not from his words. From how gentle they were. “It’s not a big deal,” she whispered. “I just… hate that people feel entitled to say stuff. About body types. Like they know anything.”

Katsuki leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes low. “They’re idiots,” he said. His voice almost comforting “They don’t even know you,” he continued, tone flat. “You’re not ‘average.’ You’re just not… loud about it.”

That made her look at him. His eyes didn’t waver. “You think that makes you less?” he asked. 

Her throat was tight again. Not from sadness. From being seen. She didn’t know how to hold that.

“You’re unique,” he said again, softer this time. Like he didn’t mean to, but it slipped out. "You don't need to change everything about you for people's satisfaction."

The capybaras shuffled behind her chair. One let out a grunt, like the world was too much effort. Katsuki glared at them, startled by the sound, and she let out the tiniest laugh. It wasn’t loud. Barely even a breath. She peeked at him through her lashes. His scowl had faded, just barely. There was something in his eyes that less distant.

“…You really think that?” she asked, voice smaller than she meant it to be.

His eyes flicked to her and nod. The kind of nod that said I've thought this through. I'm not here to convince you. I mean it.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

He said it like he was over justifying himself. Like if she didn’t believe him, that was on her, not him. She should’ve felt offended. Or challenged. Or something. But instead, it made her feel safe. A little steadier in her own skin. No one had ever called her unique before. Not without a follow-up.

Not without a “but”—but weird, but moody, but hard to understand. But he just left it there. Plain and Undressed. There was nothing romantic about it. No charm in the delivery. But it stayed in her head longer than it should’ve. Maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the way she believed it. She's falling for this man.

She felt him watching. She peeked up, and—yep. His eyes were already on her. That flat, unreadable stare he always had, except softer now. A little less guarded. He was trying to memorize her or something, but didn’t want to admit it.

Her heart stumbled. She dropped her gaze fast, back to the capybaras. One of them was half-asleep in a food bowl. Her face burned.

God. Relax.

She dared to glance back, he was looking somewhere else now, It made her want to laugh. And when their eyes met again, on accident this time, both of them looking at each other at once, she actually did. Just a soft one. Breath more than sound.

Katsuki’s brow twitched. “What,” he muttered, suspicious.

“Nothing,” she said, smiling into her hand.

He leaned forward a little, chin tilted down. “Tch. Laughing at me?”

She shrugged. “Not exactly.” Her smile lingered. “You’re kind of… cute"

“The fuck? Cute?” His voice caught halfway through the word, like it had tripped on his tongue. “Don’t say weird shit. Take that back!”

“I said what I said,” she mumbled, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “You are.”

He looked away, but not fast enough. She caught the flicker of red creeping up his ears. 

She smirked. “I win.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Blushy and defensive? Textbook cute.”

“Shut up.”

Her foot tapped his under the table, and she didn’t even try to play it off. The waiter showed up, finally. Pen ready, awkward smile obviously he’d been listening too long before he approached them.

“Just a latte,” she said. “And some carrots for the capys?”

Katsuki didn’t even look up. “Black. And whatever she’s feeding those rats.”

The guy nodded and left. And then it was just them again. Soft café sounds humming in the background, cups clinking, low conversation, something jazzy playing faintly. One of the capybaras made a noise that sounded like a sigh.

Y/n just watched him. She wanted to know him. Not just the version that barked at people or got weird when he was flustered. The rest of him. The stuff he didn’t say. “Can I ask you something?” she asked quietly.

He gave a grunt that meant sure, and she took that as a yes.

“What’s your life like?” Her voice stayed soft. “Outside of school.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back a little, arms still crossed. “It’s fine.” He sighed through his nose. “Only kid,” he muttered finally. “Parents are loud. Got their names on a bunch of crap, whatever.” He breathed in, slow through his nose. “They’re not around much. Just calls. Meetings. Plans.” A pause. Then a small tilt of his head. “Always expecting more.”

Her brows lifted, not in that excited way people do when they’re about to get nosy. “You’re rich,” she said, like it was a neutral fact. Just an observation.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not,” she replied, tone even. “It’s just… huh.”

He stared at her, half expecting more. But she didn’t ask for details. Didn’t prod at how many zeroes sat in his bank account or what kind of car he drove or if she could get a discount at some flashy store his parents probably owned. Just sat there, elbows on the table, eyes steady like she was more interested in why he looked so annoyed about it.

Most people—hell, everyone changed when they found out. The moment they caught wind of his last name, they smiled wider. Laughed harder. Shifted their tone just enough to make it obvious. Like money was this switch they could flip to unlock better treatment. Some didn’t even hide it. Guys wanted favors. Girls tried too hard. He’d lost count of the ones who got too close, too fast, the second they realized who he was.

“What about you?” he asked, like he was done talking about himself.

She smiled faintly. Not the kind you give to fill silence, or to be polite, but the tired, lopsided kind that flickers across your face when you’re thinking of something too loud to say out loud. “Big family. Bakery. Two brothers, one sister."

He huffed, one brow twitching. “Sounds annoying.”

“Only on weekends. I’m the quiet one,” she said. “Or the weird one. Depends who you ask.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything right away. His arms were still crossed, but his posture shifted, more open now.

Then: “Quiet’s not all that.”

“Do you even like anything?” she asked, the words soft but curious. She's currently trying to understand the person who was always so tightly wrapped in silence and bite.

His mouth quirked. “Cooking.”

Her face lit up, just enough for him to notice the shift. “Wait—really?”

He nodded. “It’s the only time no one tells me what to do.” Katsuki wasn’t really listening to every word anymore. His eyes were on her mouth. Her hands. The way she talked more with them now, especially when she got carried away.

“Your cooking probably sucks,” she muttered, eyes locking with his and damn, he noticed she had pretty cute eyes.

He smirked, looking at her like he knew she was just talking crap. “You’re bluffing.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Nuh uh.”

His mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. “You’d fold in a second.”

“Fold what?” she shot back, fast, mostly to cover how her stomach did this annoying little flip.

... 

“You’d kiss me again if I fed you.”

Oh, no. Nope. He did not just say that. Excuse me? Since when did he grow the balls to say crap like that with a straight face?

“I’m never kissing you again,” she shot back, finally finding her voice, though it came out way too high-pitched to feel cool. “Keep dreaming, psycho.”

He stared at her with that weird calm he got sometimes, the kind that made her want to throw a cup at his head and kiss him at the same time.

“You’re bluffing,” he said once again

And there it was. The smirk. His fingers tapped the table like a drumroll for her impending humiliation.

Her eye twitched.

“Oh, I’m bluffing?” she snapped, arms crossing before she even told them to. “Says the guy acting like his lips are special.”

He leaned back, “Didn’t hear you complaining last time.”

Oh god. Her spine locked up “Yeah, well,” she muttered, and kicked his shin under the table. “That was a moment of weakness. Hallucination. Low blood sugar.”

He hissed and rubbed his leg, eyes narrowing. “You’re such a shit liar.”

“You’re such a shit person.”

He laughed through his nose. A quiet one. Which was worse, somehow.

Then he leaned in again, “You still think about it.”

She hated him. Really. Utterly.

Her heart was going to beat through her chest and flop onto the table like a fish.

So she said nothing. Looked away. Pretended she cared about the capybara curled up in the corner. It looked peaceful. Emotionally healthy.

God, she envied it.

And then he went and said something normal.

“Got a dog,” Katsuki muttered. Out of nowhere. 

She blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Golden retriever,” he said, as if he didn’t just derail every single neuron in her brain. “Big idiot. Eats my socks. Looks guilty even when he’s not.”

Her hands hit the table “You have a dog?” she gasped, nearly knocking over her latte. “Since when? You—what’s his name? Is he soft? Do you have photos? I need to touch his head.”

He's clearly confused by her sudden feral switch into Dog Mode. “…Kumo,” he said. “And yeah. He’s… fluffy or whatever. Dumb. You’d love him.”

She already did. Mentally. Spiritually. Emotionally. “Kumo,” she whispered like it was sacred. “OH MY GOSH!.”

His smirk returned, but quieter this time. “You wanna see him?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes.”

“Then kiss me.”

There was a pause. A glitch in reality. Her soul left her body, hovered above the table for a second, then smacked back down into her chest with a wheeze.

“You’re disgusting,” she choked, pointing at him with full courtroom objection energy. “You can’t use your dog like that. That’s emotional manipulation.”

“You want dog pics or not?”

“I’ll steal him.”

He laughed. It cracked out of him before he could stop it, and her heart stuttered. She peeked at him.

His gaze had dropped to his coffee. Thumb tracing slow circles around the rim. And suddenly she was thinking about Kumo curled up under his desk. His shoes chewed up, scattered across the floor. Some quiet apartment where Katsuki probably sat doing homework with music too loud, frowning at nothing.

She wanted to see it.

Not the apartment.

Him in it.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

You felt his eyes on you, before you even looked up. You just knew that smug pull of his mouth, already telling you, don't even bother. He wasn't backing down. And God, you just hated that it was your own damn fault, wasn't it? For opening your mouth first, for even giving him the space to grin like that. But you held your ground.

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Katsuki,” you said, the words feeling stiff, almost dry in your mouth, though you tried for something sharp, maybe even playful. Hell, you weren't even sure. “You seriously think I’m gonna just swoon into your arms? Never happening.”

You crossed your arms, chin tilting up in this stupid, performative way, but you did it anyway. His elbow brushed yours again. He just sit there.  not giving you any space. And yeah, you knew he was doing it on purpose. Asshole.

“That’s cute.” A beat. His voice dropped, smooth and dry. “You always talk more when you’re flustered.” Your breath caught. Flustered. God, you hated that word. It felt so girly. So obvious. And yeah, that was exactly what you were. 

“You’re imagining things,” you shot back, eyes narrowing. “Go check a mirror. You’re the one turning red.”

But the back of your neck was already hot, burning really, and you just knew he could see it. His eyes weren’t even teasing anymore. They were just locked on you, watching you squirm, watching you try to hide it. You hated being read like that. Hated feeling exposed. So you pivoted. Fast. Threw out the first stupid, distracting thing that popped into your head, because he always got under your skin when you let the silence linger too long. “Anyway, you’ve got nothing on me. I have Mikan and Yuzu. My angels."

“Who?”

“My Corgi and my Persian cat.”

He actually laughed. Unfiltered sound that started deep in his chest and just tumbled out before he could stop it. It was so unexpected, it threw you off. “You named ‘em after citrus?” He leaned back, arms crossed now, that lazy grin still playing on his face. 

“Jesus. You’re one of those girls.”

You stiffened, annoyed. “What kind of girls?”

He tilted his head, "The kind that’d name a turtle strawberry"

Your mouth dropped open. Then stalled. “You—okay, that’s actually not a bad name for a turtle, but shut up.”

His grin stretched even wider, It looked way better on him than it had any right to. “Weirdo.”

“And you named your dog Kumo! That’s not even a name. That’s just… weather.”

“It means cloud,” he said, and for some weird reason, his voice softened just a tiny bit there. 

You seriously weren’t expecting that. You’d figured he’d defend his dog with some macho crap, talk about loyalty or teeth or something. But no. Cloud. That was… weirdly poetic for someone who usually just called everyone a dumbass.

You shrugged it off, though, trying to play it cool. “Mikan would destroy him in a popularity contest.”

“he’s like, five inches tall,” he deadpanned.

“Ahem, correction. She's a girl and she’s pure sunshine.”

“She probably pisses on carpets.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Kumo probably eats socks and barks at shadows.”

“You’re not wrong,” he muttered, and the sheer honesty in that made your lips twitch, even though you tried so hard not to smile. “And Kumo sleeps next to me. Kinda like he thinks I’ll disappear if he doesn’t.”

“Wait, that’s sweet,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “He must really love you.”

He cleared his throat, a sudden, rough sound. “He’d probably like you more. I mean, you’re weird. You’d give him whatever the hell he wanted.” And then, because he apparently couldn't give you a moment's peace, he tacked on: “You’d probably try to kiss him before you kiss me.”

Your jaw actually dropped. “Are you—what—what the hell is wrong with you?!”

He just grinned, that damn smug look back on his face. “Just saying.”

“Gross. You’re disgusting. I would never—ugh.”

So you kicked his shin. Hard. You just needed to do something, before this turned into a situation you couldn’t joke your way out of.

“Ow,” he said flatly, but there was no real pain in his voice.

“Don’t be dramatic.” Your voice cracked, though, and a laugh bubbled out anyway. You tried to shove him away without actually touching him. Tried to push away this weird, electric thing that kept tightening between you in all the pauses.

His eyes flicked down for just a split second, then snapped back to yours. “I’m running on, like, ten percent energy here,” he drawled, dragging the sentence out with mock exhaustion. “Need some fuel.”

You laughed, a little too loud, It just slipped out before you could even think. “Fuel?” you echoed, throwing your head back in disbelief. Your finger was already pointing at him, accusatory, but you were grinning too wide, your cheeks too pink. Your heart was doing stupid little somersaults in your chest. “You’re not dying. Please. You’re just being dramatic again. Go pet the capys or something if you need a serotonin fix. Look—look at that one!”

You gestured wildly toward the one sleeping like a loaf of bread in the corner, its face squished into the ground. “Awwwww isn't he so cute?"

He scrunched his nose like you’d just offered him a floor to lick. “Fuck that,” he muttered. “I’m not here for those rats.” His voice wasn't smug anymore. It was something raw. “I’m here for you.”

It hit you. Wrong. Or right. You weren’t sure which, and that was the terrifying part. The air went still, thick with it. You just looked at him, heart doing a frantic dance.

You scrambled for your next line, but your brain fumbled it. Your voice came out weaker than you planned. “You’re so full of shit.” Your laugh was thin, brittle. Your hands couldn't stop messing with each other, picking at imaginary lint. You turned your face slightly, eyes jumping toward the sleeping capybara again, not because you needed to see it, but because you just couldn’t stand how heavy your skin felt under his stare. “You don’t need a kiss. You need sleep or therapy.”

You scanned the balcony. Empty. Just soft music drifting up from below, and the frantic shuffle of your own heartbeat filling up too much of your chest. The capybaras weren't paying attention. No one else was up here. No one would see if you leaned in—Nope. Stop. You are not falling for this. You are not that girl.

You turned back toward him, a retort already forming on your tongue, something sharp and stupid, but the moment your face shifted back to his, he was already there.

His lips grazed yours.

Quick.

Quiet.

Soft.

You didn’t even register what was happening until you felt it. And by then, he was already leaning back.

Your breath hitched, a sharp gasp. Your hands flew up to cover your mouth before your brain could even catch up, and your entire face was on fire. 

You weren’t even sure if you were mad, or flustered, or if you’d just left your body completely. “What the hell was that?!"

He just smirked, took a slow sip of his coffee, and looked around. “You looked away,” he said, simple as that.

From the corner, the capybara grunted, and you flailed, desperate for a distraction, flinging a finger toward it. “See? Even he thinks you’re a criminal. You broke the law.”

Katsuki didn’t even glance at it. Just shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “He’s just bitter. Ain’t getting kissed.”

Your heart kept stuttering, tripping over itself, pretending to beat normally, but it was a pathetic lie. His eyes, though, just held yours over the rim of his cup, steady and knowing. You swallowed, the air suddenly thick.

He took another slow sip, then lowered the cup, a small clink as it settled on the railing. “Alright, I’m bored,” he grumbled, though his eyes hadn't moved from your face. "Let's go."

“Go where?”

"Downstairs. This café balcony shit is boring.” He gestured vaguely with his head towards the main area, where the real action, or at least, the lack of this kind of intense staring, was happening. "Unless you wanna stare at that glorified rat all day."

You scoffed, a little too quickly, trying to ignore the way your stomach did a weird flip-flop. “He’s not a glorified rat! And besides, I thought you liked quiet.”

"I like quiet when it's my quiet," he retorted, pushing off the railing, already halfway to the door. "This is just... lame. And I'm getting hungry."

You didn't even make it three steps in before you spotted them. Capybaras. Everywhere. Just vibing in a big pen. Your jaw actually dropped. “Oh my god,” you gasped, louder than you meant to. Oops. Whatever. They were so damn cute.

He hated the sound of giggling. Except when it was hers. And even then, only sometimes.

“Look at this one!” you practically shrieked, squatting right in front of a giant, chill rodent. “He’s got a bald spot, Katsuki, look! Right here, on his head!” You waved a hand, not even bothering to check if he was actually looking. Probably wasn't.

He wasn't. His eyes were on her, yeah, but she wasn’t looking back. Too busy losing her damn mind over a glorified rat.

You crouched lower, practically nose-to-nose with the thing. “You are so cute. What happened here? Stress? Shedding season?” Then you twisted around suddenly and tossed your phone at him. 

“Take a photo of me with him! Please? I wanna make him my wallpaper.” You beamed at the capybara. The damn thing just blinked at you. Rude.

His finger hovered over the shutter button. Not because taking a picture was hard. But because suddenly, this picture mattered. 

Suddenly, this felt like something he absolutely shouldn’t fuck up. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was just laughing at the capybara’s dumb expression, still talking to it in that ridiculous, high-pitched voice, her smile stretching wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. She looked happy. And shit, he wanted to capture that.

So he steadied the phone, adjusting his grip, shifted his weight just so, waited for the exact second her smile softened just enough, then snapped it.

Click.

He walked over, maybe a little too fast, and just held the phone out. “Here.”

You grabbed it, flashing him a quick, careless smile. “Thank youuuu!” And then, you turned right back to the capybara, completely absorbed again, like he hadn’t just taken the prettiest damn photo of you that had ever existed.

“Sir, you look so done with me,” you whispered to the animal. “That’s okay."

Sir? He raised an eyebrow. And then, out of nowhere, some random dude stepped in. Like, literally stepped in. Katsuki noticed him before she did. Obviously.

“Yo, what’s this dude’s name?” the guy asked, already too loud.

You glanced at him, managing a small, polite smile. You weren’t big on grinning at strangers, but you weren’t gonna be a jerk either. “That’s Graham.”

Katsuki, a few steps away, went rigid. His eyes narrowed, locking onto the guy. She’s just tossing out names for these furry potatoes now? And why the hell is she even humoring this loser?

The guy laughed, a little too loud “Graham? That’s so random!”

You nodded, your smile staying soft as you looked back at the capybara. “Look at his fur."

Katsuki’s teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. He was staring daggers at the guy’s head, half-wishing he could just kick him on the spot. Who the hell does this clown think he is? Get lost, moron.

The guy kept going, “That’s such a grandma name.”

“Really?” you said, your voice picking up a bit. You weren’t super chatty with randoms, but Graham was too adorable not to talk about, so you let yourself loosen up. “But it suits him. It really does.”

Katsuki’s thoughts were a dumpster fire, spinning out of control. The guy didn’t even seem to clock Katsuki’s death glare, “You come here a lot? Seems you’re tight with these guys.”

You shrugged, keeping your tone friendly but not over-the-top. “Not really, just sometimes. They’re cute, though.”

His jaw locked. He shifted his weight, dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Something started to crawl under his skin, something he hated, and he hated that he didn’t even know what it was. He just knew it was there.

You didn’t even see him coming until he was right behind you. “Come on.” His voice was low, sharp.

You jolted a little, glancing up at him. “What?”

He didn't repeat it. Just stared off toward the gate, head tilted slightly down. He was already halfway out, and your answer didn’t really matter. But it did. You could tell. “Wait… now?”

“You busy?” His voice was dry, so dry it felt like sandpaper, and it hit harder than if he’d yelled.

You hesitated. Looked back at Graham. Then the guy. Then Katsuki again. You slowly rose, brushing dirt from your palms. “Uh… okay. Yeah.”

The guy said something behind you, something dumb, probably. “Nice meeting you!” or “See ya around!” But you didn’t fully hear it. You were already following Katsuki, even though he didn’t turn back to check if you were coming. 

You glanced at his stiff back. “Are you okay?”

He kept walking, not even turning his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You squinted at his profile, skeptical. “You just looked like you were thinking something."

He scoffed. Barely audible. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to guess what I’m thinking. You suck at it.”

When you caught up silence settled between you, not the awkward kind. More like the end of a song you hadn't wanted to stop playing.

You drifted closer. On purpose. Your fingers worried the strap of your bag. A stupid habit. You felt warm, for no reason. 

He clicked his tongue. Once. A sigh that just… didn't quite make it out. Then, you heard yourself say, "I used to collect flowers."

"Flowers?" His voice flat.

"Yeah." You nodded. "I press them. In a thick book."

His face didn't shift. "That's... dumb," he finally said.

Your head snapped to him. "Excuse me?!"

"You heard me." He kept walking. Didn't even bother hiding the smirk that pulled at the edge of his mouth. "Who the hell collects dead plants on purpose?"

"They're not dead," you huffed, jabbing his arm with the back of your fingers. "They're preserved. That's the whole damn point."

"Still sounds like some fairytale girl shit." He shrugged. "Next you'll tell me you believe in flower languages."

You narrowed your eyes. "I do, actually. Every bloom has a different meaning. You're just too emotionally constipated to get it."

"Tch. Yeah, alright." His voice dripped sarcasm, dry as dust. "Tell me what a daisy means."

You straightened. Defiant. "Daisies mean innocence. And loyal love."

His gaze slid to you, lingering for a beat too long. "You would know that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." His smirk said everything.

You stuck your tongue out. Felt childish immediately, but he didn't call you on it. 

The world softened around you. Night air, sweet and sticky with sakura somewhere far off. He glanced sideways. "I'm not going to class tomorrow."

You immediately looked at him. "Why?" 

"Tournament."

You tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. "Wait—tournament? Like, actual sports?"

"Mm."

Your face probably did that thing. Where everything just rearranged itself before you could stop it. "Wait. Wait. Wait. You're a varsity player?! Since when?!"

He grimaced. Like you'd just screamed in his ear. "Don't make a scene."

But your jaw was already slack. Your steps went weird, bouncy. "Oh my god—you? But you're—Katsuki, what?! You never told me!"

He shrugged again. Like it didn't just flip your whole mental image of him upside down. "Didn't come up."

"You? Varsity?" The bubbling in your chest wouldn't stop. "You're a law student, and you're also out here competing in—wait. What sport?"

"Archery."

"Shut up."

"No?"

"You do archery?"

He looked at you like you were malfunctioning. “Yes?”

"Oh my god." You clapped your hands over your mouth. "You're an archer."

"You make that sound like I said I hunt deer for fun."

You shook your head violently. "No, no—this is so cool. This is pure anime protagonist material. Do you wear the arm guard? Do you do that thing where you—oh my gosh. You draw the bowstring back and squint. That's so cool."

He groaned. "Why do I regret opening my mouth."

"I didn't know you were this cool. Why'd you keep it a secret?"

He scowled. "Didn't keep it a secret. You just never asked."

You beamed. "That's so unfair. You're supposed to brag."

"I'm not you."

Your foot bumped his, lightly, as you walked. "Excuse you. I am very humble."

He made a choked noise. Sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He didn't confirm it. Just kept walking, that small tilt to his head, like he was trying not to let you catch the corners of his mouth. Your chest felt too full again.

He didn't talk much. But when he did, it always felt like something you weren't supposed to hear. Not because it was bad. Just rare. And sometimes rare things felt more fragile than pretty ones.

"You been doing it long?" you asked quietly. Your voice didn't match your face. 

"Middle school." His hands still buried in his pockets. "Coach then said I had a steady grip. Guess I just stuck with it."

You pictured it. A younger version of him, pulling back a bowstring with too much power in his arms. "You'd be really good at flower picking," you said suddenly.

His brow furrowed. "What."

"You've got the steady hands." You smiled faintly.

"You'd pick the petals without bruising them."

He cleared his throat, eventually. Looked off somewhere else. "Basketball's mid anyway."

You giggled. "You've been holding that in."

"Not really. Just saying."

"Well, you're not wrong." You nudged him again, gently this time. "Archery's got more finesse."

He glanced at you. "You like finesse?"

"...Yeah," you said. "I think I do."

You rubbed your bare elbows, a shiver chasing up your arms. Your uniform offered no comfort against the chill, you wished you’d remembered a sweater, or anything warmer.

Katsuki, walking beside you, didn’t say anything. He just exhaled. Then, without a word, he shrugged out of his bomber jacket. Before you could even register what he was doing, the heavy fabric was settling over your shoulders, surprisingly soft and still warm from his body heat. 

It smelled faintly of something musky and uniquely him. He adjusted it slightly so it sat right, his fingers brushing your neck for a fleeting second.

You felt your cheeks warm, a different kind of heat than the one from the cold. “Oh,” you managed, the sound barely audible. You pulled the jacket tighter around you, the overwhelming warmth a stark contrast to the sudden chill of his exposed arms.

He just shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture unchanged, as if lending you his jacket was the most normal, unthinking thing in the world.

A soft smile bloomed on your face, unbidden. It felt good, knowing he saw. Knowing he cared enough to do something about it without making a fuss. You risked a glance up at him, your smile lingering. He looked down, his eyes meeting yours. He didn't smile back, not with his mouth, but his gaze was something else entirely – a quiet intensity that seemed to trace every curve of your face, a clear, almost pleading softness in the depths of his red eyes. It was a look that said more than any grin ever could.

You cleared your throat, trying to break the heavy, comfortable silence that settled between you. “So,” you began, the word feeling a little too loud. “In this archery tournament tomorrow… do you, like, actually hit the bullseye every time?”

He scoffed, a low, dry sound. “What do you think?”

You chuckled. “Right. Stupid question.” You shifted your hands, tucking them into the deep pockets of his jacket, enjoying the comforting weight of the fabric. Your fingers brushed against something hard, cylindrical. You frowned, pulling it out.

A cigarette?

You stared at it for a beat, a gleam of something uncomfortable glowing in your gut. A memory, fleeting and unwanted, of a different time, a different kind of smoke. But then you just focused on the present. 

Katsuki was an archer, a varsity player. They weren't supposed to smoke, right? For health. For performance. And honestly, you just hated the smell.

Before you could even fully process it, his hand shot out, snatching the cigarette from your fingers. He didn’t meet your eyes, just flicked it with a practiced snap into a nearby storm drain. It disappeared with a soft splash.

“Hey!” you blurted, crossing your arms over the jacket. You weren't mad, not really, but a definite annoyance prickled. “You smoke? You’re a varsity athlete! Do you know how bad that is for your lungs? And it smells disgusting, by the way!”

He finally turned, his eyes narrowing, that familiar scowl pulling at his mouth. “I smoke sometimes,” he grumbled, his voice low. “And you need to shut your mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, a slight huff escaping you. “’Sometimes’ isn’t an excuse! It’s bad for you. And for your image, actually. An archer, of all people, smoking. It’s so… contradictory. But also, like, strangely hot. But mostly unhealthy.” You almost mumbled the "hot" part, hoping he didn't catch it, but the last sentence came out sharper than intended.

A small glint of confusion crossing his face at your rambling. “I said shut up,” he repeated, but there was less venom in it, more exasperation. He looked away, jaw working. You could almost feel the weight of his thoughts.

The air around you still hummed with unspoken things, but the chill that had prompted Katsuki's jacket was gone, replaced by a warmth that seeped deeper than the fabric. 

You walked beside him, the rhythm of your steps falling into an easy, almost natural synchronization. You kept your hands tucked into his pockets, fingers occasionally brushing the soft lining, feeling the ghost of his own warmth there.

The main street had given way to quieter side alleys, narrow passages between old shopfronts and traditional houses. Overhead, a string of paper lanterns, left over from some recent festival, glowed softly, casting an intimate, amber light on the worn paving stones. It felt less like a city and more like a secret, hushed world, just for the two of you.

Your gaze drifted to a potted plant, half-hidden behind a wooden gate – a delicate asagao (morning glory) vine, its single, vibrant purple bloom unfurling in the dim light, defiantly late in the evening. You stopped, almost imperceptibly, drawing in a slow breath.

Katsuki stopped too, a half-step ahead of you. He didn't look back, but you felt his awareness. You knew he'd noticed your stillness.

"Look," you whispered, reaching out a finger, not quite touching the petal. "It's still open. Most of them close by now."

He grunted, a low sound in his throat. You expected him to dismiss it, to call it "dumb plant shit" like he might have before. Instead, he just shifted his weight, his shoulders grazing yours, and leaned in slightly, following your gaze. He didn't say anything, but he looked at the fragile luminous flower.

"It's like it's holding on," you mused aloud, your voice soft, almost a sigh. "Even when everything else is giving up for the day, it's still pouring out its beauty, just for whoever happens to walk by." You pulled your hand back, wrapping it around his arm. "It’s... it's a kind of brave, quiet persistence, isn't it? To keep unfurling, even when the world’s already moving on to night."

You felt the slight flex of his arm under your hand, a subtle tension that wasn't quite resistance. He remained silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on the flower. The soft glow of the lanterns highlighted the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle twitch of his brow. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, processing, not just the words, but the feeling behind them.

"Stupid flower," he finally muttered, his voice gruff, yet devoid of its usual bite. You almost laughed, but then he added, even quieter, "Yeah. Guess it is." His eyes, still on the flower, seemed to soften just a fraction, a raw, unguarded quality in them that you rarely saw. It was a concession, a quiet agreement, deeper than any loud declaration. He didn't need to say more. You felt it. He got it.

You squeezed his arm gently, then let go, letting your hand fall back into his pocket (the jacket). The moment hung in the air, fragile and potent, like the petals of the evening flower.

You resumed walking, and for a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet felt different now, imbued with a shared understanding that made the silence less about absence and more about presence. It felt like you were exploring more than just the quiet streets; you were navigating the quiet, intricate landscape of each other.

"Does it take a lot of patience?" you asked, breaking the comfortable quiet, turning your head to look at him. "Archery, I mean. With the stillness, the aim. It seems like it would require… a different kind of strength."

He exhaled slowly through his nose. "Yeah," he said, flatly, but his tone was thoughtful. "It does. Gotta wait. Gotta block everything else out. Gotta trust your own hands." He paused, his gaze fixed on some point ahead. "Same as anything that actually matters, I guess."

You felt a little flutter in your chest. "Like... what else?"

He scoffed, but it was light, almost fond. "You're always asking too many damn questions." But he didn't tell you to shut up this time. He was actually considering it.

