UA smelled like dust and fresh concrete.
Scaffolding still hugged parts of the buildings, warning tape fluttered in the breeze, and the city beyond the gates was scarred in a way that no amount of rebuilding could hide. It had only been weeks since the war ended—but it already felt like a different lifetime.
Class 3-A filtered back into their classroom slowly, cautiously. No one said it out loud, but everyone noticed the changes.
Midoriya’s hair was cut shorter now, his eyes sharper. Mina still had bandages peeking out from under her sleeves. Todoroki moved like he was still testing his balance. Shinso stood awkwardly near the door—officially part of Class A now—while Aizawa entered behind him, looking just as tired and unyielding as ever.
When Aizawa confirmed he’d remain their homeroom teacher, the room broke into relieved cheers. Even Bakugo snorted from his seat.
“Good. One less pain in the ass to deal with,” he muttered.
That alone shocked everyone.
Katsuki Bakugo was sitting behind you.
Alive.
Bandages wrapped tightly around his right arm, creeping up beneath his uniform sleeve. His posture was stiff, guarded—but his presence was heavy, undeniable. Class A wasn’t even sure why he was here.
Sero voiced it before anyone else could stop him.
“Aren’t you supposed to still be in the hospital?”
Bakugo leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
“Nah. Doctors said I gotta take it easy for a while.”
No yelling. No explosion. Just… calm.
Midoriya, seated behind him, visibly relaxed.
You didn’t react.
You hadn’t reacted to Bakugo at all since the war.
Your gaze stayed forward, fingers resting tensely on your desk. Loss sat heavy in your chest, right alongside the memory you couldn’t escape.
Bakugo’s heart stopping.
Him taking the hit that wss originally meant for you.
You hadn’t spoken to him since.
Mina suddenly popped up beside your desk, all forced cheer and soft concern.
“Hey! You ready for the school year?”
You nodded automatically. “Yeah.."
Behind you, Bakugo clicked his tongue.
He’d noticed. Of course he had.
You were avoiding him.
And it pissed him off.
Not because he wanted answers—
But because he understood you better than anyone else in this room.
And he knew you were lying.
The bell rang.
Aizawa began class like nothing was broken.
Like none of you were.
But Bakugo’s red eyes stayed fixed on your back, jaw tight, bandaged arm resting uselessly at his side.
Sooner or later, you were going to have to stop running.
And Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t the type to let things stay unsaid forever.
Class had barely settled when Bakugo realized he wasn’t absorbing a single word Aizawa was saying.
He tried. He really did.
But his focus kept drifting back to you—the stiff way you sat, the way you hadn’t turned around even once. The distance you kept felt deliberate. Like you were bracing for impact.
He wasn’t waiting until after.
Bakugo leaned forward slightly, his chair scraping against the floor—just loud enough to be intentional—before his foot nudged the back of your chair.
“…You gonna keep pretending I’m not here?”
His voice was low. Quiet.
For you alone.