"Like… getting people to understand you, I guess," he finally said, his voice low, almost a mumble. "Or… figuring out what you actually want when everyone else is telling you what it should be." His eyes flickered to yours, before looking away. "That takes finesse too, right?"

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. It was such a rare glimpse, a window into the things he thought about when no one was watching. The quiet struggles of a boy who projected so much strength, but evidently, fought his own battles for clarity and self-definition.

"Yeah," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "Yeah, it really does."

You looked at him, searching his face, but he’d already turned his gaze forward again, his profile sharp against the glowing city lights.

Then, a low snicker rumbled in his chest. Your head snapped to him, a frown tugging at your brows.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, a touch of annoyance in your voice.

He finally looked at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, “You’re asking a lot about archery, aren’t you? You got a thing for archer boys, or something? Starting to think I might actually be your type.”

Your face immediately flushed, a wave of heat creeping up your neck. Oh, you absolute ass. Flustered and annoyed, you wanted to kick him again. But a tiny, traitorous part of you, deep down, whispered that he wasn't entirely wrong. He was hot. Being an archer only made him more… anime protagonist material, as you’d thought before.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you scoffed, though your voice came out a little too quickly. “I’m just curious. It’s an interesting sport. Unlike some others.” You nudged him.

He just huffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just try not to break your neck tripping over your own feet while you’re thinking about how amazing I am on the shooting line.”

“I’ll try not to fantasize about you too much,” you shot back, a smile tugging at your lips despite your irritation. You couldn’t help but laugh softly. "Seriously though, good luck with your tournament. Don't lose, okay? I'd hate to have to make fun of you."

He scoffed again, though his eyes seemed to soften slightly, lingering on your face. “As if.”

“So, where is it being held, anyway?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Is it far?”

“Tokyo,” he said, casual as if he was just mentioning the nearest convenience store.

Your jaw actually dropped. “Tokyo?! Wait—how long are you going for?”

He glanced at you, then back to the street. “Two weeks.”

Two whole week without him. The thought hit you with a surprising pain, that means no random encounters, no bickering, no subtle touches, and no unexpected kisses. Just… two weeks. A long, empty stretch where you wouldn't see that exasperated scowl, You swallowed, forcing down disappointment. You didn’t want him to know just how much that small detail had affected you.

“Oh,” you managed, keeping your voice light, though it felt a little brittle. You looked away, pretending to be very interested in a lamppost. “Well. You need to be careful.”

Then, a low snicker rumbled in his chest again. You narrowed your eyes, bracing for whatever sarcastic comment was about to spill from him. He didn’t disappoint.

He reached out, his hand settling firmly on the crown of your head. Before you could react, he started to sway your head, making your body follow, a ridiculous dance of left and right. You stumbled, giggling despite yourself.

“Hey! Stop it! Stop it!!!!” you protested, trying to wrench yourself free. You looked ridiculous, you knew it. Like a toy he was casually manipulating.

He let you go with a final, exasperated huff, but the snicker was still audible. “You make the weirdest faces,” he muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Like a dumb fish.”

“I do not!” You rubbed your head, fixing your hair. “And you’re the one acting like a five year old"

He just shrugged, that maddeningly casual shrug that told you he didn’t care. “Whatever. I’ll message you when I get to Tokyo.”

You stopped walking, genuinely confused. “You will? You don’t even have my number.”

He stopped too, turning his head just slightly, his eyes cutting to yours. There was a directness there, a lack of hesitation that was so typically Katsuki. “Let me have it then.”

Your heart did a weird flip-flop. It was so simple, so unadorned. Not a question, but a statement, an expectation. You swallowed, pulling your phone out with slightly trembling fingers. You quickly pulled up your contact info and held it out to him.

He took it, his fingers brushing yours, a shine that lasted too long. His thumb moved with surprising agility over the screen, quickly typing in his own number. He saved it, then handed your phone back.

“Don’t lose it,” he said, his voice flat.

“Like you’d care,” you mumbled, already tucking your phone away, your mind replaying the feel of his hand, the brief touch.

He scoffed, a low, dismissive sound that was supposed to convey indifference, but his eyes, when they met yours, held a different story. 

“I don’t want everyone kissing you, alright?” he stated, his gaze locked firmly on your mouth. “Those are mine.”

Your jaw actually dropped. The audacity. The sheer, blunt, terrifyingly confident possessiveness.

Your breath hitched, every neuron in your brain short-circuiting. Your hand flew up, a reflex, and you slapped him lightly on the arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a satisfying thwack.

“You absolute moron!” you hissed, your face burning. It was too much. You wanted to yell, to deny but the words were stuck in your throat.

He didn't even flinch at the smack. He just rubbed his arm casually, his eyes still fixed on your stunned expression, that annoyingly smug smirk slowly spreading across his face. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“What was that for?” he drawled, his voice a low challenge.

“That was for being an idiot!” you shot back, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Your hands felt clammy in his jacket pockets. “My lips are my lips, thank you very much!”

He let out a quiet, knowing snort. “Yeah, alright. Keep telling yourself that.”

You could practically feel the smugness radiating off him, even without looking. He snickered, a low, irritating sound. "Kids these days, need to go home early." His voice was pitched slightly higher than usual, as if he was talking to someone far away, somewhere down at his knees. "So small, can barely see 'em in the dark. Might get stepped on."

Your head snapped up, glaring at him. He wasn't even looking at you, just scanning the ground beside him with exaggerated concern. "I'm right here, you jerk! I'm not that short!" You knew exactly what he was doing.

"Damn, where the hell is she?" he mumbled "Lost already?"

"I am not lost!!" you snapped, turning on your heel and stomping away, you hated that he could still make you sulk like this. But you heard his steps fall in effortlessly behind you, not letting you get too far ahead.

"Oh, found her," he drawled, his voice right behind your ear. "Thought you were a shadow."

"Just shut up," you grumbled, but a tiny, unwanted smile threatened to break through. You sped up, trying to put distance between you and his annoying presence. 

He just kept pace with you, easily. The streetlights grew sparse as you turned onto a quieter road, flanked by the tall, modern outlines of residential buildings. Your place, a glass-paneled tower stood just ahead.

As you stepped into the more tucked-away entrance area, he reached out and took your hand, fingers weaving through yours. His grip was steady, warm, and his thumb started moving in slow, steady circles against your skin.

You forgot to breathe. Your face flushed with heat. Katsuki, what are we? The thought hit you out of nowhere, ridiculous, thrilling, and enough to send your stomach into a spin.

He wasn’t the kind of guy who did this. And no one really did this with you.

At the gate of your building, you came to a stop and turned to face him. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"Well,” you said, voice a little unsteady, “this is the goodbye part.”

He didn’t budge. His eyes stayed on yours, steady and unreadable, that stare of his that always felt like it cut through you. You kept looking at him, hoping he’d say something, but he was quiet. Still. The air felt thick with everything unsaid, everything that had been building all night. It was awkward, nerve-wracking, and impossible to look away from.

You glanced around, no one was nearby. The security guard was behind the booth, probably on his phone. No one was watching.

Something in you jumped. You stepped in, just barely. Your gaze dropped to his mouth, then flicked back to his eyes. A silent question, hanging between you. He didn’t lean in. Didn’t give anything away.

So you did it.

Quick. Quiet. You leaned forward, lips brushing his in a soft, almost non-existent kiss. Barely there. Gone in a blink. You pulled back fast, heart pounding, every muscle ready to run, or explain, or—

But he didn’t let go.

His hand tightened around yours. His other hand came up, steady against the back of your head. He leaned in, just slightly, drawing you back in and kissed you again. 

This time it was real. Certain. His lips pressed to yours like he meant it. Your eyes fluttered shut.

When he pulled away, it was slow, just enough to let you breathe. His eyes stayed closed for a moment, then opened and found yours.

There was something softer in his face now. Something satisfied.

“That’s the good luck I wanted,” he said, voice low and rough. The sound of it crawled down your spine and left you breathless.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

Katsuki walked fast. The night air cooled his face, which helped a little. He didn’t look back at the building. She was probably inside by now. Still, He thought about her lips again. About touching them, really touching them, not just a quick hit and run. He wanted to feel her mouth move under his. Feel her pull him closer. 

He forced the thought out of his head. Not now.

He wasn’t going home. He was heading straight to campus. He was late, bad late. His Coach was probably losing his mind. UA wasn’t some random school. It had a name. People expected results. Especially in archery. There wasn’t room for slacking.

He pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, too bright against the dark. Over 50 missed calls. All from his coach. His group chat was flooded, guys asking where he was, joking if he’d died. He didn’t respond. They’d figure it out. He’d ditched them on purpose. He knew it. He just didn’t care.

He cut through a side road to his apartment, walked straight in without turning on any lights. The place was quiet. He grabbed his duffel bag, already packed. Archery gear, clothes, the usual. He zipped it up. The weight in his hand felt the same as always.

He went back outside and got into his car. The engine rumbled to life. He put the car in drive, pulling away from the curb. He was going to get an earful when he got there. He already knew. But honestly, it didn’t bother him.

His phone buzzed again on the seat next to him. He glanced. A text. For a second, he thought maybe it was Y/n. That dumb little hope came and went before he could even finish the thought.

It wasn’t her. It was his ex.

"Good luck with the tournament, Katsuki💌"

Of course she knew. She still had friends at UA. She used to be at every match. He stared at the screen for a second, then tossed the phone face-down. It didn’t mean anything. Just someone from the past popping in.

His grip on the wheel tightened. His mind slipped right back to the present girl. She was the one that mattered now. Nothing else.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The lights inside the gym were too damn bright. Katsuki squinted against them as he walked in, five hours late and not sorry about it.

Coach Takagi spotted him the second he stepped onto the polished wooden floor. The man practically stomped across the gym, already red in the face. “Bakugo,” he barked, voice bouncing off the high ceiling. “You’re five goddamn hours late. We leave for Tokyo in less than twelve. You think I won’t bench your ass for this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said flatly, heading toward the benches. “So quit yappin’. I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

Takagi looked like he was going to blow a vein. “You think this is just about showing up? This is nationals. Your form’s been off for a week, and now you’re dragging in late."

Katsuki tossed his bag onto the floor with a loud thump and turned just enough to throw him a glare. “I said I’m here.”

The gym went quiet. Not completely, shoes still squeaked on the floor, bows still twanged from the other end, but a few heads turned, mostly the new kids.

Takagi muttered something under his breath and walked off, cursing into his clipboard. Katsuki didn’t care. Or at least he told himself he didn’t. His heart was going too fast, chest tight. Not from the yelling. From something else.

Sero jogged past and gave him a lopsided grin. “Dude. You’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

Katsuki gave him the middle finger. Sero just laughed and returned to the shooting line, adjusting his grip like none of this was a big deal. There were ten archers total. All top of their class, handpicked for this year’s national competition. No room for fuckups. Katsuki was supposed to be locked in right now. Mentally in the zone, disciplined, sharp.

He started walking towards the changing rooms, he knew the coach wouldn't stop him. Takagi needed him to shoot. Needed him to win. Katsuki was their best. They both knew it. That was his leverage. He used it, even as the stress tightened in his chest. I'm going to get killed later, he thought, but the anger felt distant. 

Inside the locker room, he pulled off his uniform shirt, tossing it onto the bench. He saw his own reflection in the small, grimy mirror above the sinks. His shoulders were tight, his jaw set. He stripped down quickly, then pulled on his practice gear: a black compression shirt, dark athletic shorts. The familiar feel of the fabric against his skin should have centered him, shifted him into practice mode.

But it didn't. His mind was stuck. Trapped. On her.

He shut his eyes and took a slow breath. Get it together.

He pulled on his arm guard, cinching the straps tight. His fingers, usually so steady, felt a tiny bit clumsy. He thought about her again.

God.

A low growl rumbled in his throat. He strapped on his chest protector, adjusted the fit. Every movement he made, every flex of muscle, felt like it was charged with something restless, something aching. He kept seeing her face. The wide eyes, the quick blush, he wanted to touch her again. Not just her lips. He wanted his hands on her skin, beneath the soft fabric of her clothes. 

He bit down on his lip hard, a sharp pain that jolted him back. Focus, you idiot.

He grabbed his bow from its rack. He strung it with practiced ease, but his mind refused to settle. How was he supposed to shoot? How was he supposed to hit a damn bullseye, when all he could see was her face? All he could feel was the ghost of her kiss? All he could think about was dragging her against him, burying his face in her neck, and just... take what he wanted?

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. The air in the gym smelled like rubber. All he could smell was her. He walked out onto the practice floor, his expression a blank mask. He lifted his bow. His vision tunneled. This was going to be a long practice. And a much longer two weeks.

The bowstring snapped against his glove, the arrow slicing through the air. It missed the center. 

Katsuki gritted his teeth. The next arrow nearly clattered off the side of the target.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath.

But how the fuck was he supposed to focus when all he could think about was her?

The gym was cold. Too cold for this much sweat. His shirt clung to his back, stuck to the dip of his spine. He tugged at the fabric, irritated, but it didn’t help. Not when the heat rolling under his skin had nothing to do with the room.

Every damn shot, every pull of the bow, just made his muscles tense more. He kept trying to push it down, the tight knot in his stomach, the burn in his chest, but it kept crawling back up. Her face. Her mouth. Her fucking voice.

He should’ve done it. Should’ve kissed her harder, should’ve pulled her in and felt her melt against him. Should’ve shoved her against the wall and seen what kind of noises she made when he got his hands under her clothes.

He adjusted his stance again, fingers twitching around the bow. Fuck. He couldn’t even breathe right.

She’d be so soft. He knew it. He could tell just from the way she moved, she probably had no idea how many times he’d gone home hard because of her.

He didn’t even jerk off—he wanted to, bad, but he was saving it. Saving the image of her for when he got back. But now? Now he was rock hard in the middle of practice, heart pounding and she wasn’t even here.

He imagined her kneeling in front of him, fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, eyes wide and wanting. Imagined her lips parting, tongue peeking out before she wrapped her mouth around him. Slow, like she was testing the weight of him on her tongue. He let out a sharp breath through his nose.

The next arrow hit the target, but low. He couldn’t even see straight anymore. His hand clenched tighter around the grip, his bow creaking slightly under the pressure. He wanted her with his whole body.

Wanted her underneath him, legs spread, fingers grabbing at the sheets like she didn’t know what to do with all the things he’d do to her. He wanted to hear her cry out his name, wanted to feel her squirm while he held her down and fucked her slow, deep, until her thighs shook.

He wouldn’t stop until she was wrecked. Until her voice broke. Until she couldn’t think of anything but him.

He’d be rough. Not because he was trying to prove something but because he needed her. Every inch of her. Skin, sounds, reactions. He needed to ruin the way she thought about sex. Needed her to know no one else could ever touch her like that. Not after him. She’d be dripping for him, he was sure of it. 

He adjusted his pants discreetly and stepped back from the line, dragging a hand down his face, trying to calm himself down. But even that, his own palm dragging across his mouth, made him think of how it’d feel to press that same hand between her legs, feel her soaking wet for him, feel her hips jerk when he added pressure and circled slow.

She’d cry if he fingered her right. He’d make her cum on his hand first, then again on his mouth, and only then would he fuck her. And it wouldn’t be quick. No. He’d take his time, because she was the kind of girl who deserved to be undone slowly. Inch by inch. Until she forgot her own name and the only thing she could say was his.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sero looked over. “You good, man?”

Katsuki didn’t look at him. Just walked toward the end of the gym, needing space. He leaned against the wall, dragging in a breath through his teeth. He was gonna lose it. If he didn’t get her out of his head, he was gonna walk out, drive back across the city, and take what he wanted. But she was too damn good. Too sweet. Too soft. He couldn’t do that. He respect her.

He had to leave in a few hours. Two fucking weeks away from her, stuck in some cold-ass hotel, around his team and cameras and coaches, no privacy, no distraction, nothing to burn this tension off. And the worst part?

She'll probably text him like nothing’s wrong. Like she wasn’t haunting his every thought. Like he didn’t want to wreck her every time she smiled at him.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He stared at the pavement in front of him, trying to clear his head. But it wouldn’t go. The images. The sounds. The need. He wanted her so bad, yeah—but what the fuck was he thinking?

That she’d drop to her knees just because he wanted it? That he could touch her just because he imagined it hard enough? That wasn’t him. That wasn’t him. His chest twisted. He felt sick.

He wasn’t raised like that. His mom would’ve knocked him upside the head if she even smelled that kind of thinking on him. Respect girls. Be good to them. Don’t touch what isn’t yours. Don’t act like some entitled little shit just because you’ve got hormones crawling under your skin.

He’d heard it since he was ten. Respect. Respect. Respect. And he did. He meant to. Always had.

But tonight, back in that gym, his body didn’t give a fuck about morals. His brain hadn’t even put up a fight. It just fed him images and let them play on loop like some sick, late-night fantasy reel.

He clenched his jaw. She deserved better than that. Way better. She wasn’t just some girl he wanted to fuck.

She was quiet and warm and sweet in a way that made him want to touch her differently. Not just in bed. In small ways. Her wrist. Her neck. Her back when she was too tired to sit up straight. He didn’t want to just bend her over, he wanted to know what made her laugh, what made her mad, what she was scared of at night when the lights were out.

He wanted to protect her. Wanted to earn the right to even think about her like that. And yet here he was, minutes ago, picturing her legs shaking around his waist. He dragged a breath in through his nose, grounding himself. He wouldn't touch her. Not until she wanted it. Not until she said so. Not unless she begged for it herself. And even then, only if she really meant it.

He wasn’t going to be that guy. No matter how badly his body burned for her. He stared up at the gym roof, the lights glowing just over the edge. The muffled sounds of his teammates still echoed inside—arrows, voices, coach’s bark. The world kept going.

He stood slowly, his legs stiff, the blood finally settling back where it belonged.

“Get your shit together,” he muttered to himself, heading toward the doors again. “You’re not a fucking animal.”

The gym was louder now. More people at the line, more noise. No one noticed him come back in. He walked past them all, to the end of the row where he usually practiced alone. His gear was still sitting where he left it, bow leaning upright against the bench, arrows still in their case.

He took his time this time. Adjusted his gloves. Rewrapped his arm. Pulled the guard tighter across his chest. Then he picked up his bow, pulled an arrow, and stepped to the line.

This wasn’t about her now. This was about the shot. The stance. The rhythm. He had a job to do. A competition to win. He could fall apart later. When he was alone. Not now. He drew the arrow back slow. Let it settle against his cheek. His fingers found their grip.

Breathe in. Steady. Focus. Then release. The arrow struck dead center.

Better.

He nocked another.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each time, the tension eased, not all the way, but enough to keep him grounded. His body was still wired, his thoughts still hazy with things he didn’t want to admit, but the movement helped. The structure. The repetition. The noise in his head had a place to go.

He wouldn’t stop wanting her. Not anytime soon. But he could want her right. With patience. With respect. Not like some desperate bastard who couldn’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

She was real. And he’d wait as long as it took. 

He drew one last arrow. Pulled it tight, his muscles shaking with the strain.

Then let it go.

Bullseye.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The alarm went off, loud and annoying in the quiet dorm room. Katsuki smacked it with his palm to shut it up. 4:10 AM. Way too early. It always felt too early no matter how many times he did this. He’d barely gotten any sleep, his eyes still felt heavy

He sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed. The mattress creaked underneath him as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His hands rubbed over his face once, hard, like he could scrape the tired out of him.

He dragged himself to the bathroom and stepped under the shower. The first hit of cold water made him flinch a little. It stung at first, but after a few seconds, it helped. The chill cut through the leftover heat in his body, the kind that had kept him tossing around in bed half the night. He scrubbed fast, not gentle, like he wanted the water to wipe everything off him.

His head was a mess. He tried to force his thoughts toward archery. Toward the target. His posture. The stretch in his shoulders when he pulled back the string. He kept thinking about it, repeating it in his head, trying to stay on track. He didn’t take his time. Just washed up, got it done, and stepped out.

Back in the hallway, the place was already alive. Not loud, but filled with that low murmur of everyone moving around. Other archers were dragging their feet out of their rooms, yawning, barely awake, all in the same navy blue UA tracksuits. Some looked like they hadn’t even showered yet. Everyone had that same tired looks.

He went back to his room to grab his stuff. His duffel bag sat by the door. He picked it up with one hand, then reached for his bow case with the other, the long, slim one built to protect it during travel.

The weight of both was familiar. He slung the strap of the duffel over his shoulder and adjusted the grip on the bow case. His body was still sluggish, but holding those things grounded him a bit.

Time to move.

He walked toward the main entrance of the dorms. Outside, a line of private buses, all owned by UA, sat idling. 

Their engines hummed low, ready to take the varsity players to Tokyo. Coaches stood by the doors, clipboards in hand, checking names.

He pulled a bottle of water from his bag and took a long swig. He hadn't touched his phone, they weren't allowed to have them during practice sessions. He pulled it out now. The screen lit up. No new messages. No. He knew it was stupid to expect anything.

His thumb hovered over her name. He wanted to text her. Wanted to say something. 

But what? Hey, I'm leaving for Tokyo now? That sounded dumb. And weak. He stared at the screen, feeling annoyed. 

His fingers twitched. He felt a rare kind of shyness, a hesitation that bugged him. He wasn't like that. He just did things. He pushed things forward. But with her...

Maybe later. Yeah. Later. He could text her after the first match. Or after they got settled. No reason to rush. No reason to seem... eager. He put the phone back in his pocket.

His coach barked his name from the front of the line. "Bakugo! Get on the bus! We're burning daylight!"

"Yeah, yeah," Katsuki muttered, even though it was still dark. He walked over, his eyes scanning the faces of his teammates. The others were mostly quiet, tired.

He climbed onto the bus, found an empty seat near the back by a window. He dropped his bag and bow case beside him, leaning his head back. The bus slowly rumbled to life, pulling away from the curb.

They had five matches in total. The first one was today, later in the afternoon. The second would be tomorrow. Then one on Thursday, Friday, and the last one on Saturday. A full week of competition. After that, they'd stay in Tokyo for another full week. A 'little trip,' the school called it. Mostly for team bonding, to visit some city spots, maybe a few more low-key practice sessions. Then the awarding ceremony. And after that, finally, back to Shizuoka.

Two weeks.

He closed his eyes. Two weeks felt like a lifetime. A long, empty stretch without her. He could already feel the gnawing absence. He was going to lose his mind.

He's trying to force his brain to shut down. Just a few minutes of quiet. That’s all he asked for. The hum of the bus, the low murmur of other archers, it was all background noise. He just needed to clear his head before the real hell started.

Then the seat beside him dipped. Hard.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!” a loud voice chirped, right next to his ear. Sero. He smelled faintly of toothpaste and too much energy drink. Katsuki kept his eyes shut, wishing Sero would just disappear. He was a good archer, always on point, but a pain in the ass everywhere else.

“Dude, check this out!” Sero’s voice was suddenly amplified, tinny and too close. He was on the phone. “Hey, Ei! Denki! Guess who’s finally gracing us with his presence!”

A burst of static-laced laughter erupted from the phone, followed by Kaminari’s loud, crackling voice. “No way! Katsuki?! Tell him he missed a killer jam session on our bus! Eijiro's got the whole playlist on blast!”

“You’re on the wrong damn bus, idiots!” Katsuki grumbled, not opening his eyes. He could picture them, probably already halfway to Tokyo, bouncing in their seats, too loud for a 5 AM trip. Those two were basketball players, on a different bus. But they somehow managed to annoy him even from miles away.

“He’s just jealous ‘cause we’re having more fun!” Kirishima’s voice, rough and cheerful, cut through. “Tell him to enjoy his beauty rest, Sero!”

Sero actually snickered. “He is having beauty rest, his eyes are all scrunched up like a grumpy little hedgehog!”

Katsuki’s eye twitched. He kept them closed, though. Just breathe. Don’t react. It wasn’t worth it. He didn’t give a damn about their dumb bus or their dumb music.

But then his mind spiraled.

Beauty rest. Yeah, right. He hadn't gotten any. Not with her on his mind. How many times do he remind himself that they weren't together. They barely even knew each other, not in the way most people did. They just bickered and somehow ended up kissing and getting all tangled up in each other. It was stupid. It was pointless.

But damn it.

He liked her. So much. A weird, hot ache spread through his chest. He wasn’t supposed to. Not like this.

She would be alone in Shizuoka. Alone. And then his stomach dropped. A cold dread, sharp and sudden.

Monoma.

His eyes snapped open. He stared straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him, seeing nothing. His jaw clenched so tight it ached. That bastard. That smug, annoying bastard. He was always lurking. Always.

What if that bastard talked to her? What if he saw her walking around campus, saw her alone, and decided to try something? What if he took his shot? 

Katsuki felt a surge of pure, raw fury. No. Hell no.

He wasn't allowed to think like that. He wasn't supposed to be this possessive. He just kissed her. That didn't mean anything. It wasn’t a claim. They weren't dating. He knew that. He knew it.

But the thought of Monoma’s smarmy grin near Y/n, of that guy even looking at her the wrong way, made something in Katsuki snap. He felt his hands clench into fists on his knees. It was illogical. It was crazy. He was a damn adult. He didn't own anyone.

Especially not someone he barely knew.

“Hey, Kats, you alive in there?” Kaminari’s voice yelled, making him jump.

“He just opened his eyes! He’s glaring at me!” Sero hissed into the phone, sounding genuinely amused.

Katsuki slammed his phone into the side of the bus. Hard. “Shut up, you extras! All of you!”

Sero just laughed louder, pulling the phone away from his ear slightly. “See? Still a grumpy hedgehog! Guess your beauty rest didn’t work!”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He leaned his head against the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. The early morning light was just starting to paint the sky a soft gray. He watched the buildings blur past, seeing none of them. His mind was a twisted mess of anger, possessiveness, and a denial so thick he could almost taste it. 

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

10 HOURS AGO.

The moment the door to your condominium clicked shut, you were already halfway across the living room, a silly, giddy feeling bubbling up inside you. You practically launched yourself onto your bed, landing with a soft bounce, and immediately grabbed the nearest plushie. A soft, slightly squashed whale pulling it tight against your chest.

Your face felt hot, burning from the inside out. You buried your face in the whale, a stupid, delighted giggle escaping you. Katsuki Bakugo. Who would have thought? 

Who would have thought that the guy you swore you hated, the one who annoyed you to no end the first time you saw him, would be the same one whose kiss just set your entire world spinning? It made absolutely no sense. None at all. But damn if it wasn’t crazy exciting.

You tossed the whale aside, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. Sleep felt miles away, despite the hour. There was just too much vibrant under your skin. You were so excited. Excited to spend more time with him, even if he was leaving for two weeks. Excited about your new job at the bookstore, even if it meant working with Monoma.

And just generally, wildly happy about finally, finally making friends. Real friends. It was a good feeling, a warm one that spread through your chest.

You reached for your phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up, and the first thing you saw, right there at the top of your contact list, was his name. Katsuki Bakugo. His number. You traced it with your thumb. You really planned on texting him. Saying "Be safe" or "Good luck." Something simple. But your thumb hovered, completely stuck. 

Your face started to feel warm again. You were too shy. Way too shy. Maybe tomorrow, you thought. Or later. After his first match. Yeah. Later.

Just as you put your phone down, it buzzed again. A notification. Your eyes flicked to the screen.

Powerpuff Girls 💝🌸🪷                                         

New Group Chat Request!                   

From: Mina Ashido                   

You stared at the name. Powerpuff Girls? You actually cringed. Seriously? That was their name? You almost rejected it just on principle. But then, curiosity won. And a tiny part of you was just too happy to be asked. You tapped 'Accept.'

The chat immediately exploded. Messages scrolled up too fast to read. And then you saw the names. Mina, of course. Ochaco, Hagakure, Jiro, Momo, Tsuyu. All of them. It hit you then, like a gentle wave: they really adopted you. You were in. You had a friend group. A real one.

You scrolled up, trying to catch up on the chaos. They were talking about the girls’ night.

Mina: Omg we HAVE to do a girls night this Friday!!

Ochaco: YES! I’m free! Movie marathon?

Toru: Pajamas and snacks and gossip! 🤩

Jiro: As long as the movie isn’t terrible.

You typed quickly. 

Y/n: Girls night? This Friday? So early!

Almost immediately, Mina's bubble popped up. 

Mina: Y/N!! You’re here! And yes, early! We need it! You in??

You chewed on your lip. You hadn’t planned anything, but…                                                         

Y/n: I’ll try.

You hit send. Then watched as Mina’s next message came through, practically shouting. 

Mina: NO. NO ‘TRY.’ THERE IS ONLY DO. WE WILL TRACK YOUR ADDRESS IF WE HAVE TO. NO ESCAPING THE POWERPUFF GIRLS. 😤

You kept chatting with the girls until it was way past what you usually allowed yourself. Mina was still going strong, sending ridiculous stickers, but eventually, your eyes started to feel heavy. You finally typed a quick "Gotta sleep!" and tossed your phone onto your bed. It was almost 11 PM.

The next morning, your alarm went off at 6 AM, just like always. You rolled out of bed, still a little tired, She think about him. He was probably on his way to Tokyo now. You didn't really know what time his bus left, but it had to be early.

You went through your usual routine: quick shower, getting dressed, a fast breakfast. By 8 AM, you were walking into school. The campus felt quieter than usual. 

You walked past the area where the varsity buses usually parked. Empty. Not a single UA bus. No varsity players hanging around, waiting to leave. They were gone. He was gone.

A strange kind of curiosity bubbled up inside you. You’d never heard of him being a varsity player. An archer, of all things. It just… it didn't fit with everything else you knew. How was he even doing it? He was a campus watchdog, part of the guidance committee. He was a legal management student, set to go into law. And now, on top of all that, he was a top-tier archer, good enough to go to nationals in Tokyo?

Your brain started to hurt just thinking about it. You couldn't even study for your regular classes and handle your club activities back in high school without feeling completely overwhelmed. But him? He juggled all that, and probably still managed to ace his classes. He wasn’t the type to just coast by on his grades. He always looked like he was aiming for the top, in everything. 

How was he doing all that at once? It just seemed impossible. Thinking about it made you want to cry. He had to be incredibly smart. Or just... built different. Maybe both. Still, it was a pain in the brain trying to figure him out.

You got to your classroom 15 minutes early. Your Creative Writing subject started at 8:15 AM. You slid into your usual seat near the window, pulling out your notebook. You loved Creative Writing. You loved the feel of words on paper, the way stories unfolded. But a wave of disappointment washed over you. You really wished you had picked architecture.

Your parents never really saw a career in Fine Arts. They always said it was a hobby, not a path. They were always pushing you towards something more practical, something that used your "left brain," as they put it. You were the youngest, so maybe it was okay. Maybe they had softened their expectations. But still, the disappointment in their voices always stung. You loved art, but sometimes, you wished you loved something they approved of more. Something that made sense. Something like what Katsuki did.

You kept comparing yourself to Katsuki, trying to wrap your head around how he juggled so much. It made your head ache. You felt so… inadequate next to him. Like you weren't trying hard enough, or just weren't smart enough. 

Your notebook lay open on your desk, but your eyes were fixed on nothing.

Then, a memory popped into your head, clear as day. Katsuki’s voice. From yesterday. "You don't need to change everything about you for people's satisfaction." The words echoed in your mind. Katsuki. Saying that. Him, who seemed to always know exactly what he wanted and never cared what anyone else thought. He had seen you, even when you felt so small. He was talking about everything. 

A strange calm washed over you. He was right. Why were you letting yourself feel bad? Why were you trying to measure yourself against someone else’s impossible standards, even his? It was stupid. You loved Fine Arts. You loved writing. This was your thing. Your parents’ opinions, society’s expectations—none of that should matter more than what made you happy. 

He didn't care about "left-brained" or "right-brained." He just cared about being himself. And maybe, deep down, he cared about you being yourself, too.

You picked up your pen, a small smile touching your lips. That was it. You wouldn’t compare yourself anymore. You would just be you. Your real self.

You looked up from your notebook, your gaze drifting to the classroom window. Outside, the sky was a huge, soft blue, stretching out forever. 

You could see the tops of so many trees, their leaves a vibrant green even in the city. The branches swayed gently in a barely-there breeze. It looked peaceful. Calm.

Nature. You loved it. You'd read somewhere that just spending time with nature could actually make your brain work better. It helped you think. Helped you feel calm. It made everything clearer. 

Yeah. You really loved nature.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

Your professor finally walked in, pulling you back to reality. You tried to pay attention, taking notes, but your hand kept drifting to your phone, sitting on your desk. You didn't pick it up, not during class, but you found yourself glancing at it every few minutes, just in case. 

Just in case it vibrated.

The lecture dragged on. Every now and then, you'd subtly check the time on your phone. It felt like forever. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, you practically shot out of your seat. It was 

lunchtime.

As you made your way through the crowded hallway, your phone buzzed in your hand. Your heart gave a little jump. You immediately pulled it closer to your face, trying to hide your reaction, but a stupid, uncontrollable blush spread across your cheeks. A wide, ridiculous smile stretched your lips.

It was Katsuki.

You opened the message, trying to look casual.

Katsuki: sup

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. His message was short, just like him. Cold, even. But it was from him. And that was all that mattered.

You quickly typed a reply, trying to match his cool tone, but inside you were practically bouncing.

Y/n: Just finished class. Heading to lunch now. What about you? Aren’t you still in your tournament?

You waited, your eyes fixed on the screen. The bubbles popped up almost instantly, then vanished. He was typing. 

Katsuki: Yeah. Lunch break. Just finished first match.

He won. You knew it. You just knew he won. A grin you couldn't control spread across your face. You quickly typed back, forgetting all about being cool.

Y/n: Oh! That's great! Did you win?! I bet you did! Congrats! 

You hit send, then immediately winced. Too many exclamation points. Too eager. He probably thought you were annoying.

A new message popped up. Short, as always.

Katsuki: Obviously.

You actually laughed, a small, quiet sound that drew a quick glance from someone passing by. You didn't care. Obviously. That was so him. So perfectly, annoyingly him. And you loved it. You just kept smiling, walking through the crowd of students, your phone clutched tight in your hand. He might be cold in his messages, but he was talking to you. And that felt like everything right now.

You kept moving through the crowded hallway, dodging other students as you went, your fingers gripping your phone a little too tight. 

Y/n: I'm so jealous you get a lunch break at your tournament. I still have classes this afternoon. 

Katsuki: you should skip.

You came to a full stop, right in the middle of the hallway, almost bumping into someone who mumbled something under their breath as they passed. You didn’t even look at them. Skip? Did he seriously just tell you to skip class? This was Katsuki we were talking about—the same guy who probably hadn’t missed a school day since preschool. 

Y/n: Nice try. But no. I actually like my classes. Most of them.

You sent it, then waited. A minute passed. Then another. You kept walking, but your steps were slower now, your attention glued to the screen in your hand. Maybe you’d killed the mood. Maybe he didn’t have time to talk anymore. Or maybe you annoyed him by texting too much.

Then the screen lit up again.

Katsuki: you're boring.

Your lips pressed into a flat line. Boring. Of course. Typical him. You almost wanted to roll your eyes, or maybe pout a little, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Deep down, you were pretty sure he didn’t mean it. At least, you hoped he didn’t.

You: Excuse me?! I am not boring! I have very interesting thoughts. And opinions. You just don’t get to hear them. (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ )

You hit send, feeling just a little bold. If he wanted to call you boring, then fine. He could deal with the fallout.

Katsuki: Prove it.

Your stomach did something weird. 

Y/n: Okay, fine! Did you know Tokyo has, like, the BEST gachapon shops? They have, like, entire buildings just for gachapon. I saw a video once, it was insane. You walk in and it’s just walls and walls of capsule machines. I’d go absolutely feral in there. I bet I could get so many cool trinkets. I seriously need to go there soon. Like, really soon. My collection is getting lonely. (๑>◡<๑)

You typed fast, letting your excitement pour into the message. It was easy to get carried away, gachapon was one of your favorite things. You loved the feeling of turning that crank and not knowing what you’d get. It felt like opening a secret gift every time. You imagined bright colors, all the little plastic bubbles stacked in rows, each one holding something weird or cute or rare.

Katsuki: K.

You blinked at your screen. K. Seriously? That was it? After everything you just said? You let out a tiny, frustrated sound in your throat. Your shoulders slumped a bit. You weren’t mad, not really, it was just so him to give you absolutely nothing after you just word-vomited your whole gachapon passion.

Still, you didn’t give up.

Y/n: No, seriously though! There are, like, exclusive ones you can only get there. And they’re always releasing new series. I want to try to get some of the mini food ones, or maybe the cute animal ones. Imagine getting a tiny sushi set! Or a grumpy cat figure! My display shelf would be so happy. ( ≧ᗜ≦)

It was true—your shelf back home had space just waiting to be filled with new little capsule toys. You knew he probably didn’t care about any of this, but you liked talking to him. Even if he barely said anything back.

Katsuki: want me to get u some?

You stared at the screen. Your thumb hovered above the keyboard, unmoving.

Did he just offer? You read the message again just to be sure. want me to get u some?

Your face got warm. It wasn’t just the words, it was how he said it. Like he wasn’t just saying “I’ll do it,” but actually asking if you wanted him to. Like he was checking in, making sure it was something you really wanted. There was something oddly sweet about that.

Your chest tightened with a strange little spark of hope.

Y/n: Really? You’d do that? (╥ ω ╥)

You hesitated for half a second before sending the crying kaomoji. It was probably too clingy, too soft, but you didn’t delete it. You didn’t care.

Katsuki: Might as well. Ill be there anyway. Which ones.

He brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal. But to you, it was. He was offering to go out of his way while in the middle of his tournament. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it felt personal.

You wanted to scream. Or maybe throw your phone at your bed and roll around (If you were in your room right now.)

Y/n: Omg really?! ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ Just anything cute! Or funny! Surprise me! You pick! 

Katsuki: you're annoying

You snorted. He called you annoying, again. That was basically his love language at this point.

Your phone buzzed once more.

Katsuki: Gonna go. I'll text you later.

Y/n: Ok, I'm rooting for you!

And just like that, he was gone. You stared at that message a few seconds longer than you needed to. It was such a small thing. But it felt like something that mattered. You slipped your phone back into your bag, still smiling, and headed off to the cafeteria. Suddenly, the day didn’t seem so bad. You had Katsuki after all.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

you started heading toward the cafeteria, still thinking about the idea of him actually picking out gachapon figures for you. It was ridiculous. Cute. Weirdly intimate.

As you walked, you made a mental note to catch up with Mina and the others after your afternoon class. You loved being around them. It felt easy. Comfortable. You knew they’d go wild once you told them about your new part-time job at the bookstore.

But then, as you turned the corner into the main hallway leading toward the cafeteria, something felt off. People weren’t moving the way they normally did. There was a huge group clustered around the bulletin board. Not just a few curious students—a full crowd. You could hear the murmurs, see people craning their necks, pointing at something, whispering to each other.

You slowed your pace, brows furrowing. What’s going on? It wasn’t normal for students to react like this unless something actually worth seeing was up there.

You pushed your way through the crowd, carefully muttering quiet apologies as you squeezed between shoulders and backpacks. Everyone was trying to get a look. Finally, you spotted a familiar head of pink hair up near the front. Mina. She stood there with her arms crossed, her whole expression reading as unimpressed as hell.

“Mina!” you called out as you reached her side, slightly breathless. “What’s going on? Why is everyone crammed around this thing?”

Mina glanced at you, clearly annoyed with the entire situation. “Oh, hey,” she said flatly, giving a little wave before gesturing toward the board. “Just the usual. Nothing exciting.” She rolled her eyes. “Some new bulletin thing. Total newsflash. Whatever.”

You looked at the board yourself. At first glance, it looked like a standard news poster. A large, freshly printed spread had been pinned up—glossy photos, clean layout, bold headline font that practically shouted. Then you saw it. A full-color picture of a woman. Large. Eye-catching. And unbelievably pretty.

Your breath caught. She was stunning. Not in a fake way. Effortlessly so. Her smile was relaxed, like it took no effort to look that perfect. Her eyes practically glowed with confidence. She had that kind of posture people spent years training for. Every inch of her looking expensive and flawless. It wasn’t just admiration, it was full on awe. You couldn’t look away. She wasn’t just pretty. She was striking.

“Wow,” you said without thinking. It came out under your breath, like it escaped on its own.

Mina gave you a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Whoa. You went dead silent,” she said, side-eyeing you. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You shook your head a little, eyes still fixed on the picture. “Nothing,” you mumbled. “She’s just... really pretty.” You meant it too. Her clothes, the way her makeup was done, her hair—everything screamed success. She looked like she belonged on a billboard. She didn’t look like someone you could casually run into on the street. Compared to her, you suddenly felt small. Plain. Your uniform this morning didn’t feel so cute anymore. Your hair felt messy. The noise in the crowd wasn’t just from any regular announcement. It felt heavier than that. This was someone important.

Mina sighed. It wasn’t a surprised sigh, it sounded more like she was annoyed. “Yeah,” she muttered. “That’s Camie Utsushimi. Katsuki’s ex.”

The words slammed into you. Your lungs stopped working for a second. Katsuki’s ex. You had heard the name once before. One of his old friends. It hadn’t seemed like anything worth thinking about. But this? This changed things.

You stared at the photo again. She looked like she belonged in magazines. And apparently, she did. Your mind scrambled, trying to connect the dots. Him... with her? You tried to picture it and couldn’t. 

“She’s… Katsuki’s ex?” you asked, your voice barely audible. Your hands were cold. Your chest felt tight. You couldn’t stop looking at the poster.

Mina folded her arms tighter, her face stiff. “Yep. Big deal back when they were still at UA. Everybody knew her. Now she’s in London, modeling. Some famous brand.” She jabbed a finger at the headline. “That’s why everyone’s freaking out. ‘UA Alum Takes London Fashion Scene By Storm,’ or whatever.”

You weren’t listening to her tone anymore. Everything else faded. You were still staring at that same picture. She's the kind of girl who turned heads without trying. The kind of girl who fit next to someone like Katsuki. You thought of yourself, you're not even as beautiful as her, you believe. 

The glow from his texts just minutes ago, the giddy warmth you felt walking toward the cafeteria... it vanished. It got swallowed by something heavier. He dated her. That was real. That was part of his past. That was the kind of girl he used to want.

“Oh,” you said. The word came out small, empty. It was all you could manage.

You looked away from the board. Suddenly you couldn’t stand to see her smile anymore. Couldn’t handle the way people around you were still talking about her, pointing at her name, admiring her like she wasn’t a person—like she was a standard. Like this was what girls were supposed to live up to.

You turned back toward Mina, searching for some kind of reassurance, but her face was serious and tense. You could tell she didn’t like Camie. Maybe she had her reasons. Maybe it didn’t even matter. Because all you could think was that Katsuki had been with her. That someone like him had someone like her. And now… he was texting you.

And suddenly that didn’t feel real anymore. A creeping insecurity burrowed its way in. Your thoughts spun. How could you possibly be someone he liked now, when she was the kind of person he used to love? How could you compare? You weren’t flawless. You weren’t famous. You weren’t polished or cool or camera-ready.

The flirty texts from earlier felt silly. Small. Like a daydream. Something he’d forget the second someone better walked by. Someone more like Camie. Someone he already knew how to love.

You didn’t say anything else. You just stood there, shrinking into yourself, your chest hollow. A tiny, hopeless feeling crept in. You just wanted to disappear. You didn’t say anything out loud, just turned to Mina, your voice a little softer than before. “Let’s just get to the cafeteria. I’m hungry.”

Mina looked at you for a second, long enough to clock the shift in your mood but she didn’t push. She just nodded, casually falling into step beside you. You both merged with the flow of students heading toward the cafeteria, the noise of conversation and footsteps building as you walked.

The second you stepped into the main hall, voices bouncing off the walls, trays clattering, chairs scraping. The cafeteria was packed. The smell of food hit you next: steamed rice, fried meat, noodles, something cheesy, something sweet. It all mixed together in a messy way that was somehow comforting.

You grabbed a tray, trying to focus on the food in front of you, but your thoughts weren’t done yet. You glanced sideways at Mina, your voice low and a little forced. You were trying to sound chill when you weren’t. “So… about her. Was she… Katsuki’s first girlfriend?”

It came out rougher than you expected. Too pointed. You tried to play it off, but the way it landed was clear. You just wanted to know. A simple fact, but one that suddenly mattered a lot more than it should’ve.

Mina casually eyeing the fried chicken in front of her "Whoa, hold on there,” she said, half-laughing. Her voice was light, but her eyes flicked toward you, quick. “Uhhh maybe let's talk about that on friday."

You let out a quiet sigh, but it came with a tight flutter of nerves in your chest. Friday felt far away. Too far. And you hated sitting with unknowns. “Okay, but… when did they break up?” you asked, trying to sound neutral, like it was just a timeline you were after. 

Mina finally picked out a piece of chicken and dropped it onto her tray. “Huh? Oh. Around Christmas, I think. Yeah, it was on their anniversary.”

...

Wait... familiar...

...

You froze. 

Christmas.

The word hit harder than it should’ve. Your mind jumped, uninvited, back to the camp. That moment. Katsuki typing his phone password. It had stuck in your brain even then. And now it clicked. That date… it wasn’t random. It was the day they broke up. 

The day of their anniversary.

A weird, cold feeling pooled in your stomach. You looked down at the tray in your hands like it had suddenly gotten too heavy. That tiny detail now meant something much bigger. It made everything about him feel deeper, more complicated, like he had years of stuff you hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of. You weren’t ready for that weight. But now it was there.

“Anyway,” Mina said suddenly, dragging your attention back, her tone shifting lighter, “I already miss Eijiro. It’s so weird having all the guys gone.”

They sat down at the table. “Oh, really? They’re in Tokyo too? Whoa, that’s so cool. I’m proud of them.”

Mina lit up again. “They’re legends in their own right. I love them. So,” she said, voice dropping lower, “did you, like… talk to him?”

You looked at her, thrown off. “Huh?”

She raised a brow, a teasing glint already in her eyes. “Katsuki. Don’t even try to lie. You two have something going on, don’t you?”

Heat crept up your neck before you could stop it. Your hand shot to your face, like you could somehow block the blush spreading there. “Talk to who?” you mumbled, way too quickly. Your voice went high, stupidly obvious. It was the worst fake-confused tone you’d ever managed.

Mina's grin stretched wider. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

You ducked your head. “Yeah, I guess,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. You couldn’t look her in the eye. What were you supposed to say? That you’d kissed him—multiple times? That you weren’t even sure how many, because each one had blurred into the next? Six? Seven? It was a mess in your brain. You definitely couldn’t say that yet. Not out loud. 

“Hm.” Mina’s expression shifted. Her smile softened, just a little. She didn’t tease you further. She didn’t press. Instead, she leaned in, voice low, just between the two of you. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Her hand touched your arm, giving it a small, steady squeeze.

She wasn’t joking, and you could tell. That wasn’t just some throwaway comment. It came out serious. There wasn’t any judgment in her voice, no drama. Just concern. Real concern. The kind that only shows up when someone actually gives a damn about you. When they want you safe. 

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You walked away from the cafeteria with Mina, her warning still ringing in your ears. "Be careful," she’d said. But be careful of what? What did she mean exactly? You wanted to ask. The question was right there on the edge of your tongue, and it itched at the back of your mind. It would’ve been so easy to say something, just a small follow-up. But you didn’t. You held it back.

You didn’t want to spiral. You hated overthinking things. You always had. Because once you started, it was hard to stop. Your thoughts would just keep circling, getting more tangled, more anxious. And honestly? You’d had enough of that for one day. So you told yourself to drop it. You’d let it go, at least for now. Mina would tell you more if there was more. Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was just being protective. Either way, pushing wouldn’t help.

At the next hallway junction, you and Mina parted ways. She gave you a quick wave and disappeared around the corner. You glanced at your schedule again to double-check your next class, then moved with the flow of students, blending into the crowd.

You reached the classroom just before the bell rang. Introduction to Sketching. Normally, you looked forward to this class. It was one of the few hours in your day where you could unplug your brain and just draw. Get lost in it. The quiet scratch of pencil on paper, the softness of shading, the slow building of something from nothing, it usually helped you reset. But today was different.

As the professor began the lecture, her voice blurred in the background. You sat at your desk, notebook open, pen in hand, but your focus was shot. Your hand moved, sure—but all you drew were scattered lines. Aimless shapes. Half-formed figures you weren’t really thinking about. You weren’t really there. Not mentally.

Your head kept pulling you back. Back to that bulletin board. Back to that stupid photo. Camie’s face was burned into your memory now, everything about her was so put together, like she belonged on a magazine cover. And she had. That was the point. She did. She was.

You kept looping. From Camie, to the texts, to you. From the way you rambled when you messaged him, to the way he replied. The way your heart raced at a bare minimun text messages.

You're not feeling well.

It was embarrassing, you caught yourself comparing. Your clothes, Your face, Your presence. Even your personality. And it wasn’t even a fair fight. You didn’t even know her, and yet here you were, already picking yourself apart.

You felt like some clingy girl who got way too excited over texts. Like you were being ridiculous.

The image of Katsuki and Camie together floated into your mind. It didn’t feel real. It felt like a scene from a movie. Some high-budget, dramatic story. A perfectly styled girl with the guy who looked like he could tear down walls with his bare hands. And then there was you. You didn’t belong in that scene. You were the background extra. The before shot. The wrong match.

You shut your eyes for a second. Stop it. You tried to shove the thoughts away. Stop overthinking everything. Stop doing this to yourself.

It was just a picture. Just a news article. Just a relationship from his past. Something that had nothing to do with you.

You took a slow breath and looked back down at the page in front of you. It was still mostly blank. Still salvageable. You picked up your pen again, tightening your grip a little this time. You had to pull yourself back. You had to focus.

You didn’t want to waste the class. You didn’t want to let a stranger’s face (no matter how beautiful) ruin your whole day. Not when you were doing your best to keep moving forward.

Later that night, your room was finally clean. You’d spent a good hour scrubbing surfaces and putting things away, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from drifting. After that, you took a long, hot shower, letting the steam fill the bathroom, trying to wash away the day's anxieties. 

When you stepped out, wrapped in a towel, you found yourself standing in front of your full-length mirror.

You just stared. You turned sideways, then front-on, hands moving over your waist, your hips. You couldn’t help it. You were comparing. The image of her perfect, poised figure from the bulletin board flashed in your mind. 

Despite knowing it was stupid, a wave of insecurity washed over you. You picked at a loose thread on your towel, wishing you looked different, wishing you could just stop thinking about it.

Finally, you gave up, pulling on your most comfortable pajamas. You walked over to your bed, lit a couple of scented candles that smelled like roses, and then clicked off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of your bedside lamp. You settled under the covers, reaching for your phone.

Still nothing from Katsuki.

You traced the outline of your phone screen with your thumb. You never really believed in love. Not since middle school, when you’d seen people get their hearts absolutely shattered over silly crushes and dramatic breakups. You’d always told yourself you were too smart for that. So why, now, did it feel like you were already overthinking every single thing about a guy you weren't even officially dating? You two weren't together and yet, you already felt this weird sense of losing, a tightness in your chest that suggested something precious was slipping away, even before it had truly begun.

It felt like a serious kind of attachment. Was that weird? You thought it probably was. You were probably just being weird. Fucking weird.

You tried to distract yourself again. You climbed out of bed, grabbed your box of Legos from the shelf, and started building, letting the tiny plastic bricks click together under your fingers. You put on some music, loud enough to fill the quiet of your condo, but not so loud it would bother the neighbors. For a while, it worked. You hummed along to the melody, your eyes focused on the colorful bricks, slowly forming something abstract and meaningless.

After a bit, you moved to your balcony, sitting on the small chair, just watching the city lights twinkle below. The sky was a deep, inky black, dotted with a few faint stars. It was peaceful. You looked at the endless expanse above, trying to lose yourself in its vastness.

But then, the music suddenly stopped. The silence in your room was jarring, pulling you back from the quiet contemplation of the city. You frowned, wondering if your phone had died, or if the app had crashed. You pushed yourself up and walked back into your bedroom.

As you got closer to your phone, lying on your bed, you saw it. An incoming call. Your whole body instantly calmed, a wave of relief washing over you so potent it almost made your knees buckle.

It was Katsuki.

But then, the relief was swiftly followed by a jolt of anxiety. Why was he calling? What if it was bad news? Was he playing you? Was this some kind of sick joke? You really, really hoped not. Because despite all your rational thoughts, despite the fear and the insecurity, you knew it now. You really, truly liked him. Full on.

You grabbed your phone, your hand trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of your bed. The light from the screen illuminated your face, which felt hot and cold all at once.

Your finger hovered over the 'answer' button. You’d been waiting for him to message you since lunch, practically since afternoon. All that overthinking, all that worry… and now he was calling. What did it mean?

Taking a shaky breath, you finally tapped the screen. "Hello?" your voice came out, softer than you intended, a little breathy.

Silence. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You could hear a faint rustling on his end, a distant murmur of voices, but nothing from him directly.

Had he called by accident? Had he regretted it? Your heart pounded while you waiting.

Then, a low, rough voice broke the quiet. "You pick up." It was Katsuki. His voice was deeper than you expected on the phone, a little tired, but clear.

"Uh, yeah," you managed, a nervous giggle escaping you. "You called."

Another brief silence. You could almost feel him considering his words. "Couldn't text. Coach is still on my ass. Watching."

"Oh," you said, a small smile forming. "Right. The tournament." You pictured him, probably in some quiet corner, trying to make this call without being noticed. It made your chest warm.

"Yeah." His voice was terse, as always. "What are you doing."

"Just relaxing," you replied, looking around your dimly lit room, at the still-burning candles, the scattered Lego bricks. "Finished cleaning, took a shower." You hesitated. "Why'd you call?"

A beat passed. "Wanted to."

Your stupid face blushed. Wanted to. It wasn’t just polite small, talk not even close, and somehow, that made it feel even more real and more personal. 

"Oh." You didn't know what else to say. Your mind went blank, your usual chattiness completely gone.

"You said you were rooting for me," he continued, his voice a low rumble that somehow filled your room.

"I am!" you insisted, your voice suddenly regaining some of its energy. "Definitely. I mean, you won your first match, right? That's amazing."

"Yeah," he grunted. "Still got four more."

"You'll crush them," you said, confidence in your voice. You believed it, completely. You could just imagine him on the archery range, fierce and focused.

"Maybe," he muttered, though you could almost hear the arrogance in his tone. "Hey, you really want those gachapon? I saw a few places. Near the hotel."

Your eyes widened. He actually remembered. He was actually thinking about it. "Seriously?! You'd really go? Like, I told you I just want anything cute or funny. You don't have to go out of your way..."

"I already said I would," he cut you off, a hint of impatience in his voice. But it wasn't harsh. "Tell me what you really want. Don't be an idiot. I don't wanna pick on my own."

You giggled, a genuine, delighted sound. "Okay, okay! Um... maybe like, those tiny animal ones? Or the food ones? Oh! And if you see any with, like, little robots, those are cool too!" You were rambling, but you couldn't help it. The idea of him picking out little trinkets for you, was just absurd and wonderful all at once.

He was quiet for a moment, and you pictured him probably rolling his eyes. "Right. Whatever. Tiny animals and food. Got it."

"And if you get me a grumpy cat, I will literally send you a selfie of me making the exact same grumpy face," you teased, feeling bold.

A low chuckle, rough and almost surprising, came through the phone. "Don't tempt me, darling."

Your heart jumped hard, thudding loud in your chest. You didn’t say anything. Heat crept up your neck, flushing your face all the way to your ears. He really just said it. Like it was your name.

"So," you quickly changed the subject, your voice a little strained. "Is it really boring there?"

"It's a hotel," he scoffed. "What do you think? It's all a bunch of idiots staring at their phones or trying to sneak out for junk food."

You laughed. "Sounds like fun. Are you doing any of that?"

"No," he said, flatly. "I'm calling you."

The simple statement hit you harder than any grand declaration could have. He chose to call you. While his teammates were messing around, he called you. It made your heart swell.

"Oh," you said softly, your voice suddenly thick with emotion. "Right."

Another silence. This one was different. Comfortable. Not awkward at all. You could hear him breathing, a calm sound. You wondered what he was doing on his end. Was he lying in bed? Staring at the ceiling?

"Hey," he said, his voice a little softer now, less rough. "You still there?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "Still here."

"Good." The single word was laced with something you couldn't quite place. Satisfaction? Relief? "Go to sleep, idiot. You got class."

"You too," you replied, a smile back on your face.

"You need to rest for tomorrow's match. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, but there was no real heat in it. "Later."

"Later, Katsuki," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then, the line clicked. He hung up. You looked at the screen, at the call history, confirming it was real. He called. He called you. And he called you darling.

You finally stood up, feeling like you were floating. The insecurity, the worry, the ugly thoughts about his ex. They didn't disappear completely, but they were pushed to the back. For now, all that mattered was the warmth spreading through your chest, the lingering sound of his voice, and that one, confusing, exhilarating word. 

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

Sleep wouldn’t come. You kept tossing and turning, your mind wouldn’t stop running. You kept replaying the whole call,  and you wanted to spend more time with him, even though you knew it couldn’t happen right now. You already missed him. It was stupid, but the feeling in your chest was real and heavy.

Why was your brain making up random situations, him walking you home again, or just sitting next to you without saying anything? Were you actually going crazy? A soft whine from the floor pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked down right away. In their small beds, lying side by side, your Persian cat, Yuzu, and your Corgi, Mikan, were stirring.

Mikan was the one making noise, her tiny body twitching as she let out another soft whine, which clearly annoyed the quieter Yuzu. The cat blinked at her slowly, not impressed.

You got out of bed and walked over to them quietly.

"Awww my babies," you whispered as you bent down. Mikan started wagging her tail right away, her round eyes watching you. Yuzu stretched and gave a short meow. You ran your hand over Mikan’s fur, then scratched Yuzu gently behind her ears. They seemed fine, just a little restless.

"Come on," you said quietly. "Come up here with me."

You picked up Mikan then gently encouraged Yuzu to hop onto the bed. They both got comfortable: Mikan curled up near your feet, and Yuzu sprawled out on your pillow beside your head, softly purring.

This felt better. Spending time with them always helped. Besides, you didn’t need to wake up early tomorrow. Your first class was at 9 AM, and you’d be done by noon. Only two subjects on Wednesdays and Fridays. It worked out, especially since you were planning to go to the bookstore with Neito tomorrow afternoon.

But even with your pets close by, your brain still wouldn’t quiet down. You glanced at your phone on the nightstand. Only an hour had passed since you and Katsuki ended the call. Just an hour, but it felt way longer.

And the thought kept bothering you: did you want to call him again? Just to hear his voice? To know he was still there? The answer was yes. A strong, obvious yes. You missed him more than you expected. You were really down bad for him.

You shut your eyes tight. No. Don’t do that. He said he was tired. He needed sleep. And honestly, so did you.

You rolled onto your side, facing the window. The lights outside were still bright. Mikan let out a small noise by your feet. Yuzu was purring softly beside your ear. You tried to focus on that, on how warm and comforting they were. You wondered if he was asleep now. If he was thinking about you. If he regretted calling.

No, don’t think that. He wouldn’t have called if he didn’t want to. That’s not who he is. He called because he felt like it. That should be enough. You tried to hold on to that thought, to settle yourself.

The minutes passed slowly. You could hear your fridge humming. Some faint city sounds in the background. Everything else was quiet, except your thoughts. You reached for your phone again, then stopped halfway. This was getting out of hand. You were acting like a teenager with a crush. You barely knew him. You’d kissed a few times, and now he was all you could think about. It was honestly embarrassing.

You glanced at Yuzu, who was now kneading the pillow next to your head, completely unbothered. Mikan shifted again, letting out a small sound in her sleep. Their lives were simple. Food, sleep, affection. Why couldn’t your own feelings be that clear?

Your eyes kept going back to your phone. You picked it up and stared at Katsuki’s contact. His name stood out on the screen.

You really wanted to call him, to hear his voice again but you didn’t want to disturb him. He had another tournament tomorrow. He needed the rest, and you didn’t want to be the reason he lost sleep.

You let out a long sigh. You weren’t going to call him. You couldn’t. It was too much. You had to keep it cool, even if you didn’t feel that way. You just had to act like it. You just had to get through these two weeks without him.

And maybe, once he came back, things would feel clearer. Or maybe they’d be even more confusing.

Who knew?

You were about to sigh and put the phone down when Yuzu, your fluffy Persian cat, suddenly jumped off the bed. She landed with a soft thump and let out a tiny, surprised “mew.” The sudden noise made your hand jolt and your thumb hit the screen by accident.

Calling Katsuki Bakugo...

“Ah!” you gasped, panicking. You tried to pull your hand back, fumbling with the phone. “No, no, no—” You scrambled to cancel the call, your heart pounding. This was not supposed to happen. You were about to wake him up, and it was mortifying.

Then—click.

A voice answered, low and slightly rough from sleep. “Hello?”

You froze. He answered. He actually picked up. You pulled the phone away for a second, double-checking the screen.

It was really him.

“Uh, hey,” you stammered, your face heating up. “I—I’m so sorry! My cat jumped off the bed and I accidentally pressed call. I was trying to hang up—”

“I was about to call you anyway,” he cut in. His voice was flat, no emotion. But then he paused. “You called first.”

Your mind went blank. He was going to call you? He couldn’t sleep either? Was he thinking about you too? that thought made you like him even more and your embarrassment started to fade.

“Oh,” you said, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Couldn’t sleep. You still up?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, letting out a small, relieved laugh. “Still awake.”

“Thought so,” he muttered.

“What’s keeping you up?” you asked, leaning back against the headboard. You felt more relaxed now.

“The hotel bed sucks.” he said.

"I thought hotel beds were the nicest beds ever."
You glanced at Yuzu, who had jumped back onto the bed and was now curled beside your head, purring loudly. “Hey, you remember Yuzu and Mikan, right?”

“The furballs” he said. You could almost hear the faint trace of a smirk. “Yeah. What about them?”

“Look!” you said. You sat up and quickly snapped a picture of them, Yuzu blinking up at you, and Mikan curled into a ball near your feet. You sent it right after. “They’re with me now. They woke up, so I brought them on the bed. They’re helping me sleep.”

"The cat looks like it swallowed a cotton ball. The dog looks like a potato."

You gasped. “Hey! Don’t insult my babies!” You pouted even though he couldn’t see you. “They are beautiful. Be nicer.”

“I’m just saying,” he said. You heard a small chuckle, “They look comfortable though.”

“They are,” you said, smiling now. “So, where’s Kumo? Is he with you in Tokyo? Or did you leave him home?”

“Kumo’s with Izuku,” he answered. “I can’t bring him. He’s not a damn travel pillow.”

“Oh, right,” you said, remembering Izuku the green-haired guy. “I bet Izuku’s spoiling him. Kumo’s probably getting a lot of cuddles.”

“Probably,” Katsuki said. “That nerd spoils him too much.”

You smiled, picturing Kumo being smothered with attention. “Do you miss him?"

A pause. Then a quiet, “Yeah.”

You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

“You should bring him back some treats when you get home,” you said. “Like, the really good kind. He deserves it.”

“He’s always a good boy,” Katsuki said, and for once, his voice sounded softer. “Unlike some animals.”

“Are you seriously still talking about my babies?” you said, pretending to be offended. “Yuzu and Mikan are sweethearts. They don’t cause any trouble.”

“Sure,” he scoffed

“Okay, fine. Maybe they’re a little spoiled. But Yuzu mostly just sleeps, and Mikan only wants snacks and cuddles.”

“Sounds like most animals,” he replied. “Except Kumo’s actually useful. He catches stuff.”

“My babies are useful too!” you shot back. “They’re cute. And comforting. Mikan is the best snuggler. And Yuzu purrs whenever I’m stressed.”

“Right,” he said, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. “So they’re your little furry therapists”

“Exactly.” You grinned. “They’re my emotional support team."

You paused, then added with a giggle, “Wait—no. You have Kumo. So that’s one for you, and two for me. We have three combined. We’re already fur parents.”

There was a long silence after that. You held your breath. Maybe you took it too far. The idea of you two being fur parents was silly, but also kind of sweet. Sometimes you talk too much and don’t even realize what you're saying until it’s already out.

Then, finally, his voice came through the phone. “So, if you’re the mommy,” he said, voice flat but with a hint of amusement, “that means you gotta pick up Kumo’s shit.”

You gasped, genuinely offended. “Hey! What?! No way!” You sat up straighter, frowning. “Why do I have to pick up Kumo’s poop?! He’s your baby!”

A low laugh came through the phone. It wasn’t one of his usual scoffs or snorts, it was deeper, more relaxed. It made your cheeks warm. “You’re the mommy, aren’t you? Mommies do the dirty work. Besides, you’ve got two other furballs. You’ve had practice.”

“My furballs are perfectly disciplined!” you shot back, puffing your cheeks. “They do their business outside, like proper citizens! And I do pick it up! But Kumo’s a huge golden retriever! That’s a lot of... responsibility.”

He just kept laughing, the sound dragging out in that low, almost lazy way. It was actually nice to hear. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait ’til Kumo sits on your lap."

After that, the two of you settled into a slower rhythm. You talked about small things. Normal stuff. He let you ramble, and you didn’t feel like you had to hold anything back.

You told him about Yuzu’s weird habit of knocking pens off your desk just to get attention, and how Mikan had a thing for crunchy snacks.

“Mikan has this obsession with biscuits,” you said. “She goes absolutely nuts for them. And Yuzu’s super picky. She only eats one specific brand of wet food, and if it’s not that, she just gives me attitude”

“Kumo eats anything,” Katsuki said, “Not picky at all. He finishes his bowl in a minute and then looks at me like I’m the one who needs feeding.”

“Awwwwww I love greedy dogs!,” you said, picturing the big golden retriever. “Do you take him on long walks? Or to a park?”

“Sometimes. When I have time. He likes the beach,” he said. “Likes chasing the waves.”

You smiled. “A beach dog? That’s adorable. I bet he loves swimming.”

“Mikan hates water,” you added. “She turns into a soggy potato.”

“Sounds about right,” he said, but you could hear the affection in his voice when he talked about Kumo. “Yuzu sounds like she runs your life though. Picky cats always win.”

“She definitely thinks she does,” you admitted, watching Yuzu knead your blanket with her paws. “But Mikan rules snack time. If she hears a bag crinkle, she’s right there.”

He didn’t answer right away, and for a second, you thought maybe he didn’t like you being talkative. But then, he let out another one of those low chuckles.

“Whatever. Just go to sleep.”

You smiled. “You too,” you said gently, glancing at Yuzu and Mikan. “Get some rest for tomorrow."

“Go to sleep,” he repeated, voice low. You could hear the faint smile behind it. “See ya.”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The next afternoon, sunlight spilled across the sidewalk outside Literary Cafè. You stood there for a moment, took a deep breath, and let the smell of coffee and old books settle your nerves.

This was it, your first day at the cafè-bookstore Monoma had told you about. You felt a little nervous, but mostly excited.

Well, here goes nothing.

You pushed the glass door open. The soft chime above rang out, and warm air wrapped around you right away. Inside, it was cozy. The faint rustling of pages, and the smell of fresh coffee filled the space. Monoma was already behind the counter, he looked up and smiled when he saw you.

“Hey, you made it,” he said, sounding genuinely happy. He gestured around the shop. “Welcome to Literary Cafè!” He came out from behind the counter and stood beside you. “You’re gonna have fun here, I promise. And now we’ll actually get to hang out more.” His smile made you feel at ease.

“It smells really good in here,” you said, glancing around at the small tables and tall shelves lined with books. “It feels nice.”

“It is,” he said, grabbing a clean apron from a hook. "Miss Haruka should be here any minute to get you started. But first…” He handed you the apron. “Let’s make you look like you belong.”

You fumbled with the ties, and he chuckled. Then he stepped forward to help, reaching around to tie the back for you.

“There,” he said. “Ready to conquer the espresso machine?”

You laughed and adjusted the apron. “I’M READY!!!"

“Good mindset,” he said, walking you over to the coffee machine. “Don’t worry. It’s not as complicated as it looks. You’ll be doing latte art in no time.” He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice “If you want to impress our boss, act like you already know how to steam milk. It’s all about confidence.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Just helpful,” he said with a wink. “That’s my job as your senior. But seriously, you’ll get the hang of it. You seem like a quick learner.” He looked at you for a second longer. “And you’ve got the right look for it. Kind of artsy.”

You felt your face heat up at the compliment. “Thanks,” you said quietly, looking down.

Just then, Haruka stepped out from the back room. "You must be Y/n!” she greeted you with a smile. “Perfect timing. Neito already got you in an apron, good job. Let’s get you familiar with the place.”

Haruka spent the next hour showing you around and teaching you the basics. She explained how the register worked, where to stock the pastries, and where all the different beans and supplies were kept. Monoma followed you both, jumping in sometimes with tips or funny stories about past mistakes. He made everything easier to take in, and his calm attitude helped you relax.

“And this,” Haruka said as she brought you back to the coffee machine, “is our pride and joy.”

“Alright, rookie,” Monoma said, stepping in. “First lesson: the grind.” He showed you how to weigh the beans and adjust the grinder settings. “This part’s about getting the texture right. If it’s too fine, the machine clogs. Too coarse, and the coffee’s weak.”

You nodded. “Okay. Got it. Precision.”

“Exactly,” he said, glancing at you. “Every little detail matters.” He looked at you for a second, then added, “You look pretty serious when you’re focused.”

Your cheeks warmed again. “I’m just trying not to mess up.”

“You won’t,” he said quietly. “You’re doing fine.”

Haruka left you both to practice making espresso shots. Monoma was patient and walked you through each step clearly. He didn’t rush, even when you messed up with the milk frother and ended up with a mess of bubbles instead of proper foam.

“Don’t worry,” he said, laughing a little as he gently took the pitcher. “Everyone does that at first. The trick’s in the angle and listening to the sound.” He showed you, and this time the milk turned out smooth and velvety. “See? Just takes a bit of practice.”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The shift was winding down when Monoma leaned against the counter beside you, casually wiping it with a cloth.

“So,” he said casually, “I’m heading to the subway after this. Want to walk together? We’re usually on the same line.”

You smiled. “Yeah, that’d be great."

He stood up straighter and glanced at the clock. “Almost time to call it a day. You did great, by the way. Boss definitely going to be impressed.”

Right after he said that, something in the corner of your eye moved. You turned your head and spotted a fluffy cat curled up on a cushioned seat by the window. Another one, black and sleek, was stretched out beside it. You forgot the cafe had cats. You hadn’t even noticed them earlier, they must’ve been tucked away in their cozy spots.

They were adorable. Your heart melted immediately. You wanted to go over and pet them, maybe talk to them a little. But you were still technically in training. You had to stay professional. No squealing. No head scratches. You focused back on the cloth in your hand, pretending the counter still needed more cleaning. It wasn’t easy.

Monoma caught the look on your face. “Ah, those are the cafe cats,” he said, glancing at them too. “They’re mostly here for the vibe, but honestly, they’re pretty good at keeping people around. Probably help sell more coffee.”

He smirked. “Don’t worry. They’re friendly. You’ll have plenty of time to spoil them once you’re officially on the team.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Right. Gotta stay professional.” You reminded yourself that you were here to learn how to make coffee, not to get distracted by cats. Not yet, anyway.

Soon after, Haruka came out to check on how things were going and she looked pleased.

“Great work, Y/n” she said with a nod. “You’re picking things up quickly. We’ll put you on the official schedule starting next week. For now, just keep in mind what Neito taught you.” She gave Monoma a quick pat on the shoulder. “Good job, Neito. Thanks for guiding her.”

“Always happy to help, Boss.”

After a few more minutes of cleaning up, you took off your apron. You were tired, but in a good way. The day went better than expected, mostly thanks to Monoma.

As you grabbed your things, you remembered you hadn’t checked your phone in hours. You pulled it out of your bag without thinking, your thumb hovering over your messages. A small bit of hope crept up. Maybe Katsuki had texted.

You opened the app.

And nothing.

No new messages. 

Your smile faded slightly. A brief sting of disappointment hit you. You tried to brush it off. He was probably tired. He had a tournament to focus on. He might even be asleep. It didn’t mean anything. He was just busy. You understood. You really did. Still, you had to force a smile onto your face.

“Ready?” Monoma asked, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you said, slipping your phone back into your pocket and trying to act normal. Maybe you’d check again later. Or maybe not. Either way, you told yourself it was fine.

You and Monoma walked out of the cafè, the evening air a bit cooler now. The city lights were beginning to glitter. The sounds of traffic and distant conversations filled the air as you made your way towards the nearest subway station.

"Hey," you said, glancing at Monoma. "I just realized I haven't eaten since lunch. Are you hungry?"

He stopped, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, my stomach is starting to protest. There's a decent ramen place just a couple of blocks from here, on the way to the station."

"Perfect," you agreed, already feeling your appetite awaken. A warm bowl of ramen sounded like exactly what you needed.

You diverted from your path to the subway, turning down a narrower street lit by the soft glow of lanterns. The ramen restaurant was small and cozy, with just a few tables and a long counter. The rich, savory aroma of broth hit you the moment you stepped inside. You both slid into a booth by the window.

As you waited for your orders – Tonkotsu ramen for Monoma and Chicken Katsu ramen for you – he started talking about his studies. "So, you know I'm in pre-med, right?" he began, stirring his water with a chopstick. "It's a lot. Especially the memorization. Like, imagine having to remember every single bone, every muscle, every nerve in the human body. The terrifying chart, as they call it. My brain feels like it's going to explode half the time." He sighed dramatically, but there was a hint of genuine stress in his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder why I picked this course."

You listened, nodding. "That sounds incredibly tough. I can't even imagine. Just thinking about all that memorization makes my head hurt." You picked up your own chopsticks, thinking about the massive textbooks you'd seen medical students lugging around. "If your course is that difficult, why are you doing a part-time job? Don't you need all your time for studying?"

Monoma paused, looking out the window for a moment before turning back to you. His usual playful smirk had faded, replaced by a more serious, thoughtful expression. "Well," he said slowly, "I don't really have a choice. My parents already pay for my tuition, which is a huge help. But living expenses, books, just daily stuff... it adds up. I don't want to burden them with asking for more money for every little thing. They've done enough already." He picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth. "Having my own money means I don't have to keep going to them every time I need something. I can manage on my own. Or at least, try to."

You understood completely. That was exactly why you were working too, why you were always looking for ways to earn your own money. The feeling of wanting to lessen the load on your family, to stand on your own two feet, resonated deeply with you.

You knew that particular kind of quiet determination.

"That makes a lot of sense," you said, your voice soft and sincere. You looked him in the eye, wanting him to know you truly got it. "It's really thoughtful of you, wanting to ease the pressure on your parents. Not everyone thinks that way. It shows you really care about them." You paused, letting your words sink in. "And it also shows how determined you are. To handle such a tough course and work part-time? That's a huge commitment. You should be really proud of yourself for doing that."

Monoma looked a little surprised by your earnestness. His usual confidence seemed to waver for a second, and a faint blush touched his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "Well, you're doing the same, aren't you? Fine Arts isn't exactly a breeze either, and you're working at the bookstore now."

"It's different though," you said, shaking your head gently. "My major isn't about memorizing every single part of a human body, or being responsible for someone's life one day. What you're doing... that's on a whole other level. It takes a certain kind of person to commit to something like that." You offered him a warm, reassuring smile. "It just shows how much determination you have. That's really admirable, Neito."

He just looked at you for a moment, a rare quietness about him. "Thanks," he finally said, his voice a little lower than usual. "That... actually means a lot."

Just then, your ramen arrived, Steam rose from your ramen bowls. You and Monoma ate slowly, the serious moment from earlier had faded into something calmer. The conversation felt more relaxed now. He had a way of opening up that made it comfortable to do the same. There was more to him than you expected. He wasn’t just playful and confident, there was something thoughtful under all that, something you could relate to. You both understood what it meant to try to make your own way in life.

“You know, Neito,” you said, taking a sip of broth, “you’re actually really nice. Like genuinely nice.”

He paused, a chopstick halfway to his mouth, and looked at you. He smirked, It looked a little more honest. Maybe even tired. “I’m not always that nice, Y/n,” he said. His eyes drifted toward the window before settling back on you. “I’m nice because you are.”

You tilted your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He let out a small sigh, brushing his hair back. "Back in high school, I was kind of an ass. A lot of people hated me. Mostly the ones from bakugo's class.” He gave a short laugh, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “I thought the teachers played favorites. Like the whole school was rigged for them to be the stars.”

He ran a hand through his hair again, clearly uncomfortable. “I really hated them."

Your brows rose a little. Monoma always seemed so put-together. It was hard to picture him full of that kind of anger.

“I especially got annoyed by Bakugo,” he went on, his tone getting a bit sharper before mellowing out again. “Hot-headed, loud, full of himself. It was way too easy to piss him off.” He took another bite of ramen and chewed slowly. “But we’ve all grown up since then. We’re not in high school anymore. I’ve even become friends with a few of the 1-A students now. It’s not like how it used to be.”

“It’s good that you grew from that,” you said genuinely. “A lot of people stay stuck in old grudges forever. It takes a lot to admit when you were wrong or to say you’ve changed.”

He looked at you, smiling now, less guarded this time. “Yeah. It’s a process. But holding on to that stuff wasn’t worth it. I’ve got better things to use my energy on.” He raised an eyebrow and added, “Like trying not to fail med school.”

You laughed, the mood lifting completely. “Well, you’re doing great so far. And honestly, I think you’re going to make a really good doctor.”

He slurped a bit more ramen. “Thanks. That’s the goal. Just have to survive a few more years.”

But then.

Your phone, sitting on the table beside your bowl, vibrated.

You didn’t notice it at first, but Monoma noticed. His eyes drifted to your phone, the screen lighting up. Your wallpaper, a cheerful photo of you at the café, with a fuzzy capybara was partly obscured by a message preview.

Katsuki Bakugo: You home?

His expression shifted, subtle but noticeable. He picked up his chopsticks again and nodded toward your phone. “Hey, your phone just buzzed.”

You glanced down. Your heart beat faster when you saw the name.

Your hand shot out almost too fast, flipping the phone face-down on the table. Your cheeks burned instantly. The quick movement, the sudden embarrassment, it was impossible not to notice.

Monoma set his chopsticks down. His gaze lingered on your face, curious and maybe a little amused. “Are you friends with Bakugo?” he asked, voice calm. “Last time I asked, you said you didn’t really know him.”

You stumbled over your response. “I—uh… well… it’s complicated. We just… sometimes, you know…” You trailed off.

Monoma leaned forward slightly, eyebrows raised, his voice even. “Is he courting you?”

“What?!” The word came out too loud “No! Of course not!” You instantly winced at how forceful you sounded. “I mean… I don’t know. What do you mean by ‘courting’?”

You genuinely didn’t know how to explain it. You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself. Katsuki confused you. He could be short-tempered and cold one minute, then suddenly sweet the next. You had no idea what to call that. But still… you knew how you felt. You just couldn’t say it.

Monoma didn’t say anything right away, He just watched you for a moment. His fingers brushed gently against your temple as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You froze. The simple touch stopped you completely, your breath catching before you could even process it. Neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other across the table, the background noise of the ramen shop fading to nothing.

Then, slowly, he pulled his hand back and picked up his chopsticks again. “Let’s just finish our ramen,” he said, his tone calm, the moment already shifting.

You nodded, still too stunned to speak. You picked up your own chopsticks, your hand trembling slightly.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

You and Monoma finished your ramen in silence You paid for your meals and stepped out into the city, now glowing with full nighttime energy.

"Ready for the subway?" Monoma asked, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

"Yeah," you said, and you both started walking. The conversation picked up easily again, he talked about the best study spots on campus, weird habits professors had, and even debated anime genres like it was serious business. It was nice and easy. The kind of back-and-forth that made the time pass without you realizing.

As you neared the subway station, something colorful caught your eye. A fruit vendor stood at the corner, the stand lit up and packed with fresh produce. You slowed a little.

"Oh, wait—can we stop for a sec? I need to grab some fruit."

Monoma followed your gaze. "Smart. My fridge is empty. I should get some too."

You both approached the vendor. The air around the stand smelled fresh and sweet, a clean break from the usual city air. You picked through the fruit carefully. Apples, grapes, an orange you rolled in your hand.

"I love fruit," you said, kind of to yourself. "They're just so good."

Monoma held up a pear. “Yeah. Gotta keep the doctor away—especially if I’m gonna be one.” He chuckled and tossed a few more into his bag.

Once your bags were full, you continued toward the subway. The crowd had grown. Office workers, students, people going home. All merging in a steady stream.

You were looking everywhere. Not for anyone, just taking things in. The sky, the lights, people laughing in the distance. It felt kind of nice, letting your mind wander like that. You weren’t thinking too hard about anything. You were just there, in it.

Until you saw three guys, standing under a lamppost up ahead. Talking. Laughing. You knew them right away.

Katsuki’s old friends. The ones from outside the café.

Your body remembered all of it before your brain could catch up. You looked down, trying to keep your steps steady. Don’t look at them. Don’t engage. Just pass by.

But before you even stepped into the subway, you’d already caught their attention. Their eyes were on you. They’d seen you.

You glanced up despite yourself.

All three were facing you now. Their conversation had stopped. Their focus was locked on you—and on Monoma.

The tallest one smirked. But it wasn’t friendly. It was slow, deliberate, and hard to read. Maybe it was judgment. Maybe he just thought you were a joke. Either way, it wasn’t good.

Whatever it was, it scares you.

You kept walking. You didn’t speed up, didn’t say anything. But your heart was racing.

Why were they looking at you like that?

You weren’t doing anything wrong. You were just walking. With a friend. Buying fruit. Living your life.

What was their problem?

You focused hard on Monoma’s voice beside you—he was still talking, thankfully not noticing your sudden stiffness. You didn’t want him to. You didn’t want to explain it. You just wanted to be past them.

But even as you walked by, even as the crowd swallowed you back up, their presence clung to you like smoke.

Their stares. That smirk.

You’d seen a lot of expressions before—but that one… you’d remember.

You and Monoma walked onto the platform, the air thick with the distant rumble of approaching trains. When a train finally pulled in, both of you were clearly exhausted. Your social battery, after a day of new experiences and unexpected emotional turns, had completely run out.

You found seats, sinking into them with a collective sigh of relief, choosing comfortable silence over conversation.

As the train rattled to life, carrying you deeper into the city's underground, your mind refused to quiet down. Your thoughts immediately drifted back to the three men. You kept replaying the scene, trying to find a reason.

Wait... why, though?

Your overthinking spiraled. You knew Katsuki and Neito weren't on good terms. What if those guys knew about it? Is that even possible? When had that fight between Katsuki and Neito even happened Was Katsuki still friends with those three guys back then, when all that went down? The questions stacked up, heavy and unsettling.

Then, a new, even more unsettling scenario began to form in your head. What if those guys saw Katsuki again? What if they told him they saw you with someone else? And what if he found out it was Monoma? The thought made you scared.

You immediately caught yourself. Why the hell are you even thinking about that? You weren't his girlfriend. You were completely free to talk to other guys. To be seen with anyone. You didn't owe him anything. You weren't bound to him. But you like him, you really did. And that complicated everything.

That liking, that growing feeling, made you worry about things you logically knew you shouldn't. It made you worry about his reaction. About what he'd think. About whether seeing you with Monoma would somehow… change things between you two.

Even though there was nothing official to change. You sighed, a silent, frustrated sound. You just wanted to get home.

The train finally pulled into your station. You and Monoma got off, you walked the short distance to your condominium building, said quick goodbyes to Monoma, and headed inside.

You closed your door behind you and tossed your bag onto the couch and pulled out your phone. You completely forgot about Katsuki's text message from earlier.

You just wanted to check the time, or maybe scroll through social media to distract yourself. But when the screen lit up, your eyes landed on something else entirely: five missed calls. All from Katsuki.

You immediately felt guilty. He had texted, and then called, and you'd been too caught up in everything else to notice. You probably made him worry.

Without thinking, you hit the call button. It rang only once before he answered.

"Why weren’t you picking up?" Katsuki’s voice was rough and direct.

"I'm so sorry!" you blurted out, your voice soft and hurried. "I was just walking home, and then I stopped for ramen, and my phone was in my bag. I didn't even hear it ring, I swear! I just saw your calls now." You hated sounding so eager to explain, but you couldn't help it. You felt small, like you'd messed up.

A moment of silence on his end. You could hear some distant background noise, muffled voices. "Right," he finally said, his voice a little less strained. "Just checking."

You can’t even bring yourself to say you’ve been with Monoma lately. You’re scared of how he might react. Or worse, that you’ll say the wrong thing and end up hurting him. Even though you don’t even know if he’s actually bothered by the idea of you being friends with someone he’s not on good terms with. Either way, you don’t want to hurt his feelings... if he even has any.

"Yeah," you said, your voice still soft. "I just got back to my place."

"Okay," he said.

"You can't sleep?" you asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. You felt so much more relaxed now, just hearing his voice.

"Yeah. Hard to sleep," he admitted, his voice a little lower now.

"So," you began, deciding to change the subject to something positive, "I actually got a new job today." It was the first time you were telling him about it, and you felt a small thrill. It was a new part of your life, something you were proud of.

"Huh," he grunted. "Good?"

"Yeah!" you said, feeling your excitement build. "It's at a cafe that's also a bookstore. It's called 'Literary Cafè.' It's really cute. I had a little training session this afternoon."

"When you starting," he asked, his voice flat, but you could almost hear a hint of interest.

"Next week," you confirmed, a little bounce in your voice. "I'll be doing some evening shifts, and some weekend ones too."

"Good," he said. It was a simple word, but the way he said it made it feel like more than just an acknowledgment. It felt like approval. He didn't sound excited, or happy in an obvious way. But in his own way, he seemed pleased. You knew he cared about you being able to take care of yourself, about you finding your footing. And that, coming from him, was a lot.

"Yeah," you agreed, looking out your kitchen window at the city lights. You felt a deep sense of contentment, just talking to him like this. After the strange day, this felt comforting.

But your mind won’t shut up. There’s this nagging feeling in your chest, you can’t even talk to him without mentioning you’ve been with Monoma lately. You don’t want to be secretive. You just want to be honest.

You took a breath, deciding it was time to just say it. You didn't want to lie, not about this. "Actually, Neito helped me find the job. He works there too. He's my coworker." You held your breath, waiting for his reaction.

The other end of the line went completely silent. The background noise from his end, faint as it was, seemed to vanish too. Your stomach tightened.

After a long pause, his voice returned, but it was flat, devoid of any energy. "Right." It was barely a word. His tone was low, almost like a grunt. He didn't ask anything about it. He didn't seem surprised.

Then, his voice shifted, becoming a little more clipped, more detached. "Look, I can't talk tomorrow."

Your heart sank a little. "Oh, why?" Just like that, the warmth from moments before started to fade.

"Yeah," he continued, his voice completely flat now. "Coach is riding our asses. Need to keep practicing."

"Okay," you said, trying to sound understanding, even though disappointment washed over you.

"Yeah," he said again, that same low, flat tone.

"Well," you said, filling the quiet, "good luck with practice then. Get some rest when you can."

"Mhm." That was all you got. Then, the line clicked. He hung up.

You slowly lowered your phone, staring at the blank screen.

You sighed a long, weary breath. You understood he was busy. You understood he was focused. But the abruptness, the sudden change in his voice… it stung. The excitement from your new job felt dampened now. You didn’t know what to think. You just stood in your quiet kitchen, the phone still in your hand, your heart breaking in pieces you never thought it could.

Because you always told yourself you’d never get attached to someone this badly—so why does it feel like you’re lying to yourself just by standing here like this?

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

It’s Friday.

The fact shouldn’t matter, but it does. Because he said he couldn’t talk on Thursday. He never said anything about Friday. And now it’s 3 PM, the day almost over, and your phone has been quiet.

You’ve checked it more times than you can count. You pull it out of your pocket again, thumb hovering over the screen. Your chat history with him is a mess. A long, one-sided conversation where you just kept talking, sending messages into a void you knew he wouldn’t answer right away.

Thirty-four messages, to be exact.

You scroll up, rereading them, a knot of embarrassment tightening in your stomach. You’d sent him pictures of your pets. A dumb meme you saw online. You’d asked him how practice went, if he ate, if his hotel bed still sucked. You’d told him about your day, rambling about your class, complaining about a professor, even sending a picture of the sad-looking onigiri you had for lunch.

You knew he was busy. You told yourself it didn’t matter if he replied. You just wanted to talk to him. To feel like he was still there, somewhere, on the other end of the line.

But now, staring at the wall of blue bubbles, all sent by you, you just feel stupid. Clingy. Like some desperate girl who can’t handle a day of silence.

Did I do something wrong?

The thought has been looping in your head all day. You’ve gone over every word from your last call.
Was it the fur parents joke? Did you sound too eager? Too annoying? Or maybe it's really about Monoma.

Does he think I’m crazy?

Maybe sending all those texts was a mistake. Maybe he saw them all pile up and thought you were some psycho who couldn’t give him space.

The thought makes your face burn. You hate this feeling. This uncertainty. You’ve never liked someone this much before. And you’re realizing now how bad you are at it. When you like someone, you give them everything. Your time, your attention, your thoughts. You don’t know how to hold back. You don’t know how to play it cool. You just fall. Hard.

And then there’s the other thought. The one that’s been sitting in your chest like a stone since yesterday.

Is he talking to her again?

You promised yourself you wouldn’t do it. You told yourself it was pathetic. But you couldn’t stop. After a full hour of staring at the ceiling, you’d finally given in.

You typed her name into the search bar.

Her social media was public. Of course it was. She was a model. Her profile picture was a professional headshot, her smile effortless and perfect, her eyes sparkling like she didn’t have a single insecurity in the world. Her feed was a curated stream of perfection. London street style photoshoots. Behind-the-scenes clips from fashion shows in Paris. Pictures of her drinking coffee at some tiny, aesthetic café that looked like it cost a fortune.

She was flawless. Every photo, every post, every story was polished and beautiful. She had thousands of followers, comments flooding in from people telling her how gorgeous she was, how inspiring she was, how perfect her life seemed.
And you just sat there, scrolling, feeling smaller and smaller with every picture.

How could you ever compare?

You’re just you. A little weird, a little quiet, a mess of anxiety. You’re not a model. You don’t travel the world. You spend your nights crocheting and watching dumb videos online.

You’re not her. You never will be.

A sick, heavy feeling settled in your gut. Love was supposed to be a dream for other people. Not for you. You were always so aware of that, so careful not to let yourself want it too much. Because you knew. You knew you were unlucky when it came to love. You knew you were the kind of person who would give everything and get nothing back.

You’d do anything for someone you cared about, and that desperation was a weakness. It always had been.

You finally lock your phone, tossing it onto your bed like it’s burned you. You need a distraction.

Anything to get out of your own head.

Girls’ night. Right. That was happening tonight. At Mina’s.

Maybe that would help.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The soft glow of fairy lights strung across Mina’s living room should’ve felt cozy. The mountain of snacks on the coffee table should’ve been comforting. The sound of the girls laughing as they argued over what movie to watch should’ve pulled you in.

But it didn’t.

You were curled up on the end of the couch, a plush blanket pulled up to your chin, nursing a cup of tea you hadn’t even touched. You were trying. You really were. You’d put on a smile, laughed at their jokes, even offered your opinion on whether they should watch a cheesy rom-com or a slasher flick.

But it felt like you were watching yourself from a distance. Like you were playing a part. The happy friend. The new girl fitting in.

You weren’t really here. Your mind was still miles away, in Tokyo, stuck on a boy who wasn’t thinking about you.

“Okay, final vote!” Mina announced, holding up two movie cases. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days or Scream?”

“Scream!” Jiro and Hagakure yelled at the same time.

“Rom-com!” Ochaco and Tsuyu countered.

“Yaomomo, you’re the tie-breaker!” Mina said, turning to her.

Yaoyorozu, who was carefully arranging a plate of cookies, just shrugged elegantly. “I’m fine with either. They both have their merits.”

Mina groaned dramatically. “You’re no help!” She turned to you, her eyes sparkling. “Y/n! You pick!”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Oh. Uh…” You glanced at the movie cases, trying to care. “Whatever you guys want is fine.”

The smile you gave was small, a little too tight. And Mina noticed. Of course she did. She noticed everything. Her own bright smile faltered for just a second, a flicker of concern crossing her face before she hid it. She’d been watching you all night, you knew. Not in a pushy way, but in that quiet, observant way she had when she was worried about someone.

She knew you weren’t okay. And she knew why.
Or at least, she thought she did.

A few weeks ago…

The party had finally died down. Mina was walking Kirishima to the door, her hand linked with his. The house was quiet now, just the two of them standing in the soft light of the entryway.

“You sure you’re okay to walk back alone?” she’d asked, her voice soft. “It’s late.”

Kirishima grinned, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be fine, Mina. It’s not that far. Besides,” he added, his expression turning more serious, “I’m more worried about you.”

Mina frowned. “Me? Why?”

He looked conflicted, like he was debating whether to say something. He hated drama, and he was fiercely loyal to Katsuki. But he was loyal to Mina, too. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“It’s about Katsuki,” he finally said, his voice low. “And Y/n.”

Mina’s posture straightened. “What about them?”

Kirishima let out a long sigh, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t know, love. It’s weird. He’s been acting so strange lately. That whole thing with Monoma at the party? That wasn’t just him being an ass. It was… more than that.”

He told her about the conversation they’d had a while back, before the party. About how Katsuki had talked about his ex, Camie. About the rivalry with Monoma. And then he told her the part that had been sitting in his gut like a stone ever since.

Kirishima looked at her, his expression troubled. “He might use Y/n to get back at Monoma."

Mina’s eyes widened, a cold shock washing over her. “He what?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I know,” Kirishima said, shaking his head. “It’s messed up. That’s not like him, you know? Katsuki’s a jerk sometimes, but he’s not cruel like that. I told him it was a low move, that Y/n doesn’t deserve to be dragged into his old drama. But he was so pissed off… I don’t know if he was thinking straight.”

He looked at Mina, his gaze serious. “I think he actually likes her. Like, for real. But he’s so screwed up over that whole Camie thing, and he hates Monoma so much… I’m worried he’s gonna do something stupid and ended up hurting her.”

Mina just stood there, speechless. Anger, cold and sharp, rose in her chest. How could he? After everything Y/n had been through. Mina didn’t know the details, but she knew enough to see the scars you tried so hard to hide. You were so fragile, so hesitant to trust anyone. And Katsuki was going to use you? Just to settle some old score with his rival?

“That bastard,” she muttered.

Kirishima nodded grimly. “Yeah. That’s why I’m telling you. You’re her friend. Just… watch out for her, okay? Keep an eye on things. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

Mina looked at him, her expression now hard with resolve. The only reason she had ever supported the idea of you and Katsuki was because she’d seen how happy you looked when you're with him.

“I will,” she promised, her voice firm. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt her.”

Back in the present, Mina looked at you, curled up on the couch, the forced smile on your face not fooling her for a second. She saw the sadness in your eyes, the way you kept checking your phone when you thought no one was looking.

She saw you hurting.

And her heart ached for you, a fierce, protective anger simmering just beneath the surface. She remembered what Eijiro had told her, and her worry for you intensified. Was this it? Was this him already starting to pull away, to play his messed-up games?

She plaster on a bright smile, determined not to let her anger show. You didn’t need that right now. You needed a friend.

“Okay, majority rules!” she declared, holding up Scream. “Horror movie it is! Get ready to be scared, Y/n!”

She's hoping to get a real smile out of you. Because right now, all she wanted was to see you happy again. And if Katsuki Bakugo was the one taking that away from you, she was going to have a serious problem with him.

On the floor, a makeshift nest of mattresses, blankets, and plushies had been created, where most of the girls were sprawled out, completely invested. Jiro was pointing out plot holes with a cynical smirk, while Ochaco and Hagakure gasped at every jump scare, clutching onto pillows.

You, however, were still on the couch, the blanket wrapped around you like a shield. You were watching, but you weren’t really seeing it.

Mina, noticing you were still a world away, untangled herself from the pile on the floor. She quietly made her way over, sinking into the cushion beside you. The couch dipped with her weight, and she pulled a corner of your blanket over her own legs, a silent gesture of solidarity.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice low so it wouldn’t carry over the movie’s audio. “You good over here? Getting bored?”

You shook your head, not taking your eyes off the screen where some poor character was about to make a very bad decision. “No, I’m not bored,” you mumbled. “I'm just tired."

It was the truth, but not the whole truth. You were exhausted, but it was the kind of soul-deep exhaustion that came from your own mind running in circles, wearing you down from the inside out.

Mina didn’t push, not at first. She just sat with you, watching the movie in comfortable silence for a few minutes. She pointed at the screen when one of the killers gave a particularly intense stare. “Okay, but he’s kinda hot though, right? In a psycho way,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

You managed a small, weak smile. “I guess.”
That was when Mina sighed softly, turning to face you fully, the movie forgotten. The playful energy was gone from her expression, replaced by a genuine, searching concern.

“Okay, for real now,” she said, her voice dropping to a serious whisper. “What’s up, Y/n? You’ve been quiet all night. It’s not just ‘tired,’ is it?”

You finally looked at her, and the question in her eyes was too direct, too kind to lie to. You just shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around you, your throat feeling tight.

Mina’s gaze softened. “Is this about… that thing at school? The bulletin board?”

You didn’t have to answer. The way your eyes dropped, the way your shoulders tensed just slightly, it was enough.

Mina let out a slow breath, her expression unreadable for a moment. “You wanna know about her?” she asked, her voice even. “Camie?”
Your heart gave a painful thud. You didn’t want to know. You desperately, truly did not want to know anything about the perfect girl from the photograph. But you also knew you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it until you did. So you gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Mina shifted, pulling her legs up onto the couch to face you better. She picked at a loose thread on the blanket, gathering her thoughts before she spoke.

“Look, I don’t know everything,” she began, her voice careful. “Katsuki doesn’t exactly broadcast his personal life. Most of this is just what I saw from the outside, and what Eijiro told me. He worries about him, you know?”

You stayed quiet, waiting.

“They were strong,” Mina said, her eyes distant, remembering. “Like, a real, serious thing. It wasn’t a secret, but it was private. He never paraded her around like some guys do. And it lasted for a long time. Four years is a lifetime in high school.”

She paused, choosing her next words with care. “The problem was… Camie needed a lot. Not like, things. She needed to feel it. She needed the words, She needed to be shown, in a big way, that she was loved. And Katsuki…” Mina sighed. “He’s just not built that way. He’s not a poet. He doesn’t do romantic speeches. In his head, his actions should’ve been enough. Being there, being loyal, that was his way of loving her.”

“So they fought,” Mina continued, her voice low. “A lot. Eijiro said it was always the same fight, over and over. She would accuse him of being cold, of not caring enough. And he would get pissed, because to him, he was doing everything right. He just couldn’t give her the one thing she really wanted, which was the validation.”

The pieces started to click together in your mind, forming a picture you didn’t want to see.

“And then,” Mina said, her voice dropping even lower, “Neito came into the picture. He’s charming. He knows how to talk to people, how to say all the right things. He gave her the attention she was starving for.”

She looked at you then, her expression serious. “So yeah. She cheated.”

“We never really knew what happened right after that,” Mina admitted, shaking her head. “There was a huge blow-up, apparently. Then just… silence. The next thing we knew, it was near the end of the year, right around their anniversary, and she was gone. Moved to London. Just like that.”

She let the story hang in the air for a moment, the weight of it settling between you.

“He never, ever talks about it,” Mina finished, her voice a soft, final note. “But something that big… something that breaks you like that? It doesn’t just disappear. It leaves a mark. It changes how you trust people. How you let them in.”

You just sat there, the tea in your cup long forgotten, the movie now a distant, meaningless noise. You thought about his coldness. His anger. The walls he built so high.

And for the first time, you started to understand. It wasn’t just him being a jerk. It was a scar. A deep, ugly one that he was still trying to hide.

The knowledge didn’t make you feel better. It just made everything hurt more.

Mina watched you, her expression soft, giving you the space to process it all.

“Hey,” Mina said finally, her voice gentle but firm. “Look at me.”

You slowly lifted your head, your eyes meeting hers.

“You do this thing,” she started, her tone careful, “where you get one piece of information, and you just… spiral. You overthink it until it becomes this huge, scary monster in your head. But you can’t keep doing that to yourself, Y/n. That stuff is poison. It starts eating at you until you convince yourself you’re not good enough, or that something’s wrong with you. And that’s not true.”

You swallowed, your throat feeling tight. She wasn’t wrong.

“Sometimes,” Mina continued, her hand resting on your arm, a small, grounding weight, “things just don’t work out. And sometimes, people are just… broken in their own ways. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. If things with him don’t go the way you hope, you have to be able to let it go. You have to believe that something better is waiting for you. Because there will be. There always is.”

Her words were simple, but they landed with a kind of weight you hadn’t expected. You looked at her, at the genuine, unwavering belief in her eyes, and felt a tiny crack in the wall you’d built around your heart. You gave a small, shaky nod.

Mina smiled, a real, warm smile this time. She’d only known you for a few months, but in that short time, you’d become family to her. She saw the quiet strength you tried so hard to hide. And yes, she was still worried. The thought of Katsuki potentially using you to get back at Monoma made her blood boil. But she’d handle that if the time came. For now, seeing the fragile hope in your eyes, she decided she would give him a chance. A chance to prove he really wanted to know you, to care for you. You deserved that much.

With a decisive clap of her hands, she broke the heavy silence. “Okay! Sad talk is officially over!” she declared, her usual bright energy flooding back into her voice. “We are not wasting a perfectly good girls’ night being mopey. We are going to do something fun.”

Jiro groaned from the floor. “Please don’t say karaoke.”

“Nope!” Mina grinned, hopping off the couch. “Even better. We’re baking.”

A collective groan went through the room, but it was playful.

“Baking what?” Ochaco asked, already looking intrigued.

“Cinnamon rolls!” Mina announced triumphantly.
“And cupcakes! Yaomomo, you brought that fancy recipe book, right?”

Yaoyorozu, who had paused the movie, nodded elegantly. “Of course. It’s in my bag.”

And just like that,

You followed them, a genuine smile on your face now. The worries about Katsuki, about Camie, about everything, they hadn’t disappeared completely. But they felt distant. Muffled. Right now, all that mattered was the warmth of friendship, the smell of sugar and spices, and the promise of doing something fun and completely pointless with people who made you feel like you belonged.

The kitchen descended into a state of beautiful harmony. Flour dusted every surface within minutes, courtesy of Mina, who insisted on kneading the dough with more enthusiasm than skill. Yaoyorozu calmly directed the operation, reading the recipe from her book, while Ochaco and Hagakure giggled as they tried to crack eggs without getting shells in the bowl.

Jiro leaned against the counter, providing sarcastic commentary, but you noticed she was the one who kept quietly wiping up spills when no one was looking. Tsuyu, calm as ever, expertly measured out the cinnamon and sugar, her movements steady and sure.

You were right in the middle of it, your hands covered in sticky dough, a smudge of flour on your cheek. You were laughing, a real, full-bodied laugh that came from deep in your chest. You were rolling out the dough for cinnamon rolls, arguing with Mina about whether they should add more butter.

“It needs more butter!” Mina insisted, gesturing with a flour-dusted hand.

“Mina, the recipe says exactly two tablespoons,” Yaoyorozu countered patiently. “Any more and they won’t rise properly.”

“Live a little, Yaomomo!”

As you waited for the cinnamon rolls to bake, your mind drifted for a moment. You remembered that tomorrow was Katsuki’s last match. You wondered if he was okay, if he was sleeping. You realized you’d never asked him if he’d won his last three games. You’d been so caught up in your own head, and honestly, you didn’t want to add to his stress. Winning was everything to him; you knew that much. You didn’t want to be another source of pressure.

The timer on the oven beeped, pulling you back to the present. The smell of warm cinnamon filled the kitchen, sweet and intoxicating. The girls crowded around as Yaoyorozu pulled the tray out, the rolls golden brown and perfect.

“We did it!” Ochaco cheered.

After the cinnamon rolls came the cupcakes. There was more laughter, more messes, and a heated debate about sprinkles versus chocolate chips. By the time everything was baked and cooling on the racks, the kitchen looked like a disaster, but no one cared.

You were all too happy, too full of sugar and friendship. Mina pulled out her phone, and soon everyone was crowding together, posing for pictures. You were squished between Mina and Ochaco, a huge, genuine grin on your face, a smear of frosting on your nose.

Looking at the photo afterward, at the six smiling faces beaming back at you, you felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the oven.

This was real. This was yours. And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely, utterly happy.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

The high from the girls’ night lasted for hours. You’d left Mina’s place feeling lighter, your chest full of a kind of simple, uncomplicated happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

But bubbles always pop.

By Monday, the silence started to creep in. By Tuesday, it was deafening. You kept checking your phone, a habit you were starting to hate. The screen stayed dark. Blank. Nothing. No texts. No calls.

Four days had passed since that call. Four days of you trying not to think about it, and failing miserably.

You were walking to your afternoon class, dragging your feet, when you saw the crowd again. Same spot as before, gathered around the main bulletin board. You didn’t want to look. You knew what was there. But your eyes betrayed you, drawn to the bunch of students like a moth to a flame.

You didn’t have to push your way through this time. You saw it from the edge of the crowd. A new poster, pinned right over some old club announcement.

The headline was huge, written in UA’s bold, official font: UA Archery Team Dominates Nationals—Takes First Place!

Underneath was a group photo. Ten guys in their
tracksuits, holding up a ridiculously large trophy. They were all grinning, looking proud and exhausted. And right in the middle, his arms crossed, a rare, almost-smirk on his face, was Katsuki.

He’d won. His team had won.

A real, uncomplicated happiness settled in your chest. It was instinct. You were happy for him.

Genuinely. He’d worked for it, and he’d gotten it. He deserved that win.

And right next to it, still pinned up, was the other poster.

Camie.

Her perfect smile seemed to mock you from across the board. The polished, successful model, right next to the victorious, top-tier athlete.

They looked like they belonged together, two shining examples of what success looked like. His victory and his past, pinned side-by-side.

Funny, right?

The warmth in your chest vanished, replaced by a cold, heavy ache. What did it mean? One minute, he's making your heart pound so hard you thought it would break. The next, he was a ghost.

You walked away from the board, the chatter of the crowd fading behind you. Your thoughts were a mess. You felt so stupid. Was she the crazy one? The clingy girl who sent thirty-something messages into the void, thinking he’d actually want to read them? You’d poured out all your dumb, random thoughts to him, and he hadn’t even bothered with a one-letter reply.

Or maybe he was just playing with you. The thought was ugly, but it felt more real than anything else right now. Maybe this was all just a game to him.

Maybe he saw how easily you fell, how much you wanted someone, anyone, to see you. You felt so weak back then. Maybe he saw that weakness and decided it was something he could toy with. Break you down, build you up with a few soft words and a stolen kiss, then drop you the second he got bored.

The idea made you feel sick.

You just wanted to ask him. To look him in the eye and ask why. Why he would act like he cared, why he would get so close, only to turn around and pretend you didn’t exist. But you couldn’t. Because he wasn’t here. And you were starting to think that maybe, for him, you never really were.

۶ৎ
A week later

Two weeks. The tournament was over. The team was back. The campus was loud with stories about the matches, about the trip to Tokyo. You heard snippets of it in the hallways, in the cafeteria. You saw the trophy displayed in a glass case near the admin office.

And still, nothing.

He’d been back in Shizuoka for three days. Three whole days. And he hadn’t made a single effort. Not one.

The hurt had slowly hardened into something else. Something colder, sharper. Resignation. You were done waiting. Done checking your phone with that stupid, hopeful flutter in your chest. Done making excuses for him in your head.

If he wasn’t going to try, then why should you?
You were in the art room, the familiar smell of oil paint and turpentine filling the air. It was your sanctuary, the one place where you could shut the rest of the world out. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. You had a large canvas propped up on an easel, a piece for the upcoming art exhibition.

Your brush moved across the canvas, but your movements were mechanical. You’d seen him. In the distance. Walking across the quad with Kirishima. Near the library, talking to someone from his committee. Each time, your heart still did that stupid beat. And each time, you’d turn, walk the other way.

You’d become an expert at avoiding him, mapping out your routes between classes to minimize the chances of running into him.

You were embarrassed. Humiliated, even. Not just by his silence, but by yourself. By the long string of your own messages sitting there in your chat history, unanswered.

Each one felt like a tiny monument to your own desperation. You’d given him a piece of yourself, and he’d just left it on read.

You hated that you’d let him see that side of you. The needy side. The one that fell too fast and cared too much. The one you tried so hard to keep locked away.

He had made you believe, for a fleeting moment, that maybe you weren’t so unlucky in love. That maybe this time, it would be different.

You were wrong.

You dipped your brush in a deep, angry red, the color of a fresh wound. You dragged it across the canvas in a sharp, unforgiving line. It was a mess, ruining the soft blues and greens you had started with. But you didn’t care. Right now, it felt right. It felt honest. You were heartbroken. And you were done pretending otherwise.

The red was too loud. It bled across the canvas, a violent slash of color that had nothing to do with the soft, quiet landscape you’d been trying to create. You stared at it, your knuckles white around the handle of your brush. It was ruined. Just like everything else.

“Fuck!!” You threw the brush down. It clattered against the floor, leaving another angry red streak on the linoleum.

This was the fifth canvas. The fifth time you had tried to paint something to get the mess out of your head, and the fifth time you’d ended up ruining it. Your emotions were spilling out, turning your art into something ugly and depressed. You hated it.

You hated feeling this way. Hated that he, a boy you barely knew, had this much power over you.

You looked ridiculous. Your apron was covered in smudges of blue and green and that awful, angry red. Paint stained the sleeves of your school blouse, your hands, even a patch on your thigh where you’d wiped your fingers without thinking. Your hair was a mess, strands stuck to your cheek with sweat and frustration.

After throwing tantrums, you grabbed the ruined canvas off the easel and threw it onto the growing pile in the corner. That was it. You were done. You had a habit of this, when things got too much, when the anger or the sadness felt too big to hold, you just got rid of the source. Threw it away. Pretended it didn't exist. It was easier than trying to fix something that felt broken beyond repair.

You spent the next hour cleaning. Not because you wanted to, but because the methodical process of wiping down surfaces, scrubbing paint off the floor, and washing brushes gave your hands something to do other than shake.

Your clothes were a lost cause. You peeled off the sticky, paint-stained apron and tossed it into the sink. There was no way you were walking home looking like this. You remembered the spare set of clothes you’d stuffed into your locker months ago for an emergency. Well, this felt like one.

The girls' locker room was empty, the air still and smelling faintly of chlorine from the nearby pool. You stripped off your uniform, the fabric feeling heavy and suffocating against your skin.

The shower was a shock of cold water, but you welcomed it. You stood under the spray for a long time, scrubbing at the paint stains on your skin, trying to wash away the day, the week, the feeling of him.

You changed into a simple blouse and a skirt that felt a little too short now. You didn’t have any other shoes, so you pulled on a clean pair of socks and slipped your feet back into your standard-issue school shoes. It was a weird combination, but you didn’t care.

When you finally stepped out of the Fine Arts building, you were surprised to see how dark it was. The sky was a deep, inky purple, and the campus lights were on, casting long, lonely shadows across the quad. You checked your phone. 8:17 PM.

Damn. You’d been in there for hours. Luckily, the campus wasn’t completely dead. You could see lights on in the library, hear the faint, rhythmic thud of basketballs from the gym where some varsity players were still practicing. Other students were scattered around, probably dealing with their own deadlines and night classes.

You were so dehydrated. Your throat felt like sandpaper. All you wanted was a cold bottle of water.

You started walking toward the cafeteria, knowing the vending machines there would be stocked.

The cafeteria was mostly empty, just a few students scattered at tables, typing on laptops or nursing cups of coffee. The air was quiet, calm. You walked straight to the vending machine, fed it a few coins, and watched as a bottle of water dropped with a satisfying clunk.

You unscrewed the cap, lifting the bottle to your lips. The cool water was a relief. You took a long drink, your eyes closing for a moment.

And that’s when you felt it.

A presence. Someone standing right behind you. Too close.

You didn’t even have to turn around. You just knew. Your whole body went tense. You slowly lowered the bottle, your heart starting to pound a slow, heavy rhythm against your ribs. You screwed the cap back on, your movements deliberate, stalling for time.

Then, a hand appeared in your peripheral vision. It was holding a small, brightly colored bag. The kind they give you at arcades.

Your breath caught. Who the fuck…?

You turned around.

And there he was. Katsuki.

He was just looking at you. His face was soft. Almost hesitant. His eyes were fixed on yours, and for a second, the whole world just fell away. He was wearing a simple black hoodie, the hood down, his blond hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked tired.

He lowered the bag slightly, his lips parting as he spoke. His voice was low, rough, and it held a question that made your blood boil.

“Why the fuck are you avoiding me?”

Oh The audacity.

The absolute, unmitigated audacity of him. After twelve days of complete and utter silence. After ghosting you so hard you started to think you’d imagined the entire thing. The date, the kisses, the late-night calls. He had the nerve to stand here and ask why you were avoiding him?

Something inside you snapped.

Your face went cold. You stared at him, your eyes flat and hard. You looked down at the colorful little bag in his hand, the gachapon he’d promised to get you. It felt like an insult now. A cheap, meaningless bribe.

“I don’t need that,” you said, your voice dangerously quiet. You didn’t look at the bag. You looked right at him. “You can give it to someone else.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and started walking away. You didn’t know where you were going. You just knew you had to get away from him before you did something you’d regret. Like scream. Or cry.

“Oi!” His voice was sharp behind you, laced with genuine shock. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You kept walking, your school shoes squeaking against the polished floor. You could hear his footsteps behind you, quickening to catch up.

“Y/n, hold up!” he called, grabbing your arm. You stopped, but you didn’t turn to face him. You just stood there.

“What is your problem?” he asked, his voice full of a confusion that only made you angrier.

That’s when you finally turned, yanking your arm out of his grasp. You faced him, your chest heaving, the words you’d been swallowing for days finally spilling out.

“My problem?” you said, your voice shaking with a fury you didn’t know you had. “My problem is you. You, who asks me on a date, who holds my hand, who kisses me like you actually mean it, and then disappears without a single word. My problem is that you have the absolute nerve to show up here, acting like I’m the one with the issue.”

He looked completely floored, like he had no idea what you were talking about. And that, more than anything, broke your heart all over again. He really didn’t get it. He had no clue how much his silence had hurt you.

“I texted you,” you continued. “I called you. I waited. And you just… nothing. And now you show up with a bag of stupid toys and ask me why I’m avoiding you? Are you serious, Katsuki? Are you actually that clueless, or are you just that cruel?”

He just stared at you, his mouth slightly parted, the bag of gachapon still hanging from his hand. He looked lost.

Katsuki just stood there, taking it. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t defend himself. He just let your words hit him, his face a mess of shock and something else you couldn’t quite read.

The sounds of the cafeteria, the distant squeak of sneakers from the gym, it all faded into a dull hum. It was just the two of you, standing under the harsh fluorescent lights, surrounded by the mess he had made.

When you finally ran out of words, your chest heaving with ragged breaths, he let out a long, slow sigh. It was a sound heavy with a weariness that seemed to go beyond just the last two weeks.

He lowered himself slightly, bending at the knees so he was eye-level with you. It wasn’t a gesture of intimidation; it was the opposite. He was making himself smaller, trying to meet you where you were.

Then, without warning, he flicked your forehead. Not too hard, but enough to make you flinch and stumble back a step, hand flying up to cover the spot.

“What the hell—” you snapped, more out of shock than anything.

“I’m a dumbass,” he said.

The words were low, gruff, and completely devoid of his usual arrogance. He wasn’t looking directly at you, his gaze was fixed somewhere over your shoulder, like he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes.

“Okay? You’re right. I know.”

After that, he stood up again, shifting his weight and fixing the way his hoodie sat on his shoulders, like he suddenly remembered where he was. Or maybe he just didn’t know what else to say.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure frustration. “My phone broke,” he muttered, the explanation sounding lame even to him. “The fourth day I was in Tokyo, I dropped it like an idiot."

He finally looked at you then, his red eyes holding a sliver of desperation. “I didn’t want to ask one of those morons to message you. They’d never let me hear the end of it. They’d make it a whole thing. And I didn’t want to deal with their shit.” He clenched his jaw. “I know it was a dumbass move. I should’ve just… done it anyway. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

He kept explaining, his words coming out in clipped, frustrated sentences. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t trying to be romantic. He was just… stating the facts. His facts. The logic he operated on, even when it was flawed. He was a private person, and the idea of letting his friends in on whatever this was between you two, making it a topic for their loud, dumb jokes… he couldn’t stand it. He’d chosen his own pride over your feelings. And now, seeing the hurt in your eyes, he knew how badly he’d fucked up.

You listened, your own anger slowly starting to cool, replaced by a weary confusion. His excuse was so stupid. It was completely believable. But it didn’t erase the last weeks of silence.

“So you just… didn’t think to tell me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the fight draining out of you. “You let me sit there, sending you message after message, and you said nothing? Because you were worried about what your friends would say?”

He nodded, his expression tight. “Yeah.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “That’s… that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know,” he gritted out.

“So what is this, then?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Why act like you even like me one second, and then make me feel like some desperate, pathetic girl the next? I don’t get you, Katsuki. I really don’t.”

The question hung in the air between you, raw and honest. It was the heart of it all. The hot and cold, the push and pull. You needed to know.

He looked down at the floor, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. “I hate myself when I act like that,” he said, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. “I don’t know how to do this. I see you, and my brain just shorts out. I say dumb shit. I do dumb shit. Because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

He finally met your gaze, and his eyes were full of a frustrated, helpless anger that wasn’t directed at you. It was all at himself.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Every damn day I was gone. I kept thinking about you. And then I’d think about that bastard, and I’d get so pissed off I couldn’t even think straight. It’s a mess in my head, alright? I know it is. But…” He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I want to know you better. I want a chance to not screw this up. To be yours. If you’ll let me.”

Your heart stuttered. Be his. He wanted you to be his.

You looked up at him. The line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his brows were drawn slightly, like he was bracing himself. You weren’t just staring. You were searching. Trying to figure out if he meant it. If he really wanted to know you. If he really wanted to be yours.

You still think about Camie. You hated that you did, but you did. It crept in, no matter how hard you tried to shut it down.

But…

“I… I like you,” you whispered, the admission tumbling out before you could stop it. It was scary, saying it out loud. It made it real. “I really like you. And that’s why it hurt so much when you disappeared. I thought… I thought I’d made it all up in my head.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face. He reached out, his hand hesitating for a second before his fingers held your cheeks. His touch was warm, a polar opposites to the cold uncertainty that had been living in your chest.

“You didn’t make it up,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I like you too, dumbass. More than I’m good at saying.”

The admission, in his own gruff way, was everything. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a fairytale. It was just them. Two messy, complicated people, standing in the middle of an empty cafeteria, finally saying the one thing that mattered.

He didn’t pull you into a hug. He didn’t kiss you again. The moment was too fragile for that. Instead, his hand dropped from your face and found yours, his fingers lacing through your own. His grip was firm, steady. A silent promise.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice returning to its usual gruffness, though the edge was gone. “You look like you’re about to fall over. And you still haven’t eaten.”

He started walking, gently tugging you along with him. He didn’t let go of your hand.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice still a little shaky.

He glanced at you, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “My place.”

Your eyes widened. “Your place?"

“Yeah,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m gonna cook for you. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in a week.”

You just stared at him, your mind trying to catch up. His apartment? Him cooking for you? It was too much, too fast. But his hand was warm in yours, and for the first time in days, the knot in your stomach started to loosen.

“Okay,” you whispered, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. “Okay, Katsuki.”

He tugged you out of the cafeteria, his hand still wrapped firmly around yours. He didn’t let go, not even when you had to navigate through a small group of students near the exit. He just moved you both through them like you were a single unit.

Once you were outside, under the soft glow of the campus streetlights, he pressed the small, colorful bag into your free hand. The gachapon. You’d almost forgotten about it.

“Here,” he muttered, his eyes on the path ahead.
You took the bag, the little plastic capsules inside making a faint rattling sound. A ridiculous, giddy urge to rip it open right there on the sidewalk bubbled up inside you. You wanted to see what he’d picked out. Were they the grumpy cats you’d joked about? The tiny robots? The suspense was actually killing you. But you held back. You didn’t want to let go of his hand.

So you just clutched the little bag, your heart doing a stupid, happy dance in your chest.

As you walked, you noticed he’d adjusted his pace to match yours. He wasn’t storming ahead like he usually did, all sharp angles and impatient energy. He was just walking. Beside you. It was the most normal thing he’d done all night, and somehow, it felt the most intimate.

You reached the parking lot, a sprawling expanse of asphalt under the pale yellow lights. Most of the spots were empty now. He led you toward a row of cars parked near the edge, stopping in front of a sleek, black Porsche.

You gasped. Your eyes widened as you took it in. The car was low, powerful, and ridiculously expensive. It was the same car, and you immediately remembered the first time you kissed each other on your couch. The memory hit you, and you quickly looked away, cheeks burning.

Katsuki didn’t seem to notice your internal crisis. He walked around to the passenger side and pulled the door open, the interior light spilling out, a warm, yellow glow that felt surprisingly comforting.

“Get in,” he said, his voice a low command.

You slid into the seat, the inside was a mix of warm and cold, the leather cool against your skin but the ambient light making the space feel safe and enclosed. It was nice. Too nice.

He closed the door gently, then walked around and got into the driver’s side. The engine started with a low rumble, and he pulled out of the parking lot, the car moving with a smooth, powerful grace.

Neither of you spoke. Katsuki cleared his throat once, a rough, awkward sound in the quiet. You just stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, your reflection a faint, ghostly image against the glass.

It was so fucking ridiculous. You were sitting here, in his expensive car, after he’d just admitted he liked you, and neither of you could think of a single thing to say. The silence was thick with everything that had happened, with all the things you still needed to figure out.

Your mind, of course, decided to fill the quiet with its own brand of torture. It drifted back to what he’d said earlier, about Monoma. So he really did hate that you were friends with him. He was bothered by it.

Before you could spiral too far down that particular rabbit hole, Katsuki spoke, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Look,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “About Monoma.”

You tensed, your hands clenching in your lap.
“I’m not gonna ask you to stop being friends with him,” he continued, his tone flat and even. “I don’t have the right to tell you who to hang out with. And even if I did… I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You turned to look at him, surprised. His profile was sharp in the dim light of the dashboard, his jaw set. He wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he meant every word.

“I can’t stand the guy,” he admitted, his grip on the steering wheel tightening just a fraction. “But that’s my shit. Not yours. You don’t have to deal with it.”

Relief washed over you, so potent it almost made you dizzy. He wasn’t asking you to choose. He wasn’t trying to control you. He was just telling you how he felt. It was the most mature, most respectful thing he could have done.

Is this what it felt like? To be this close to him, on a different level? To be seen not as a problem to be solved or a territory to be claimed, but as a person?

Your mind immediately went to her. Did he talk to her like this? Was he this open, this honest with her? You imagined them sitting in this same car, having these same kinds of quiet, heavy conversations. The thought made you feel like an intruder, a replacement. You pushed it away, hard.

Stop. Don’t do that. Don’t compare. He’s here with you now. That’s what matters.

You took a slow breath, letting it out shakily. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “For saying that.”

He just grunted in response, a sound that was somehow both dismissive and accepting.

You stared out the window, watching the blur of streetlights and storefronts, but you weren’t really seeing them. You were trying to memorize the route. The turns he was making, the landmarks you passed. It was a pointless exercise, you knew you’d never remember it all.

You were from Shibuya; this part of the city was a foreign country to you. You barely went out, your life a small, contained loop between your condo, the campus, and the occasional trip to the mall.

After a few more minutes, he slowed the car, turning into the entrance of a tall, modern building.

Another condominium? You’d just assumed he lived in a house, one of those big, quiet ones with a yard.

He parked the Porsche in an underground garage, the space clean and well-lit. He cut the engine, and the low rumble died, leaving a sudden, heavy silence.

He got out without a word, and you watched as he walked around to your side. The door clicked open, and he stood there, his frame silhouetted against the bright garage lights. He held out a hand.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice low. “It’s kinda dark on this side of the road. Don’t want you to trip.”

You took his hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with that same firm, steady grip from before. He pulled you gently from the car, and you stood for a moment, letting your eyes adjust. He was right. This corner of the garage was dimmer, the lights casting long, distorted shadows. His hand felt warm and real in yours.

He led you toward the elevator, swiping a black keycard against a sensor. The doors slid open with a soft, expensive-sounding hiss. Inside, the elevator was sleek and modern. The ride up was silent. Awkwardly so. You could feel him standing next to you, not touching, but close enough that you were hyper-aware of his presence.

The elevator dinged softly, the doors opening onto the 11th floor.

Eleventh floor?

He even had the audacity to say that her living on the 8th floor was inconvenient—but here he is, living three times higher than her.

The corridor was nothing like yours. The floor was covered in a thick, navy-blue carpet that felt like velvet under your school shoes. It muffled your footsteps, making the hallway feel hushed and intimidating. The walls were a clean light brown, and the lighting was a warm white, casting a glow that was both cozy and unnervingly pristine.

The doors to the apartments were heavy and wooden, intricately carved with designs you couldn’t quite make out in the light. It was… nice. Scarily nice.

He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall, Unit 1108. He unlocked it, the sound of the deadbolt clicking back feeling loud in the quiet, and pushed it open.

The first thing that hit you was the smell. It wasn’t the sterile scent of the hallway. It was him. That same clean, musky scent from his jacket, mixed with something else the faint, clean smell of laundry. It was his space. Unmistakably.

You stepped inside, and your expectations were once again completely shattered. The apartment was bathed in a soft, warm light from a few strategically placed lamps. It wasn’t overly warm or cold. It was cozy. And unbelievably clean.

The living room flowed seamlessly into the kitchen, a spacious, open layout. A huge, comfortable-looking gray sectional couch dominated one side of the room, piled with a few dark gray cushions. In front of it, a sleek, low-profile black coffee table held a neat stack of books and what looked like a video game controller. Your eyes scanned the shelves built into the wall. They were filled with books, thick law textbooks next to worn looking manga volumes and a collection of incredibly detailed action figures. He was so neat. Everything had a place.

“You can put your shoes there,” he said, nodding toward a wooden shoe rack by the door. “Bag goes on the hook.”

You did as he said, your movements feeling slow and clumsy. You slipped off your school shoes, placing them carefully on the rack, and hung your bag.

This was a side of him no one else got to see. His private world. And he had just invited you in.

You stood awkwardly by the door, not sure what to do with yourself. He had already moved into the kitchen, his back to you. He opened the fridge, the cool light spilling out, and pulled out a bottle of water. He didn’t say anything, just started washing his hands at the sink, his movements efficient and practiced.

He was in his element. You could tell. This was his space, his routine. You, on the other hand, felt like an intruder, a weird, out-of-place variable in his perfectly organized life.

You should have just stayed by the door. Waited on the couch like a normal person. But your feet moved on their own, carrying you into the kitchen.

You stopped a few feet away, just watching him. He dried his hands on a clean, black towel, then turned to the cabinets, pulling out ingredients. Onions, garlic, some vegetables you didn’t recognize.

“You can sit,” he said, not looking at you.

“I know,” you said softly. “Just… watching.” You watched as he pulled out a heavy-duty knife and a cutting board. His hands were incredible to watch. Steady, precise, moving with a confidence that was almost hypnotic. He chopped an onion with quick, clean strokes. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. He was good. Really good.

“You need any help?” you offered, even though you knew the answer.

He snorted, a low, dismissive sound. “No. Just sit there and don’t touch anything.”

Classic Katsuki. You rolled your eyes, you stayed where you were, leaning against the counter, content to just watch him work. The kitchen was his domain, and it was fascinating. It was a side of him you were greedy to see.

He had to reach past you to grab a pan from a cabinet, his arm brushing against yours. You pulled back slightly, your breath catching in your throat. He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t show it. He just turned to the stove, pouring a bit of oil into the pan.

The sizzle of onions hitting the hot pan filled the quiet kitchen. The smell was amazing, rich and savory. Your stomach rumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

He glanced over his shoulder, a single eyebrow raised. “Hungry?”

Your face flushed. “A little,” you admitted.

He turned back to the stove, a barely-there smirk on his face. He was enjoying this. Enjoying having you here, in his space, watching him, waiting for him. The thought should have annoyed you, but instead, it just made your stomach flutter.

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the small holder by the door—and then you remembered.

The gachapon.

“Oh!” you said suddenly, stepping over and reaching for the little bag. “I forgot about these.”

You held it in your hands, you sat down at the small kitchen island, pulling out the capsules one by one and popping them open.

Your earlier disappointment was forgotten, replaced by a childish glee. The first one was a tiny, perfectly detailed chubby cat, curled up and sleeping. The second was a miniature bowl of ramen with a cute face complete with tiny chopsticks. The third… you actually gasped.

It was a grumpy-looking black cat, a tiny fish clutched in its mouth. It was exactly the kind of thing you’d joked about.

“No way,” you whispered, holding it up. “You actually got me a grumpy cat.”

Katsuki glanced over from the stove, his expression unreadable. “It looked dumb,” he said. “Figured you’d like it.” He was trying to sound dismissive, but you heard the truth behind it.

A warmth spread through your chest, so potent it almost hurt. “I love it,” you said, your voice soft. “Thank you.”

You opened the last two capsules. A tiny, silver robot with comically large eyes, and a small, delicate charm shaped like a daisy.

You stared at the daisy, your fingers tracing its tiny petals. Innocence and loyal love. You remembered telling him that. He’d called it “fairytale girl shit.” But he’d gotten it for you anyway.

Your eyes started to sting. You blinked hard, looking down at the little collection of trinkets on the counter, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He paid attention. To all the small, stupid things you said.

He remembered.

He turned off the stove, the sizzling dying down, and moved to the counter, leaning against it a few feet away from you. He didn’t say anything, just watched you as you lined up the little figures.

“You okay?” he asked finally, his voice low.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You just kept staring at the tiny daisy.

He pushed off the counter and walked around the island until he was standing right behind you. You could feel the heat radiating off his body. He didn't touch you, but his presence was a heavy, comforting weight.

“Y/n.” His voice was a low murmur, right by your ear. You shivered.

You turned your head slightly to look at him, and that was a mistake. He was so close. His eyes were dark, intense, his gaze fixed on your mouth. The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that was more than just the leftover anger from before. This was different.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely there.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out, his hand coming up to your face. His thumb gently brushed against your cheek, right where you knew a smudge of paint from earlier was probably still lingering, even after your shower.

He slowly, carefully, rubbed the smudge away, his thumb lingering on your skin for a second too long.

“You had… something,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

You just stared at him, unsure what to say, like your body couldn’t catch up to what you were feeling. His eyes were still on yours, searching, questioning. The domesticity of the moment, the simple act of him cleaning a smudge of paint from your cheek in his own kitchen, it was more intimate than any kiss they’d shared.

This was him. Not the angry, yelling guy from school. Not the stressed-out committee member. This was just Katsuki.

You wanted to reach out, to to trace the line of his jaw. You wanted to close the small distance between you. And you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that he wanted it too.

He started to lean in, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Her breath caught, everything around her fading into the background. This was it. It was happening again.

And her stupid brain decided that was the perfect moment to remember.

“Wait!” The word burst out of her, a little too loud, shattering the fragile moment. She pulled back so fast she almost stumbled. “Kumo! I completely forgot! Where is he? I really want to see him.”

Katsuki froze, his hand dropping from her face. For a split second, a look of pure, undiluted frustration flashed in his eyes before he masked it, his expression going flat and unreadable. He took a step back, breaking the proximity, the air between them instantly feeling cold and empty.

“He’s not here,” he said, his voice clipped. He turned away from her, walking back to the stove and picking up a plate.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment. Her timing was terrible. “Where is he, then?”

“With my old man,” Katsuki muttered, not looking at her as he began to plate the food with sharp, efficient movements. “He takes him when I’m gone for long.”

“Wait—I thought you left Kumo with Izuku?”

“I did,” he said. “But the old man snatched him."

The image of a big, fluffy golden retriever with Katsuki’s dad was unexpectedly sweet. “That’s so nice of him,” you said softly. “Your dad sounds like a sweetheart.”

He paused, a plate in his hand. “He is,” he admitted, his voice low. Then he added, almost to himself, “More than my mom, anyway.”

Your brows pulled together. “Why?”

He set the plate down on the counter with a sharp clink. “Don’t wanna talk about her right now,” he said, and the finality in his tone was a brick wall. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command. A hard boundary you knew better than to cross.

The rest of dinner was quiet. He placed a plate in front of you at the kitchen island, the food smelling incredible, and sat across from you with his own.

You complimented his cooking, it was genuinely amazing, rich and perfectly seasoned, and he just grunted in response. When you were both done, he took your plates without a word and washed them, his back to you the entire time.

“Go sit on the couch,” he said, his voice still flat. “Don’t make a mess.”

You did as you were told, padding into the living room and sinking into the soft gray cushions of the sectional. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. He finished in the kitchen a few minutes later, the sound of him drying his hands the only noise in the apartment.

Then he walked into the living room, removing his hoodie, a video game controller in each hand. He didn’t sit right next to you, but he didn’t sit far away either. He dropped onto the couch beside you, leaving a careful foot of space between your thigh and his. He tossed one of the controllers into your lap.

“You know how to play?” he asked, already turning on the TV and the console.

“A little,” you said, picking up the controller. It felt heavy and unfamiliar in your hands.

The screen lit up with the menu of a fighting game, all flashy graphics and loud, dramatic music. He picked his character, some huge, muscular guy with spiky hair that looked suspiciously like his own. He glanced at you, waiting. You just picked a girl with pink hair at random, because she looked cute.

“You’re gonna get your ass kicked,” he said, his usual smirk returning.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but you were already smiling a little. “You didn’t even tell me the buttons.”

The first round was a disaster. You mashed buttons randomly, your character flailing around on screen while his calmly blocked every move before unleashing a combo that wiped you out in under thirty seconds. “K.O.” flashed across the screen in huge, taunting letters.

“You suck at this,” he stated, not even looking at you.

“You’re a cheater!” you shot back, jabbing him in the arm with your elbow. “I don’t know the moves!”

He let out a long, put-upon sigh. “It’s not that hard. Look.” He leaned in, his arm lightly brushing against yours. The touch was small, but it got your attention right away. “You press this to block, and this to do a heavy attack. To do a combo, you have to hit them in order. Like this.”

He was so close now, his shoulder pressing against yours. You weren’t even looking at the screen anymore. You were just looking at his hand as he demonstrated the button sequence on your controller.

His fingers were long, his knuckles scarred, but his movements were surprisingly graceful.  “See?” he muttered, “It’s not that hard. You just have to stop mashing shit and actually think.”

You took the controller back. “Alright, I get it,” you said, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice came out a little too soft.

The next round started. You actually tried this time, focusing on the moves he’d shown you. You blocked, you dodged, you even landed a decent combo that made his character stumble.

A surprised little gasp escaped you. “Oh my god, I did it,” you whispered, leaning forward, your eyes glued to the screen.

He didn’t answer. You glanced at him, and he was just watching you. Not the game—you. He was watching the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way you bit your lower lip without realizing it. The second your eyes met his, he looked away, back at the screen.

You won the round. Not because you were suddenly a pro, but because he completely missed a block, his character just standing there as you landed the final, clumsy hit.

“K.O.” flashed across the screen again. This time, under his character.

The silence that followed was heavy. You set your controller down on the couch cushion. The game, the noise, the excuse for being this close—it was all gone. Now it was just you and him, sitting on his couch, in his quiet apartment.

You cleared your throat and stood up, needing to put some space between you before you did something stupid. “Your apartment’s really… clean,” you said, your voice feeling too loud now. You walked over to the shelves built into the wall, running a hand over the smooth wood.

His action figures were lined up with an almost obsessive precision. A Iron Spider-Man, poised mid-swing. A few anime characters you recognized—a demon slayer from a show your brother used to watch, a hero in a ridiculously yellow costume. Then your eyes landed on the manga. Volumes and volumes of them, all perfectly aligned, spines unbroken.

“You’re a nerd,” you said, a smile finally breaking through. You picked up one of the volumes, tracing the art on the cover.

“Got a problem with that?” he muttered from the couch. He hadn’t moved, just turned his head to watch you.

“Nope,” you said, putting the book back exactly where you found it. “Just an observation.”

Then you saw it, tucked away on a lower shelf next to a sleek, black turntable. A wooden crate full of vinyl records. You knelt, your fingers brushing over the cardboard sleeves. There was rock music, some old-school hip-hop, stuff you wouldn’t have pegged him for. You pulled one out. And then another. And then your fingers stopped.

The cover was simple, iconic photo of a young Elvis Presley. The title was printed in soft, elegant script: Can’t Help Falling in Love.

“No way,” you whispered, pulling the record out and holding it like it was something fragile. You turned, looking at him over your shoulder. “You listen to this?”

He shrugged, but he looked a little uncomfortable. “It was my old man’s,” he said. “He left a bunch of his records here.”

You stood up and walked back over to the couch, holding the record sleeve in both hands. “This song is so romantic,” you said, your voice soft and a little distant. “When I was a little kid, I used to think this was what love was supposed to sound like. I had this whole dumb fantasy about it.” You let out a small, self-conscious laugh. “I’d dream about being at some fancy party, and a boy would ask me to dance, and this would be the song playing."

You trailed off, feeling suddenly exposed for sharing that small, childish piece of yourself. You expected him to scoff, or call it dumb, or just grunt and look away. He didn’t.

He just watched you, his expression unreadable, the air between you shifted again.

He stood up.

He didn’t say anything. He just walked over to the turntable, took the vinyl sleeve from your hands, his fingers brushing yours for a second too long—and slid the record out. He placed it on the platter, the movement careful, deliberate. He lowered the needle.

A soft crackle filled the room, and then the opening notes of the song began to play, gentle and iconic and your heart stopped.

Katsuki turned to face you. He stood there for a moment, looking awkward and out of place, his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t looking at your eyes. He was looking at your shoulder, at the floor, anywhere else.

He held out a hand.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It was clumsy. Reluctant. His ears were turning red again. But he was offering it. He was doing the one thing you’d only ever dreamed about.

Your breath hitched. You slowly placed your hand in his. His grip was warm, his palm slightly rough against yours. He pulled you gently into the small space between the couch and the coffee table.

One of his hands found the small of your back, resting there with a hesitant weight. The other was still holding yours, his thumb tracing a slow, uncertain circle over your knuckles. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt soft under your palm.

And then you were dancing.

Or, at least, trying to. It wasn't a dance, It was just swaying. A slow, awkward shuffle in the middle of his living room. He was stiff, his movements unsure. He kept his eyes fixed on a spot over your head, his jaw tight with concentration, like he was trying to solve a complex legal problem instead of just moving to a song.

You kept your own gaze lowered, focused on the collar of his shirt, not daring to look up. The music swelled around you, Elvis’s voice crooning about rivers and seas and things meant to be. It was so unbelievably romantic, and so unbelievably awkward, your chest ached with it.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart through his chest, or maybe it was your own, you couldn’t tell. All you could hear was the crackle of the record player, and the sound of his breathing, low and even.

You risked a glance up. His eyes were closed now, his brow furrowed slightly. He wasn’t thinking about the steps anymore. Maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe, just for a second, he was just feeling it.

Your head felt light. You leaned into him, just a fraction, resting your cheek against his shoulder. He tensed for a second, then relaxed, his hand on your back pulling you just a tiny bit closer.

The song reached its final, lingering notes. The music faded, leaving only the soft, repetitive crackle of the needle at the end of the record. But neither of you moved.

You were still standing there, wrapped in a quiet, fragile stillness. He smelled something uniquely him, a scent you were starting to think of as just Katsuki.

His hand was still warm on your back. Your head was still resting on his shoulder. It was the most peaceful you’d felt all week.

He took a slow breath, and you felt the slight rise and fall of his chest. Then, his head tilted down, his cheek brushing against your hair.

His voice was a low, rough whisper, right by your ear.
“You still think I’m cute?”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, pulling back just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light of the living room, searching yours.

The record player was still spinning, its soft, repetitive thump-thump the only sound between you.

Your heart was doing that stupid, frantic thing again.
“I do,” you whispered, the word feeling both small and enormous.

His hand still resting on the small of your back, shifted, his fingers spreading slightly.

He started to lean in.

It was slow. Agonizingly slow. Not like in the cottage, where it had been fueled by tension and argument.

This was different. This was hesitant. A question in itself.

He was giving you time. Time to pull away. Time to turn your head. Time to say no.

You didn’t.

You met him halfway, tilting your head up, your eyes fluttering shut just as his lips met yours.

The kiss was gentle. Unbelievably so. It wasn’t hungry or demanding. There was no fight in it, no desperation. It was just a connection. Soft and warm and questioning.

His lips were softer than you remembered, moving against yours with an exploratory tenderness that made your chest ache.

You let out a quiet sigh, your hands moving from his shoulders to wrap loosely around his neck. You felt him respond instantly, his hand on your back pulling you flush against him.

This wasn’t a kiss to steal your breath. It was a kiss that taught you how to breathe with him. Slow, deep, in sync.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by an inch. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed. You could feel his breath, warm and steady against your lips.

“I should probably go,” you whispered, though your body made no move to leave his arms. The thought was a formality, a ghost of what a sensible person might do.

“No,” he said, the word a low rumble against your mouth. He didn’t open his eyes. “You’re not.”

His other hand came up, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone. It wasn’t a demand. It was just a fact. You were staying. And you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

“I have class tomorrow,” you said, almost too quietly. It was the first thing that came out. Not because it made sense, but because it was the only excuse you could reach for that felt familiar. Safe. Something you could use to get out of this moment before it turned into something else. Something bigger than either of you knew how to handle.

His voice came low, close to your ear. “Yeah? So?”

“So… I need to go home.”

You hated how soft it sounded. Like you were asking permission and not stating a fact. You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to apologize just for saying it.

“Class is at nine,” he said. Like it wasn’t even up for debate. Like he had already gone through your whole damn schedule in his head. “I’ll drive you.”

That shut you up fast. You hadn’t expected that. That wasn’t part of the escape plan. You were supposed to dip. Grab your stuff, say something vague but polite, and bolt before the air got too heavy to breathe. But now he was standing there like that offer wasn’t a big deal. Like staying the night with him was a completely normal option.

It wasn’t.

“No,” you said, this time louder, steadier. Not yelling, but enough to draw a line.

You stepped back not dramatically but just enough to shift the space between you. Enough to say this needs to stop without pushing him away completely. His hands slipped from your waist, slow and reluctant, like even that tiny act of letting go was something he didn’t want to do.

“I… I have to go home,” you added, your voice thinning a little. “I don’t have anything with me. My charger’s at home, my books, my change of clothes, everything—”

You broke off, frustrated with yourself. You weren’t sure if you were trying to justify it to him or to yourself.

He didn’t argue, but he didn’t agree either. But then he exhaled. quiet, through his nose. A sign of surrender, maybe. Or just acceptance.

“Fine,” he muttered.

He took a step back, giving you the space you’d asked for. You didn’t thank him for it. You just dropped your hand from his arm, and the second it left his skin, your fingers twitched like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. You smoothed down your blouse, fixed your skirt even though it wasn’t twisted. Every motion was fast, too precise, like you were trying to distract yourself from the fact that you were leaving when you clearly didn’t want to.

You crossed the room, picked up your tiny gachapon bag from the island then walked to the door. Your purse was hanging on the wall hook where you’d left it. You snatched it down, slipped on your shoes one at a time. You didn’t look at him. You were already too aware of how raw you felt.

When you finally turned around, he was gone from the doorway.

No—he was just outside.

The front door was open. He stood leaning against the hallway wall, arms folded. Head tipped slightly. Watching you.

Your eyes met. Your face went warm again.

You weren’t even doing anything. Just existing in his line of sight made your skin react like you’d been caught naked. You gave him a half-smile, unsure if you were supposed to say something or just walk past him.

He didn’t smile back. He straightened off the wall and started walking.

You followed.

The hallway was quiet for how expensive this place was. It made your footsteps sound louder than they were. Your purse strap creaked when you adjusted it. Every detail felt like it took up too much space.

The elevator ride was worse. Not because he was doing anything, he was just standing beside you, hands in his pockets but because you could feel him. You watched the numbers above the door light up one by one, hyper-aware of how neither of you was speaking.

When the doors slid open on the lobby floor, you moved quickly, needing to get back to solid ground. This night was already spinning off-center.

You were halfway to the exit when someone called out.

“Whoa, Katsuki. Didn’t know you had company.”

Your head turned instinctively.

A guy stood by the glass doors, holding a paper bag of takeout. Tall, clean-cut, and nothing like Katsuki. His clothes were expensive in a subtle way—slacks, crisp polo, polished watch. He looked like someone from a different part of town entirely.

Katsuki tensed beside you.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Tadashi?”

Tadashi grinned, unfazed. “Nice to see you too, cousin. I live two floors down, remember?”

The word cousin hit with a weird kind of weight. You tried not to show it, but your brain was already moving too fast.

Tadashi stepped forward casually, his eyes flicking to you, then back to Katsuki. “Anyway, Mom said your mom are flying in next week. Figured I’d give you a heads-up before she just show up and crash your place.”

The air shifted. Katsuki’s mood, which had been tense but manageable, dropped into something cold and hard. “Didn’t need a reminder,” he snapped.

Tadashi ignored the tone. “She also said you never visit anymore. My mom, I mean. Thought you were gonna drop by last weekend.”

Still nothing from Katsuki. Just a look that said drop it without using words.

Tadashi finally looked at you properly. “So. Who’s this girl?”

Your heart beat faster. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to answer.

Before you could speak, Katsuki cut in.

“What the fuck do you think?”

He didn’t even look at you when he said it. Didn’t look at Tadashi either. Just stared past both of you like the conversation was already over.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. He looked you up and down, not in a creepy way. It had been over a year since the whole thing with Camie. Seeing Katsuki with a girl again, especially one he was being so possessively vague about… it was something. “Right.” He nodded toward you, polite but amused. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tadashi.”

“Y/n,” you mumbled. Your voice felt too small.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Katsuki muttered. Then he grabbed your hand, and started walking again, pulling you toward the exit like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

You glanced back once, seeing Tadashi still standing there, watching you go with that same curious, amused look on his face.

The car ride was quiet. Not the kind of quiet where you could pretend things were normal. It was the kind where everything unsaid sat between you, humming under the surface. You thought about what you’d just heard, about his parents, about Tadashi, about how none of this had been part of what you knew about him. And maybe that was the part that bothered you most. The reminder that there were pieces of Katsuki that weren’t yours to understand yet.

He pulled up outside your condo and cut the engine. His hands stayed on the wheel, unmoving.

You reached for the door handle, then hesitated. “Thanks. For the ride. And for… earlier.”

He didn’t look at you. Just gave a low grunt that might have meant you’re welcome or don’t mention it or maybe I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing either.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The next day, your alarm went off way too early. You slapped it silent and groaned into your pillow, not ready to deal with anything.

Then the first thing your mind remembered was Katsuki.

You were suddenly wide awake.

You got up, shoved the blanket off your legs, and headed straight for the shower. The hot water fogged up the mirror, and you didn’t rush it for once. You grabbed the floral shower gel you usually saved for events or when you were trying to convince yourself you were okay. You didn’t know if today was special, but it felt like it might be.

You scrubbed your arms and legs like you were trying to get the night off your skin. Not in a bad way, just like you needed a reset. You washed your hair twice without thinking about it, and by the time you stepped out, your skin was warm, and you felt more awake than you had in days.

You made toast. Basic. But you didn’t burn it this time, so that was something. You ate it standing by the counter, staring blankly at your phone but not really seeing anything. Your head was somewhere else.

When you were done eating, you decided to start getting ready for school. You ended up in front of the mirror. You swiped on some mascara. Dabbed a little concealer under your eyes. Blended in some blush so you didn’t look half-dead. Then you reached for a gloss, something that makes your lips looked better with it.

You didn’t know what the hell you were doing. Sure, you often put on makeup, but why did it feel like you wanted to be pretty for someone else and not for yourself? You hated it so much.

You had a crush. A real one. A big, fat, crush on Katsuki Bakugo. And apparently, it was enough to get you to fix your face for real this time and act like a functioning person again.

You caught yourself smiling in the mirror. Not a small one, either. Full teeth, cheeks lifting, actual joy kind of smile. And it freaked you out.

You dropped it immediately, your face going flat.

What the fuck.

Seriously. Get it together.

You turned away from the mirror, annoyed at yourself, and shoved on your uniform. It felt more put-together than usual, and maybe it wasn’t, but you noticed the difference. You were wearing it with intention, not just because you had to.

You left the house early.

The campus was already packed. People rushing across walkways, clutching coffee cups and cramming last-minute notes into their bags. The usual noise. You kept your head down, but not because you were anxious or trying to disappear. You just didn’t trust yourself not to smile at strangers for no reason.

You reached the Fine Arts building, which was usually one of the quieter corners of campus. Except today, it wasn’t.

A crowd had formed near the main auditorium, voices overlapping in a weird noise of excitement. You slowed down automatically, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Most of the students were dressed sharper than usual. Law majors, probably. You could tell from the blazers and pressed collars and the way they held themselves like their grades depended on being seen.

You stopped a few feet from the crowd, craning your neck.

Through the open doors, you saw a stage. A podium. Two groups of students seated at long tables, name placards in front of them.

Oh. A debate. That’s why.

Your mind went straight to him. You wondered if Katsuki was in there, probably inside that auditorium right now. You just knew he hadn’t looked at a single note. He was probably sitting there with his legs spread, arms crossed, looking bored as hell. You hated that your brain was conjuring the image, his tongue running over his teeth, that vein in his neck popping, the way his voice would sound if he said your name instead.

You immediately snapped yourself out of it. What the fuck was wrong with you.

Midterms were two weeks away. Your professors were already throwing assignments at you, they were trying to crush your spine. Everyone was drowning in deadlines. You needed to be just as focused. You had to study. Stay on top of your shit.

You turned away from the noise outside the auditorium and headed for your own building, even though your brain was still halfway stuck on him.

•••

Class came and went in a blur. You tried to pay attention, but your notes were mostly useless. You had names and dates written down, but none of them were sticking. You kept zoning out, doodling in the margins of your notebook instead, tiny flowers, random faces, a hand curled into another.

You didn’t even realize you’d been staring at the same page for ten minutes.

When the lecture finally ended, you packed up your stuff, annoyed with yourself but a little lighter than before. You hadn’t done much, but at least you were functioning. You started walking across campus, headed for the library, ready to actually get some work done this time.

You looked up.

Then katsuki was coming out of the auditorium, a folder tucked under one arm. He was talking to someone behind him, but not really paying attention. He looked serious.

You stood still without meaning to. Your legs just stopped. He hadn’t seen you yet.

You told yourself to keep walking, to look away, to stop being weird, but your body wasn’t cooperating. You just stood there, watching him. Your heart had started doing that annoying, fast, uneven thing again.

Then his eyes lifted. They scanned the crowd, and landed on you for half a second. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t smile. Didn’t do anything. But you knew he saw you.

There was something in his eyes when they met yours, quick, unreadable, but intentional. He didn’t need to say anything. It was enough to know that he noticed you, even if it didn’t look like it meant anything from the outside.

Then he turned and kept walking, disappearing into the steady flow of students. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your lips twitched into a smile at first, then bigger, and you didn’t bother fighting it this time. You felt ridiculous, but you couldn’t help it.

You were halfway to the library, still grinning to yourself like an idiot, when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out without thinking, expecting something from Mina or maybe Jirou.

But it wasn’t them.

Neito: Hey, you still on for the bookstore this afternoon? Boss is expecting you. :)

Right. The bookstore. Your brain was so busy orbiting around Katsuki that you’d completely blocked out the fact that you were supposed to be somewhere else today.

You thumbed out a reply.

Y/n: Yeah, of course! See you there.

Neito: See you later, Y/n

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

At 2 PM, you finally managed to escape the library, your head full of useless facts about painters that you knew you’d forget by tomorrow.

The campus was starting to thin out, you were done for the day. You pulled out your phone, half-expecting it to be blank, you scrolled through your notifications, past a few messages from the girls’ group chat. And then you saw a new message from him.

You ducked behind a large oak tree near the path, needing a second of privacy before you opened it. Your thumbs were already shaking a little.

Katsuki: you done with your classes?

His texts were always so short.

Y/n: Just finished. Heading home now before my shift later.

You waited, your eyes glued to the screen. The three little dots popped up, disappeared, then popped up again. He was thinking. Or maybe just busy.

Katsuki: I’ll drive you.

You gasped at the message.

Y/n: No, it’s fine! I can just take the bus. Don’t worry about it.

You hit send, trying to sound casual because you didn’t need him to go out of his way for you.

Katsuki: It’s hot as fuck outside. And that bus is always late. Wait at the gate.

You stared at the screen. You didn’t have a choice, did you? He wasn’t asking. He was telling you. You hated when he was bossy. But you also kind of… loved it. When it was like this, anyway. When it was his weird, grumpy way of taking care of you.

Y/n: If you take forever, I'll leave.

Katsuki: I won’t.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, your face burning. You walked toward the main gate, your steps feeling lighter than they had all day.

You waited by the main gate, leaning against the cool stone pillar, watching other students stream past. The sun was still hot, and he was right, the air felt sticky and gross. You fanned your face with your hand, your mind already thinking so loud. This was becoming a thing, wasn’t it? Driving you. Waiting for you. It felt so domestic. So normal. It scared the hell out of you.

After about ten minutes, you saw his car pull up to the curb. The sleek, black Porsche looked ridiculously out of place next to the university’s manicured lawns. The engine cut off, and he got out.

Pleaseeee, he looked so cute right now.

He’d taken off his school blazer, leaving him in just the crisp white button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the toned muscles of his forearms. His tie was loosened, his top button undone. He looked rumpled, tired from his debate, his hair a little messier than usual. He looked real.

He started walking toward you, and your heart did that stupid beating once again. You wanted to run up and kiss his cheek. Just a quick, soft press of your lips. The thought was so strong it made your fingers twitch. But you knew you couldn’t. He wasn’t that guy in public. He’d probably flinch away or give you that deadpan “what the fuck are you doing” look. So you stayed put, a small, shy smile playing on your lips instead.

“Hello” you said softly as he stopped in front of you.

“Hey,” he grunted back. He looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on your face for a second. “You look tired.”

“Ummm yeah,” you said. “But you look more tired."

"Those idiots in the debate don’t know when to shut up.” He jerked his head toward the car. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

He walked you to the passenger side, pulling the door open for you as usual before heading around to his own. You slid into the seat.

The drive was quiet at first. He turned on the radio, some low-key rock station playing softly in the background.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “You have a work shift later?”

“Yeah. Cafè.”

He was quiet for a moment, his hands steady on the wheel. Then he asked, “What time you get off?”

“Eight,” you answered.

You could tell what was coming. You felt it in the pause, in the way he shifted slightly toward you. That offer was about to land.

So you cut him off before he could say it.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” you said quickly. “Really, Katsuki. I can get home on my own. You’ve probably got other stuff to do. I don’t want to make this complicated.”

He looked at you, his brows pulling together like you’d said something completely out of line.

“Did I say you were a problem?”

“No, but—”

“Then shut up,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll pick you up. It’s fine.

Two simple words. But coming from him, they carried weight. He didn’t say things to fill silence. If he was doing this, it wasn’t out of obligation. He wanted to. Maybe he wouldn’t say it out loud, but that didn’t matter. He was choosing to be here.

You didn’t reply. There wasn’t anything else to say.

You leaned your head back against the seat. That nervous energy in your chest started to fade. Something steadier took its place.

He was focused on driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. He wasn’t saying anything either.

For once, you didn’t feel like you had to be on edge, waiting for something to go wrong. You didn’t feel like a burden or a guest or someone temporary.

The car idled for a moment after he pulled up to the curb in front of your building. The rock music on the radio faded out, replaced by some low-voiced announcer talking about the weather.

Katsuki cut the engine, you didn’t move to get out right away. You just sat there, your hands resting in your lap.

“Well,” you said, your voice a little too soft in the quiet car. “Thanks for the ride.” You turned to look at him.

And your brain just… stalled.

He was looking at you. Not at the road, not at his phone. At you. He still looked tired, but the hard edge from earlier was gone. Now he just looked… handsome. God, he was so handsome it actually made your heart beat faster.

Every stupid, hormonal part of you wanted to lean over and kiss him.

But you were a coward.

“I should… get going,” you said, your hand moving toward the door handle. “I have to get ready for work.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and a little rough. He didn’t look away. “I know.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the handle. “So… I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He just nodded, his eyes still locked on yours, your heart can't stop pounding again. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why was he just staring at you like that?

It was now or never. It was a stupid thought. A reckless one. But it was there under your skin, refusing to be ignored.

Fuck it.

You leaned over the center console, fast, before you could talk yourself out of it. You pressed your lips to his cheek. It was quick. Barely a touch. But it was real.

You pulled back just as quickly, your face on fire.
“Okay, bye!” you squeaked, yanking on the door handle and practically falling out of the car. You scrambled to your feet on the sidewalk, not daring to look back.

You were halfway to the building’s entrance when his voice cut through the quiet evening air.
“Oi.”

You froze, your back still to him. Oh god. He was mad. You’d crossed a line. You’d been too weird, too forward. You should have just left.

You slowly turned around. He hadn’t gotten out of the car. He’d just rolled down the window. He was leaning across the seat, his arm resting on the open window frame, his head tilted.

His face was unreadable. His ears, though? Bright red. Why did his ears always look so red whenever he's with you?

You just stared at him, your heart in your throat, waiting for him to yell at you, to call you a weirdo, to say something.

He just looked at you for a long second. Then, a slow, lazy smirk spread across his face. It was cocky.

"You kissed the wrong spot, try again—on my mouth next time."

And with that, he rolled up the window, started the car, and pulled away from the curb, leaving you standing on the sidewalk with your face burning and your heart beating way, way too fast.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The second the door to your condo clicked shut, you were gone.

You launched yourself across the living room, a weird, strangled noise bubbling up from your chest, and flopped face-first onto your bed. You buried your face deep into a pillow, a muffled, high-pitched squeal escaping you. Your feet kicked at the mattress.

"OH MY GOSHHHH"

Your body wouldn’t calm down. You were jittery in the worst way, like your nerves had caffeine instead of blood. You flopped onto your back and stared at the ceiling, barely able to keep still. Your face hurt from smiling, and you knew you looked stupid. You didn’t even care.

Katsuki Bakugo.
That idiot. That arrogant, loud-mouthed, surprisingly gentle idiot.

You groaned into your blanket.
His ears had turned red. So red. You actually snorted at the memory, your laugh echoing through the quiet apartment. You had never seen him look like that, caught off guard and trying not to show it. You got him. That felt… weirdly good.

But then the other feeling kicked in.
The one that had been creeping up on you but never really going away.

You’d been ignoring it, brushing it off, telling yourself you were just tired, or hormonal, or touch-starved. That it wasn’t real.
But it was still there, waiting.

Shit.
You were falling for him.

Not a little. Not some cute school crush, not some temporary thing to daydream about.

You were actually in it. Like it had already happened and your dumb heart was just now catching up.

Your smile dropped. Completely.

You sat up too fast, suddenly cold, suddenly aware of how quiet the room was.

“Nope,” you mumbled out loud. “No. Absolutely not.”

You dragged your hands down your face. You could not be in love with Katsuki Bakugo.

You weren’t ready for that.
And knowing him… you had no idea if he was either.

You scrambled off the bed, pacing your small living room, “This is ridiculous,” you muttered to the empty room. “This is so, so ridiculous.”

Love? You didn’t do love. Love was for other people. People in movies. People who didn’t have a history of falling for the wrong person or getting their heart stomped on. You barely knew him. That wasn’t love. It was a crush. A big, fat, all-consuming crush. That’s all it was. It had to be.

But he wanted to know you. Did that mean he wanted more?

You stopped in front of your window, pulled it open, and stuck your head out. The air hit your face immediately. The kind of air that made your lungs work harder just to catch a breath. The city noise was still there, but it felt far away, like background static.

You just needed a second. Needed to get your shit together.

You weren’t the type to get in deep this fast. You weren’t the girl who lost her mind over a guy after that. You had better things to worry about. You weren’t desperate. You were chill. Logical. Smarter than this.

Right?

You groaned, dragging your head back in and slamming the window shut. Useless. Your brain was already working against you. Already playing that dumb reel again, his smirk, the look in his eyes when he thought you weren’t watching, how warm his hand felt when it covered yours.

You were so screwed. Like, pathetically screwed.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Your first shift at Literary Café came at the perfect time. You'd spent way too long getting ready, messing with your hair, redoing your lip gloss twice for no reason, so by the time you actually left, you were early. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped in. Coffee and books. It smelled like peace.

“Hey, you’re here!”

A girl with short, choppy brown hair waved from behind the counter. She was wiping down the espresso machine.

“I’m Hana,” she said, smiling. “Our manager told me you were starting today.”

You smiled back. “I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she said. “Don’t worry, afternoons are usually pretty chill. You got lucky.” She nodded toward the back. “Drop your stuff in the break room. There’s another newbie, Kenji."

You set your bag down and came back out, already feeling a little less nervous. The place wasn’t crowded. A couple of people were sitting alone, heads down in books or tapping away on laptops.

Kenji came out a second later. Tall, quiet, glasses slightly crooked. He gave you a small wave.

You glanced around the café as you tied your apron, expecting to see that familiar mop of blonde hair somewhere behind the counter or poking out from the stockroom. Nothing.

Weird.

“Hey, where’s Neito?” you asked, grabbing a clean rag from the stack and tossing it over your shoulder. “He said he’d be here today.”

Hana didn’t look up from the espresso machine she was cleaning. “Oh, he’s on leave,” she said casually,

“Wait, what? Since when?”

“Right now" She straightened up and started reassembling the machine. “I think he asked for the rest of the week off.”

You frowned. That didn’t make sense. He literally messaged you this morning reminding you about work and “See you later, Y/n” kind of text.

“He didn’t say anything about that to me,” you muttered, half to yourself.

The shift flew by. Hana was blunt but funny as hell, walking you through every step–how to work the register, how to make a pour-over that didn’t taste like dirt, and which regulars to avoid eye contact with unless you wanted your soul drained.

Kenji mostly kept to himself, but he was helpful in the quiet way that mattered. He’d show up with a stack of cups before you realized you needed them, or pass you a towel without saying a word.

You found yourself good at this. It was like painting, in a way. It occupied your hands and your mind, leaving no room for overthinking.

BUT THE CATS IS THE BEST PART!

There were three of them. Mochi, a massive orange fluffball. Kuro, a sleek black cat who sat on top of shelves. And Matcha, a tiny gray kitten who apparently decided you were his now.

During your break, you sat on the floor in the back corner of the book section, and Matcha made a beeline for you like he’d been waiting all day. One squeaky meow and he was in your lap, curled into a warm little donut, purring like an engine.

Your heart just gave up.

“Hi, sweet boy,” you whispered, scratching behind his ears. He pushed into your hand like he’d been starved for affection his whole life.

You leaned your head back against the bookshelf, closing your eyes for a moment. This was what you needed. Something simple. Something pure. A tiny, warm creature who wanted nothing from you but a little bit of affection. You wanted to take him home so bad. You could already picture Yuzu being a jealous older sister and Mikan trying to herd him around the apartment.

•••

Your shift ended at 7:58 PM. You’d spent the last hour wiping tables, restocking napkins, and saying goodbye to the cats—especially Matcha, who looked so sad when you stood up.

Your body was tired in a good way. The kind of tired that made you feel like you actually did something worth the effort.

You hung up your apron, grabbed your bag, and waved goodbye.

“See you guys on monday!” you said.

“Later, Y/n!” Hana called out, flashing a thumbs-up.

You stepped outside. The night air was cool, quiet. The street was calm. You pulled out your phone without thinking, thumbing over the screen.

You weren’t gonna text him.
You weren’t.

...But you still kinda hoped he’d text you first.

You walked toward the main road, your head down as you scrolled through the messages from the girls’ group chat. You were so absorbed you almost didn’t see the car parked across the street.

This one was a BMW. A deep, metallic gray, sleek and low to the ground. It was the kind of car that screamed money, the kind you saw in movies, not parked on the side of a regular city street. It was so obviously expensive it was almost obnoxious.

You stopped, staring at it. Then the driver’s side door opened.

And Katsuki got out.

He leaned against the car, arms crossed, wearing a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans. He just watched you.

Damn. He was really here. He’d actually waited.

You walked across the street, your steps feeling slow and heavy. Your heart was doing that stupid thing again, that frantic, uneven beat.

“Hi,” you said as you reached him, your voice a little breathless.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. He pushed off the car, his eyes scanning your face. “You’re late.”

“My shift ended at eight,” you said, glancing at your phone. “It’s 8:03.”

A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “Still late.”

You looked from him to the car, your brows furrowing. “Is this… yours?”

“Yeah,” he said.

You stared at the car again. You knew he was rich, he’d told you. But seeing it like this, the casual way he stood next to a car that probably cost more than your entire condo building… it was a stark reminder of how different your worlds were.

He didn’t need to show off. He wasn’t trying to impress you. But somehow, he still managed to—without even realizing it.

Then something clicked in your head.

“Wait—” you blurted out, your eyes snapping to his. “How long have you been sitting here?”

He shrugged, glancing away. “I don’t know. An hour? Maybe more.”

An hour? He’d been here for that long just… waiting?

“Katsuki,” you said, quieter now. “You didn’t have to do that. I told you I could get home by myself. You could’ve just texted when you were close or something.”

He looked back at you, face unreadable, voice flat. “It’s fine.”

He walked around the car and opened the passenger door for you.

You hesitated for a second, then slid in.

He got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. It sounded way different from the Porsche. This one was smoother but still strong. You could feel the low hum through the seat.

He pulled away from the curb without a word, You watched the city lights pass outside the window. The streets were busy, bright signs, people walking, headlights everywhere. You felt tired, but in a good way. Like your body finally caught up to the rest of you after a long day that actually meant something.

He cleared his throat quietly. “So,” he said, still looking at the road. “You really don’t have work tomorrow?”

You glanced over at him. His face was calm, focused on driving.

“No,” you said. "I was supposed to start night shifts this weekend, but my manager wants me to wait ‘til next week since I’m still new. So, yeah. No work ‘til Monday afternoon.”

He nodded a little but didn’t say anything right away. His thumb started tapping slowly on the steering wheel. You watched it, for some reason.

Then he said, casual like he wasn’t even thinking that hard about it—“You wanna come to the beach with me?”

You looked at him.

What?

You stared at him for a second, brain completely blank. The beach? With him? That was not what you thought he was going to say.

“A… beach?” you repeated, confused.

He gave you a quick look. One eyebrow raised. “Yeah. The beach. You deaf?”

“I—uh—are Mina and the girls going?” you asked. “Like, is this a group thing?” That idea felt easier.

He sighed, annoyed. “Yeah, they’re all going. Every damn one of them.” He paused. You saw his hands grip the wheel just a little tighter. “It’s some island thing,” he muttered. “Team bonding or whatever, for winning that tournament. I don’t even wanna go. They’re making me. Said it’s a celebration.”

Then he looked at you again. A little more serious.

“I’d rather hang out with you,” he said quietly. So low you almost missed it. “Than sit around bored with a bunch of people I barely talk to.” He gave a short shrug. “Thought you could come. So I don’t go crazy.”

Your heart jumped. He wanted you there. Not just as part of the group, but with him. To make it bearable. That was big. He never talked like this. It felt like he was letting you in, even if just a little, and now you had to figure out what to do with it.

“Oh, okay." And then you perked up. “Wait… I can wear a bikini!.”

You didn’t even mean to say it out loud, but it was already out there. Your mouth moved faster than your brain.

A grin tugged at your lips. You had this bikini sitting in your drawer, tags still on. You’d bought it on clearance last summer and never had a reason to wear it. Now you were thinking maybe this was finally it.

Katsuki side-eyed you, his expression completely deadpan. He didn’t say a word. He just gave you this long, slow look, like he was judging every single one of your life choices that had led to that sentence.

Your smile stalled. “What?” you asked, defensive. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned back to the road and kept driving like you hadn’t said anything at all. That made it worse.

You folded your arms and sank down in your seat. “It’s a nice swimsuit,” you muttered. “It’s not like I’m showing up naked or something.”

Still nothing. You glanced at him. His jaw was tight. His eyes were fixed straight ahead. He was absolutely ignoring you on purpose. You could feel it. But that didn’t stop you.

“I mean, I’ve got other ones too,” you said, leaning back. “There’s that white one-piece, but it’s kind of a pain when you need to pee. And the red one? That one makes my boobs look good but it cuts weird at the hips, so I don’t know. And the black one with the gold ring in the middle, that one’s basically asking for a sunburn in all the wrong places.”

The silence was his answer. And it was so much worse than if he’d just said something. You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. He was totally judging you. You just knew it.

You kept going.

“And I can’t wear the green one because the straps are too loose and I’d rather not flash someone by accident. Oh—do you think I should bring a cover-up? Or, like, just wear shorts? I don’t know what people wear to beach things with friends—wait, are we calling this a friends thing or something else? Whatever, I’m packing both.”

Katsuki pulled into the underground garage of your building, the tires echoing slightly as they rolled over the concrete.

You were still mid-sentence, something about how swimsuits should have built-in padding that doesn’t shift when you wash them—when he finally turned off the engine.

You paused.

“…You good?” you asked, looking over at him.

He just stared ahead for a second. Then he finally looked at you, completely expressionless.

“We’re here,” he said, voice flat.

He turned toward you, one arm tossed across the back of your seat, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were locked on you.

“You better show up tomorrow,” he said. “And I don’t wanna hear any whining.”

That made your heart skip. You swallowed. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ll go.”

He nodded, slow. His gaze flicked to your mouth. Just for a second. “Good.”

And then he started to lean in.

Your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed against yours. It was soft at first, but then his other hand came up, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and he tilted your head, deepening the kiss.

His mouth was hot, insistent. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you parted them for him without a second thought. A small sound escaped your throat, a soft, breathy sigh, and you felt him smile against your mouth. His hand slid from your hair, down your back, his palm pressing against the small of it, pulling you closer, closing the small gap between you over the center console.

Your hands came up, resting on his chest. You could feel the steady, heavy beat of his heart under your palms. Or maybe it was yours. You couldn’t tell anymore. Everything was just a warm, dizzying blur of him.

His mouth left yours, his lips trailing a hot path down your jaw, to your neck. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, your breath catching in your throat. He kissed the sensitive spot right below your ear, and you let out a small, helpless whimper.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, your fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt.

He made a low sound in his throat, a rough, pleased growl, and his mouth found yours again. The kiss was messier now.

He was taking what he wanted, and you were giving it to him freely.

His hand slid up under your shirt, fingers dragging slowly along your side. Then he reached your chest and grabbed you without hesitation.

He cupped your breast through your bra, squeezing hard. His palm molded to the shape of you, thumb dragging over the fabric because he wanted more. The pressure made you gasp, half from shock, half from how good it felt in the moment.

And then, his mouth was on your neck again. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, sucking right beneath your ear as his hand groped you firmly. It was like he couldn’t choose what to touch more so he was doing both. You felt his breath against your throat, his lips moving messily along the curve of your neck, all while his fingers stayed locked around your breast.

Your head tipped back against the seat with a hitched breath. “Katsuki—”

He groaned low into your skin, biting gently before licking over the same spot. His hand kneaded you harder.

And that’s when your body finally caught up with your brain.

You flinched, grabbing his wrist. “Wait—wait—”

He stopped immediately.

His mouth froze against your skin. His grip loosened, hand pulling away completely, you sat there breathing hard, your body burning, shirt bunched up, chest still tingling from his touch.

“I can’t,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I thought I could, but… I’m not ready.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. He just leaned back into his seat.

“It's my fault.” he muttered. Voice low. Controlled. "I'm sorry."

You tugged your shirt back down, your hands shaking. You reached for the door, not looking at him.

“I should go.”

“Yeah.”

You got out fast, the door shut behind you, and you didn’t turn around. You just walked, legs unsteady, chest still rising and falling too fast.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

The second you heard the door of your condo shut behind you, the lock sliding into place with a heavy click, your legs gave out. You leaned your full weight against it, your back pressed to the solid wood like it was the only thing holding you up. Your bag slid right off your shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thump, forgotten.

Your brain didn’t work right away. It was just empty, wiped clean. You stood there like that for a full minute, breathing in through your nose, out through your mouth, trying to get your heart to calm down. It felt like your lungs couldn’t get enough air, like the room wasn’t big enough.

And then the thoughts came crashing in.

His hands. His mouth. The sound of his voice. And then his hand. On your chest. Your body had wanted it. You felt it everywhere, your skin, your stomach, between your legs. But your mind couldn’t keep up. You had just frozen. And everything stopped.

You slid down the door slowly, like your whole body was giving out. You pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, letting your forehead rest on top. Why did you react like that? Why did your body get ahead of your brain, then slam the brakes out of nowhere? You wanted it. You’d been wanting it. So why did you pull away the second things got serious?

You let out a long, frustrated groan and hid your face in your arms. He probably thought you were sending mixed signals. Maybe he thought you were teasing him, or trying to mess with him. Or maybe he just thought you were confused.

And then you remembered about the bikini.

Oh god. You had been talking his ear off about it. You completely forgot that Katsuki was a man. A guy. A guy who found you attractive. A guy who was obviously into you. And you just kept talking, casually dropping hints like you didn’t know what it might do to him.

You felt your face heat up again just thinking about it. Was that what triggered it? Was that why he kissed you like that?

“No,” you mumbled to yourself, still curled up on the floor. “That’s not how he is.”

Katsuki didn’t lose control just because someone mentioned a bikini. He wasn’t that simple. If anything, he’d shown way too much restraint up to now. If he kissed you like that, it was because he wanted to. Not because of what you said. There had to be more to it.

A soft meow broke through your thoughts.

You looked up slowly. Yuzu was sitting nearby, blinking at you. Her fluffy tail was wrapped around her paws, and she gave you one slow blink before letting out another little meow. A second later, you heard Mikan trotting up, her tail wagging, and she nudged your hand with her nose.

You sighed, finally pushing yourself to your feet. “Okay,” you whispered. “Alright. I’m fine.”

Mikan barked once and spun in a little circle, clearly expecting food. So you walked to the kitchen and got into the routine. Scoop the dry kibble. Open the can. Serve Yuzu’s favorite mushy crap that always smelled weird. It was gross.

You gave them both a few treats too, just because you needed to do something nice. Mikan got the crunchy star-shaped ones she inhaled like air. Yuzu got the soft ones she always chewed slowly, like a queen. You watched them eat for a minute and tried to breathe.

You weren’t hungry, but you forced yourself to heat up leftover rice and eat a few bites at the counter. It didn’t taste like anything, but it settled your stomach enough to stop it from turning.

You washed the bowl. You wiped the counter. You turned off the kitchen light. You went to the couch and sat down heavily. Mikan jumped up instantly and curled into your lap, she’d been waiting for you all day. Yuzu climbed up next to your head and tucked herself into the corner of the cushion.

You stared at your phone for a long time. His name was just sitting there at the top of your messages: Katsuki Bakugo.

Should you say something? Apologize? Try to explain why you pulled away? Would that make it worse? Was he pissed? Was he already regretting kissing you? Wait why are you even apologizing?

You tossed the phone to the other end of the couch with a sigh. You were thinking in circles. You always did that. Maybe it was better to just… not do anything. Let him cool off. If he was mad, you’d find out eventually. He wasn’t the type to bottle it up forever.

You stood up to get ready for bed, still feeling heavy and weird. You did your whole skincare routine like usual, cleansed, toned, moisturized. You were halfway through patting serum on your cheeks when someone messaged you.

You slowly walked back to the living room. Your feet were cold against the floor. Your hands were still damp from the serum. You picked up your phone.

His name was on the screen.

Katsuki: I’ll get you at 12 tomorrow.

You stared at it. You read it five times. He wasn’t ghosting you. He wasn’t pretending you didn’t exist. He was still showing up. Still taking you to the beach.

You took a slow breath. Your thumbs hovered over the screen. Hands shaking.

Y/n: 12? Noon? That’s kinda late, isn’t it?

You cringed at yourself right after you sent it. Why couldn’t you just say “okay”? Why did you have to sound nosy?

His reply came fast.

Katsuki: I’ve got training. Don’t start whining. You’re not getting sunburned before the party.

Y/n: I’m just saying, I don’t wanna look like a boiled shrimp in front of your friends.

Katsuki: We’re not staying in the sun.

Your face softened. It wasn’t a sweet message. It wasn’t a compliment. But it felt like one. It meant he still wanted you there. Still wanted to be around you, even after all that mess in the car.

Y/n: Okay. 12 it is. Just don’t forget me :)

You turned off the lights, climbed into bed, and pulled the blanket up. Mikan curled up at your feet like she always did. Yuzu laid beside your head and started to purr.

You tried to sleep.

You really did. You turned off the lights. You fluffed your pillows. You even put your phone down and forced yourself to close your eyes.

Mikan was stretched across the end of the bed, out cold. Her legs twitched every now and then like she was dreaming of running through a field. Yuzu was curled into a tight little cinnamon roll on the pillow next to yours. They were both completely knocked out.

You were the only one awake.

You tried what you always did when sleep wouldn’t come, counting sheep. You’d done it since you were a little girl, back when your mom told you it would help. You pictured a soft green field. A little wooden fence. One sheep. Then another. Then another. One, two, three…

By the time you got to thirty, you gave up.

You reached for your phone without thinking, the screen lighting up your face in the dark. You didn’t have any new messages, no updates from Katsuki. Which was fine. You didn’t expect him to suddenly become a texter overnight. You weren’t even sure if he used emojis.

You opened Instagram.

Mostly just to scroll. To distract yourself. Your feed was the usual mix of cat videos, motivational posts, aesthetic reels. You double-tapped a couple, skipped a bunch, barely registered anything.

Then you checked your notifications.

And your eyes widened, freaked out.

iroha.aa started following you.

You blinked. Sat up a little straighter. That name. That handle.

No way.

You tapped on the profile without thinking. The page loaded, and your heart started to thump in your chest. You recognized the profile picture instantly, even if it had been years. Iroha.

Your stomach dropped.

Her face hadn’t changed much. Still flawless. Same effortless smile. But it didn’t matter. You’d know her anywhere.

You hadn’t seen that name in so long. Hadn’t thought about her in years, not really. And now, out of nowhere, she was following you.

You didn’t know how to feel. Part of you wanted to laugh. Another part wanted to lock your phone and throw it across the room.

Why now?

What the hell did she want?

You hadn’t spoken since middle school. There was no reconnecting phase. You didn’t follow each other. You didn’t share mutuals. You didn’t even live in the same damn city anymore. So why was she here?

Why was she watching you now?

You stared at the screen for a long time. Your finger hovered over her profile, like maybe if you scrolled far enough, you’d find some kind of explanation. But you didn’t. You found beach selfies. Shopping hauls. Restaurant posts. Normal, curated, pretty-girl content.

It looked so harmless. But it didn’t feel harmless.

You locked your phone and set it face-down on the nightstand, you weren’t the same girl from middle school. You weren’t helpless anymore. You were older now. You had new friends. A job. A life. And Katsuki.

Katsuki.

But still a sudden thought hit you, how the hell did she even find your account?

You barely posted. You didn’t tag your location. You barely post pictures. Did she search for you? Had someone told her? Was it random? A fluke?

Or was it something else?

Something intentional.

Your fingers twitched. You resisted the urge to open her page again.

You laid back down, pulling the blanket up to your chin. You didn’t know why, but something about it made you feel watched.

And not in a good way.

Chapter Text

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧︵‿ ˚₊

You woke up at 8 AM. The sunlight was already cutting sharp lines across your bedroom floor, but you didn’t feel that usual rush of anxiety to get up and be productive. Instead, you just laid there for a minute, staring at the ceiling.

A notification from Instagram last night had tried to worm its way into your head. That name felt like a ghost from a different lifetime, and you felt a brief unease. But you shoved it down, hard.

No. You weren’t letting that ruin this. You weren’t that middle school girl anymore, the one who let other people’s shadows make you feel small.

You made a conscious choice to lock that thought away in a box and throw away the key, at least for today.

Today was about something else.

You finally rolled out of bed, your usual routine started on autopilot: a long shower, the whole ten-step skincare lineup you only bothered with on weekends, and a careful swipe of mascara that made your eyes look a little more awake than you actually felt.

Then came the hard part. Packing.

You stood in front of your open suitcase, a two-day trip feeling like you were preparing for an arctic expedition. Your hands hovered over a stack of clothes. What did you even wear to a beach trip with a boy you were maybe, possibly, definitely dating?

“Okay, babies, what do we think?” you muttered, holding up two different tops.

From their beds on the floor, Mikan let out a soft little noise, Yuzu just gave you a look.

“You’re right, this one’s too much,” you said to Yuzu, tossing a frilly top onto the growing ‘no’ pile on your bed.

You weren’t leaving them here. Hell no. You were their mom. So, while you were stressing about your own outfits, you pulled out their tiny travel carriers. Mikan got her little floral-print scarf tied loosely around her neck. Yuzu got a tiny, deep red bow clipped carefully to the fur by her ear. She hated it, you could tell from the way her ear twitched, but she looked so ridiculously cute you couldn’t resist.

You were halfway through packing their food, scooping kibble into travel-sized bags, when your phone buzzed on the counter.

You snatched it up.

Katsuki: I'm coming over.

You gasped at the screen. Coming over? Here?

Your place was… well, a little messy. Not exactly ready for inspection by the guy whose apartment was so clean it looked like a page from a magazine.

Your fingers flew across the screen.

Y/n: Wait, now? Like, right now? I’m not ready!

Katsuki: Too bad.

And then, a second later, a picture came through. It was Kumo. He was sitting in what looked like the passenger seat of a car, wearing a pair of ridiculously tiny, dark sunglasses, his big golden head tilted like he was posing for the camera.

You actually gasped out loud.

Y/n: OH MY GOD. THAT’S MY BABY NUMBER 3!! HE IS SO CUTE I’M GOING TO DIE. IS HE COMING?! PLEASE TELL ME HE’S COMING.

You stared at the phone, waiting, practically vibrating with excitement. The little dots popped up. He was typing. Then they disappeared.

He’d left you on read.

“You absolute ass,” you muttered to the empty room, but you were grinning. You were so annoyed, and so happy, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You went back to packing, you tossed in your favorite bikini, a couple of sundresses, your makeup bag, your camera, and an extra bag just for snacks. And you were ready.

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

You jumped, your heart kicking into overdrive. Mikan started barking while Yuzu just lifted her head, looking bored. “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” you called out, running a hand through your hair to make sure it wasn’t messy. You took a deep breath, smoothed down your shirt, and pulled the door open.

And there he was. Leaning against the doorframe, wearing a simple gray t-shirt that hugged his shoulders just right, and a pair of dark cargo shorts. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were on you, and next to him, sitting patiently, was Kumo.

You didn’t even say hi to Katsuki.

“Oh my god, you’re real,” you breathed, dropping to your knees without a second thought. Kumo’s tail started thumping against the ground harder. He let out a soft little ‘woof’ and nudged your hand with his nose.

You melted. “Awwwww hi, nice to meet you! You’re so much bigger in person. And so soft.”

You buried your face in his fluffy fur, scratching behind his ears. He licked your cheek, and you giggled, completely forgetting about the man still standing in your doorway.

From above, you heard a low scoff. “Are you just gonna live on the floor with my dog now?”

You looked up, your face probably bright red, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Sorry,” you said, not sounding sorry at all. You stood up, brushing off your knees. “Come in.”

Katsuki stepped inside, Kumo trotting faithfully at his heels. The second they were in, your own pets made their presence known. Mikan came waddling over, her ears perked, sniffing cautiously at Kumo’s legs. Kumo, being the good, gentle giant he was, just lowered his head and gave her a friendly little sniff back.

Yuzu, on the other hand, was not impressed. She was perched on the back of the couch as she looked down at Kumo.

“My babies, be nice,” you said, scooping Mikan up before she could get too bold. “He’s a guest.”

Katsuki looked around your condo. You saw his eyes taking in the space, the stack of art books on your coffee table, the half-finished crochet project on the armchair, the little lineup of gachapon figures on your TV stand and shelf. He didn’t say anything, but he looked relaxed.

“I brought coffee,” he said, lifting a paper bag he’d been holding. He set it on your kitchen counter. “Figured you’d need it.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice a little softer than you intended. You put Mikan down, and she immediately went back to cautiously circling Kumo. Yuzu was still staring.

“Your cat looks like she wants a fight,” Katsuki observed, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.

“She’s just warming up to him,” you said defensively. “She’s very selective about who she blesses with her presence.”

He snorted. “Right.”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

It was still early. He sat with his legs wide open, you sat next to him with your legs crossed, careful not to get too close, but close enough. “…Why are you here?” you asked, looking over at him, brows slightly raised. “I thought you had practice this morning?”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just took a slow sip of his coffee. Then he finally spoke, voice low and scratchy. “Coach had a meeting. They canceled it.”

“Oh.”

A beat passed.

“Could’ve just stayed home then before we leave,” you added quietly, watching him over the rim of your cup.

His head tilted a little like he was thinking, but all he said was, “Didn’t wanna.”

You bit back a smile.

You sat back a little, curling your feet up under you. “I, uh…” you started, glancing toward the kitchen. “I baked cookies"

“Hm.”

You didn’t know what that noise meant. Approval? Judgment? Who knew with him.

“You want one?” you offered, eyes hopeful. “They’re just choco chip. I didn’t burn them.”

He gave a lazy nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

You practically lit up. You stood quickly, setting your cup down and hurrying to the kitchen. A few clinks and a cabinet door later, you returned with a small plate and a paper towel folded under the cookies to keep them warm.

“They’re not hard, I swear. I tested one earlier,” you added, sitting back down beside him. He grabbed one without hesitation, took a bite, and chewed slowly.

You leaned forward a little. “…Well?”

He swallowed. “…They’re good.”

You grinned. “I knew it. Told you I can bake.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth before he turned away. You didn’t miss it.

Then, out of nowhere, you heard a low purring sound. You both glanced down.

Yuzu had gotten up from her spot and was now rubbing herself all over Katsuki’s shin. She meowed, and rubbed against his foot again.

You snorted. “She only does that when there’s a man in my room.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything at first, just looked down at the cat with a blank face. His hand shifted slightly, drumming against the backrest behind you.

Then his eyes slid to you, not all the way turning his head. Just a glance. “How many men you bringin’ in here?”

You blinked, taken aback. You tilted your head at him. “None,” you said, honestly. “Just my brothers, if ever. I don’t really bring people over.”

His jaw shifted slightly like he was chewing on your answer. He didn’t press it further. Yuzu hopped up on the couch and made her way across Katsuki’s lap without hesitation. She curled up right on top of him, purring loudly.

“She’s flirting,” you said, amused, sipping your coffee again.

He stared down at the cat on his lap. “…She’s annoying.”

“No, she likes you."

Katsuki made a noise in his throat. He didn’t comment.

“Or she probably thinks you’re her new dad now,” you added, grinning into your cup.

That finally got a reaction. He let out a rough breath that might’ve been a laugh if you weren’t paying attention, and said, “Tch. I’m nobody’s fuckin’ dad.”

You leaned a little closer, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Face it, Katsuki. You’re a daddy now.”

He side-eyed you hard.

He muttered under his breath, “The fuck kinda family is this…”

“A loving one,” you said dramatically.

Katsuki shook his head like he was regretting every decision that led him here. But he didn’t tell you to shut up. He didn’t push you off the couch. He just leaned his head back again, letting Yuzu stay curled up against him, and let out a quiet, heavy breath.

You glanced over at him again, he looked so comfortable, and your corgi snuggled up near his feet.

You reached out, gently brushing a stray blonde hair from his temple. He just stared straight ahead.

“So,” you started, voice light and teasing, “since we’re both parents now…”

He grunted. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious,” you said, smile stretching wider. “You’re the daddy. I’m the mommy. We have responsibilities.”

He finally turned his head, leveling you with a lazy side-eye. “And?”

You poked his thigh gently, your finger bouncing off the solid muscle under his cargo shorts. “So if I’m the mommy, I gotta take care of the daddy too, right?”

His eyes narrowed, “Tch.”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, sipping your coffee like you weren’t being absolutely shameless, “you look tired."

“I’m not tired.”

“You look tired.”

“I look normal.”

“You look like you need pampering,” you said sweetly. “I could run you a bath. Put cucumbers on your eyes. Paint your nails. Maybe braid your hair—”

He choked. “I'm leaving if you do that."

You giggled, your cat was still posted on his thigh, and Mikan had switched to snoozing against his foot. You tilted your head at him, eyes still soft, tone quieter now. “I’m serious though. I don’t mind taking care of you.”

His eyes flicked toward you again. No smirk this time. Just that look. Like maybe no one had said that to him before. Not in a way that sounded like it was okay to accept. Like someone didn’t want anything in return.

Katsuki didn’t move. But something in his face changed. A small shift in the lines around his eyes, his mouth. He leaned back a little deeper into the couch.

“…You already are,” he muttered.

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just stared ahead, one hand absently resting on Yuzu’s back.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed around it,  you didn't know what to say. Instead, you slid a little closer, he didn’t move away. Then slowly, like he didn’t want to draw attention to it—his pinky hooked around yours.

You looked at it. Then looked up at him. He was staring at the TV, which wasn’t even on. His face was blank, but his ears were a little pink. And he wasn’t pulling his hand back.

You slid your hand over slowly and you laced your fingers between his, and his grip tightened immediately. He’d been waiting for it. Like he needed that contact just as much as you did.

Your thumb rubbed lightly over the side of his hand. His was warm. A little rough. Big enough that yours felt kind of swallowed up. He didn’t let go.

“I like your hands,” you said under your breath.

He made a sound, like a scoff—but it didn’t sound annoyed. Just embarrassed. “They’re just hands.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Still.”

You sat like that for a bit. Quiet. Holding hands. His thumb started rubbing the back of yours without even thinking. Katsuki wasn’t the type to overdo it. But he didn’t half-ass things either. When he gave something, it meant something. That was the thing about him, he didn’t fake shit. So, when he held your hand like that, you knew it wasn’t just a casual thing for him.

You shifted a little closer, your foot nudged against his.

“Too close?” you asked.

“If I didn’t want you close, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Your smile stretched wide. “Wow. Romantic.”

He gave you a side glance. “You want romantic, I’ll carry your annoying ass to the car like a damn princess.”

You snorted. “I dare you.”

He set his coffee down and leaned into you like he was actually going to do it.

Your hands flew up. “Okay, okay! I take it back.”

Katsuki leaned in just a little and you tilted your head away at the last second.

He raised an eyebrow. “Tired?” he asked flatly.

“No,” you said, trying not to grin.

He tried again, his mouth barely a breath away from yours.

You leaned back again, pretending to stretch. “My neck hurts, actually.”

Katsuki stared at you, he was about to fight. “Seriously?”

“What?” you blinked innocently. “I didn’t do anything.”

A third time, his hand tightened around yours just slightly, and his other one came up to cup your jaw. This time, he got close enough that his nose brushed yours. Your heart was pounding. Your breath caught in your throat. But then—

You turned your head again and his mouth hit your cheek. You were trying so hard not to laugh, but you could see it, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. The most done expression you’d ever seen.

“You think this is funny?” he muttered.

“Just a little.”

That was your mistake. In the next second, he shifted his weight. You barely had time to register what was happening before his hand slipped behind your back, and he pushed you down into the couch, one leg between yours, arms braced on either side of your head.

“Katsuki!” you squeaked, eyes wide.

“You had your chance,” he said low, “Four fucking times.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you mumbled, trying not to squirm.

He just looked at you. And god, he was close. His knee bumped between your thighs, pressing just enough to make your stomach flip. His chest hovered over yours, his breath brushing your cheek.

“You gonna dodge me again?” he asked, his voice quiet but sharp.

You swallowed.

“…No.”

“Good.”

And then he kissed you.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

When you finally had your suitcase and duffel bag by the door, ready to go, you turned to him.
“Okay, I think I’m ready.”

He pushed off the counter and walked over, effortlessly lifting your suitcase in one hand. “Took you long enough.”

You rolled your eyes. As you bent down to put Mikan and Yuzu in their carriers, you felt him standing right behind you.

“They really gonna be okay with this?” he asked, his voice low.

“They’ll be fine,” you said, latching Mikan’s carrier shut. “They’ve got their momma with them.” You stood up, turning to face him, and found him closer than you expected.

“Ready to go, then?” he asked, his voice a little softer.

You nodded, “Yeah,” you whispered. “Ready.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, a whole unspoken conversation passing between you in that one look. Then he nodded and headed for the door, leaving you to grab your babies and follow.

The hallway of your building felt too quiet as you followed him toward the elevator. You were still trying to process the fact that he was here, that Kumo was real and currently sniffing at the corner of Mikan’s carrier, and that you were about to get into a car with him. Again. This time, it felt intentional.

He didn’t say anything on the ride down. When the elevator doors opened to the garage, he led the way to the car. It was the BMW one. He unlocked it with a quiet beep, and the interior lights flicked on.

You were still holding the two pet carriers, your mind already overthinking.

Okay. The car was nice. Way too nice. Yuzu sometimes got stressed during car rides and would scratch at the door of her carrier. Mikan had a habit of being clingy. You looked at the pristine leather seats, then back at the carriers. You couldn’t. You absolutely could not let your babies ruin his car.

You opened the back door yourself and carefully placed both carriers on the seat, making sure they were steady. You’d just keep them in there. It was safer. Less chance of an incident.

You were about to close the door when you felt him standing behind you.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You flinched a little at his tone, turning to face him. “What? I’m putting them in the car.”

He just stared at you, then at the carriers, a look of complete disbelief on his face. “You’re seriously gonna keep them locked in those things for the whole ride?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, your voice getting a little defensive. “It’s your car, Katsuki. It’s… expe—I don’t want them to scratch anything. It’s fine, they’ll just sleep.”

Before you could react, he reached past you, unlatched Mikan’s carrier, and opened the little door. Mikan poked her head out, blinking in the new light, and then waddled onto the backseat. He did the same for Yuzu.

Then he wordlessly took the empty carriers from you, tossed them in the trunk with your luggage, and slammed it shut.

You just stood there, completely thrown off. Kumo, who’d been sitting patiently in the front passenger seat, hopped into the back. He immediately laid down, making a big, fluffy golden retriever pillow. Mikan, after a moment of consideration, curled up right beside him. Yuzu, after giving the entire situation a long stare, hopped onto Kumo’s back and settled herself on his head, looking out the window.

The three of them were perfectly behaved.

You headed straight for the front passenger seat and opened the door without thinking. Katsuki was still grabbing something from the trunk, so you figured you’d just get in and wait. The second you pulled the door shut behind you, though, you saw him through the windshield—standing there, holding one of the bags, just... staring.

His jaw was tight. His eyes narrowed. You couldn’t hear what he said, but his lips definitely moved.

Then he dropped the bag in the back seat, walked around to your side, and yanked the passenger door open.

“Get out.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Get. Out,” he repeated, he couldn’t believe he had to say it twice.

You stared at him. “Why?”

He didn’t explain. He just stood there, waiting.

You let out a sigh, unbuckled your seatbelt even though the car wasn’t even on, and stepped out. “What's your problem?"

He just shut the door behind you, then jerked it open again a second later. This time, slower.

Holding it open.

For you.

You paused, your mouth parting as the realization hit.

Oh.

He wanted to open the damn door for you.

You stared at him, “Are you serious right now?”

“Just get in.”

You stepped back in, eyebrows raised as you sank into the seat. “You’re an idiot.”

He closed the door without a word, then made his way to the driver’s side, like that entire scene hadn’t just happened.

۶ৎ

The drive was quiet for the first hour. You were still annoyed, stewing in the passenger seat as you watched the city buildings give way to stretches of green.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m bored,” you announced to the car.

He glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “We haven’t even been driving for two hours.”

“Yeah, well, it’s boring,” you insisted, slumping down in your seat. “The only thing that’s not boring is the sky. And the trees. They’re pretty.”

He grunted, his eyes on the road.

You sighed dramatically, then reached for the radio, your fingers fiddling with the dial. “You’re driving, so you’re not allowed to be a DJ. I’m in charge of the music.”

“Stop whining. I’m trying to focus.” he muttered.

“I’m not whining, I’m providing ambiance,” you shot back, pressing the power button.

The radio crackled to life. “…and in financial news, the stock market saw a slight dip this morning following the release of the latest inflation report…”

You stared at the radio, horrified. News? Seriously? You jabbed at the buttons, trying to find a different station. More news. A political talk show. A commercial for mattress.

“Ugh!” You slammed your hand against the dashboard. “Your radio is broken.”

He snorted. “It’s not broken."

You turned to him, holding out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t argue. He reached into his pocket and handed it over without a word.

You took it, your fingers brushing his. You turned on the screen. It was locked. A password screen. Your mind immediately flashed to that day at camp, to the number you’d seen. Their anniversary.

A unwelcome sting hit your chest. It was stupid. It shouldn’t matter. But it did.

You took a breath, trying to keep your face neutral. “What’s the password?” you asked, your voice a little quieter than before.

He glanced at you, then back at the road. “kingexplosionmurdergoddynamight.”

You slowly turned to look at him. The phone still in your hand.  “What?”

“kingexplosionmurdergoddynamight,” he repeated, deadpan. “No spaces. Not capitalized.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. You stared at him, then at the phone, then back at him. You slowly, carefully, typed the ridiculously long, ridiculously cringe password into his phone. It unlocked.

You just sat there for a second, completely speechless. He’d changed it. The thought settled in your brain. He’d actually changed it.

Then the absurdity of the new password hit you, and you couldn’t hold it back. A laugh burst out of you.

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, clutching your stomach. “You’re kidding me. That’s your password? You’re a second year college law student, and your password is ‘kingexplosionmurdergoddynamight’? That is the most childish, most embarrassing thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

“It’s my username for a game,” he grumbled, his ears turning bright red. “And it’s a good name.”

“No, it’s not!” you shot back, still laughing. “It sounds like something a twelve-year-old would come up with after drinking too much Mountain Dew. You’re such a nerd.”

“You’re one to talk,” he snapped, “I saw your username. ‘ihatepickles’? Ridiculous"

Your laughter died in your throat. Your face flushed. “Hey! That was from middle school! And pickles are disgusting, so it’s a valid statement!”

“It’s a stupid name.”

“It's childish"

“At least it’s cool.”

“It’s not cool! It’s what I’d name a chihuahua with an anger problem!”

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Katsuki didn’t switch the music back to his usual angry rock station. He left his phone connected, and after a minute of scrolling, he put on a playlist that was slow and smooth.

You did just that, slumping a little in the passenger seat, your head resting against the cool leather. You watched the trees blur past the window, their leaves a wash of deep green against the afternoon sky. In the backseat, the animals were all quiet. The car was its own little world, separate from everything else.

And in this little world, your brain started working again.

You thought about the last few weeks. The fights, the misunderstandings, the way he’d ghosted you, the way you’d fallen apart. And then the kisses. This was all so new. You’d never had anything like this before. You didn’t even know what this was.

But you wanted it to be something real. And for it to be real, you had to actually know him. Not just the angry guy who yelled at you in the hallway, or the surprisingly gentle guy who danced with you in his living room. You needed to know the person underneath all that.

You turned your head slightly, watching him from the side. He looked relaxed, not smiling, but not tense either.

“Hey, Katsuki,” you said quietly.

He grunted in response. That was as close to a what? as you were gonna get.

“Can I ask something serious?”

He glanced at you, just briefly. “You already are.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, okay. I just mean... are you the type who dates just to date? Or are you actually looking for something real?”

The question sat there for a second. You didn’t know if it was too much, or if you were reading too far into things. Maybe you were. Maybe he’d tell you to chill out.

But he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

“Yeah... what?”

“I don’t fuck around,” he said. “If I’m with someone, it’s not just for fun.”

You nodded slowly, staring down at your lap. “Okay.”

He glanced at you again. “What about you?”

You thought for a second. “I don’t know if I ever thought that far ahead. But... I think I want someone I don’t have to pretend around. Like, someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to be quieter or smaller. If that turned into something long-term, then yeah. I’d want that.”

He nodded, and that was it. The conversation shifted, the heavy question answered, leaving a new kind of understanding between you. You felt like you could ask him anything now. So you did.

“Okay, new question,” you said, a little bolder now. “What’s something you like that no one would ever guess?”

He was quiet for a second, thinking. Then he said, “Freshly cooked rice.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“You asked,” he grumbled, “Your turn.”

“Whimsical stuff,” you said immediately. “Like, I’m obsessed with anything that feels like it’s out of a fairytale. Tiny mushroom-shaped lamps, miniature terrariums with moss in them, art prints of animals wearing little hats.” You could feel yourself starting to ramble, but you didn’t stop. “My brain is always on. Like, I’ll see a cool-looking rock on the sidewalk and immediately start thinking about what kind of tiny clay creature I could make to live on it. I just… I love creating cute things. It makes the world feel less shitty.”

He was quiet for a long time after that. “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re creative. Your brain works differently. It’s not a bad thing.”

You smiled. He got it. He really got it.

“Okay, your turn again,” you said. “What do you do when you’re not studying or doing archery or yelling at people for the committee?”

“Work out,” he answered instantly. “Or play games.”

“You study all day, don’t you?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Pretty much.”

You groaned dramatically, slumping further into your seat. “Ugh, I’m getting tired just thinking about your life. My spine hurts for you.”

He shot you a look. “You don’t have to be tired. You’re not the one living it.”

“Yeah, but it sounds exhausting!” you insisted. “Why do you do so much? You’re in the guidance committee, you’re a law student, and you’re a top-tier archer. If I were in your position, I’d probably just cry in a corner and be depressed for the rest of my life. How are you even alive?”

The playful energy in your voice faded as you looked at him, genuinely curious. His life seemed impossibly hard. He was always pushing, always striving. You couldn’t imagine carrying that much weight on your shoulders all the time.

His gaze fixed on the road ahead. The banter was gone, replaced by something more thoughtful.
“Just because someone’s good at a lot of things,” he said finally, “doesn’t mean they don’t get tired. It doesn’t mean it’s not difficult.”

It was the most vulnerable thing he’d ever said to you. A rare, unguarded glimpse into the reality of his life. He wasn’t a machine. He wasn’t some prodigy who coasted through everything effortlessly. He got tired. He struggled. Just like everyone else. He just didn’t show it.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice a little thick. “I guess you’re right.”

He was incredible. Not just because of what he could do, but because he kept doing it, even when it was hard.

“I’m gonna quit the committee, though,” he added, his tone shifting back to something more casual, and more annoyed. “Only joined that shit ‘cause of Deku in the first place.”

“Deku?” you asked, the name unfamiliar.

“Izuku,” he clarified with a grunt.

"Oh, Izuku."

“He used to be the head of the whole thing. I was gonna prove I could do it better than him, but then the dumbass passed his position to Iida and left. So what’s the point anymore? It’s just a waste of my time.”

You listened, a small smile forming on your face. It was such a Katsuki reason. Petty, competitive, and completely driven by a rivalry that probably only existed in his head. But the fact that he was telling you, that he was letting you see that petty, childish side of him… it felt like a gift. It felt like trust.

You settled back into your seat, turning to face him fully, your head resting against the headrest. The conversation flowed easily after that. You exchanged more facts about yourselves, weaving a patchwork quilt of your lives, piece by piece.

You told him that you had a habit of talking to your plants. He told you he couldn’t stand people who walked slowly, and that he was weirdly good at claw machine games.

You felt so comfortable, so completely at ease, that you didn’t even realize your eyelids were getting heavy. The noise of the car, the soft music, the low rumble of his voice… it was all blurring together into a warm, safe cocoon. Your head lolled to the side, your cheek pressing against the soft leather of the seat as you watched him.

The car slowed, coming to a smooth stop at a red light. The world outside went quiet for a moment. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours. He must have seen the exhaustion on your face, the way your blinks were getting slower.

He reached out and let his hand settle on your knee. He stayed like that for a moment, holding you without really holding you. It was quiet, but it said a lot.

And when the light turned green, he didn’t move his hand right away. Not until a few more seconds passed and he had to shift gears again.

You kept your eyes on the road ahead, watching the white lines of the highway blur into one another. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want to be the one to break whatever this was.

So he did it first.

“Look,” he started, his voice low, rougher than it had been a minute ago. “About last night.”

You tensed. Your fingers twitched. Oh, here we go.

“In the car,” he clarified, like you needed the reminder. “I… shouldn’t have done that.”

You waited, your chest tight.
“I know saying sorry doesn’t really fix it,” he continued, the words coming out clipped, like he was forcing them past his teeth. “I acted like a fucking sicko. And that’s not… that’s not what I wanted... I respect you. Alright? I won’t ever do that again if you don’t want me to. I just need you to know that.”

The apology landed in the quiet of the car, and it was so much more than you expected. It wasn’t just a quick ‘my bad.’ He’d actually thought about it. He’d named what he did, called himself out on it, and then gave you back the power, making it clear that your boundaries were the only thing that mattered.

You finally turned to look at him. His jaw was clenched, his profile sharp against the passing landscape. He looked… ashamed. And that, more than anything, made you believe him.

“I was just surprised,” you said, your voice softer than you meant it to be. “It was just… a lot, all at once. Too fast.” You looked down at your hands, “It’s not that I… didn’t like it. It just threw me off.”

He finally risked a glance at you, his red eyes searching your face. “Is that… your first time?” he asked, his voice careful, almost hesitant. “Getting that close with a guy?”

Your face flushed. It was such a direct, personal question. But he wasn’t teasing. He was genuinely asking. He needed to know.

You nodded, a small, jerky movement. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It was.”

He looked back at the road, but you saw the way his shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. He nodded once to himself, a silent acknowledgment. Like he was filing that piece of information away, marking it as important. Taking notes. He was learning you, right here, in the middle of this quiet, heavy conversation.

You watched the scenery change, the dense city buildings giving way to more open spaces, the sky a wide, pale blue above you. You were getting closer to the coast.

He was the one who broke the silence again.

“You know,” he muttered, “first time I saw you… back during enrollment… I thought you weren’t gonna last a damn week.”

You turned to him. “What?”

“You were so quiet,” he said, “Didn’t say shit. I had to drag you into the corner just to hear what the hell you were mumbling.”

Your brows pulled together.
Enrollment.

You remembered someone like that. Hoodie pulled up, mask on. He’d moved you aside because he couldn’t hear what you were saying and you thought he was kind of a mean guy. Your eyes widened slowly.

“Wait… that was you?”

He shot you a quick glance, then looked back at the road. “Yeah. Obviously.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, half-laughing. “I didn’t even know that was you.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well. Thought you were just some quiet-ass freshman. Figured you’d either drop out or cry your way through the semester.”

“Wow. Thanks,” you said, giving him a dry look and swatting his arm. “I’m not helpless.”

He caught your hand before you could pull it back completely, his fingers lacing through yours again.

“I know that now,” he said, quieter. “Didn’t take long to figure it out. You don’t shut up.”

"Wait, really? Wow thanks" You never expected that your sassy girl act would always break whenever you were with him.

“I mean it,” he said, cutting off your sarcasm. “You surprised me. You acted one way, then flipped the next. I couldn’t figure out what your deal was.”

You looked over at him. He wasn’t smiling. He was being serious now. His voice didn’t soften, but it slowed.

“Still don’t get all of it,” he admitted. “But I wanted to. I wanted to know which version of you was real.”
He finally glanced at you again.

“I like you, dumbass. I already told you that. I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m not good at this relationship crap,” he added. “But I’m trying. So if I’m gonna be with someone, it’s ‘cause I actually want to be. I don’t care if you’re loud one day and quiet the next. Just… don’t fake it. Be real with me.”

He looked forward again. “I can deal with anything. Just don’t lie about who you are."

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds because that, however simple it sounded, was the most honest thing anyone had ever said to you.

He just brought your hand to his mouth and pressed a soft, warm kiss to your knuckles. It was a promise. A thank you. An answer. It was the most romantic thing he had ever done.

“So,” he started, his voice a low rumble that was just for you. “Before you officially become the love of my life or whatever dumb shit people say…”
Your head snapped toward him, your eyes wide. Did he just—?

He cleared his throat, pushing on. “I don’t want you thinking I’m only being decent ‘cause I want something,” he went on, tone rougher now. “I don’t want you giving me a title just ‘cause I did one or two things right. I want it to mean something. I wanna be someone who actually deserves to be yours.”

Your eyes widened. He wasn’t just asking for a title. He was asking for a chance. He was laying out his intentions, clear and direct, in the only way he knew how: gruff, a little awkward, but honest.

“I like getting to know you, Katsuki,” you added, voice softer now. “I know we’re still figuring things out, but I want to. I really want to.”

He just nodded, and that was that. No more needed to be said. The rest of the drive was filled with a different kind of conversation. You told him about your childhood dream of becoming a manga artist before you realized you preferred painting on big canvases. He told you about the one time he tried to follow a recipe from his mom but it taste bad, a story he clearly found more annoying than funny.