You’re in bed already, blanket up to your chin, lamp still on. Your laptop’s open beside you, playing some quiet background noise you’re barely paying attention to. The window’s cracked open just enough to let in the night air—and something else.

Thud.

Scrape.

Click.

Your head turns.

There’s a shadow climbing over your balcony railing.

And then there’s a very broad, very grumpy blonde boy squeezing himself through your window like he’s on a stealth mission in a spy movie.

You blink.

“Seriously?”

Katsuki lands with a soft grunt and shuts the window behind him. “You’ve got three blankets in here and still left the damn window open.”

“You could’ve used the front door.”

“And risk having to talk to half the class just to get up here? No thanks.”

He peels off his hoodie like he owns the room, tosses it onto your desk chair, and crawls straight into your bed like you’ve been dating for years instead of months. You scoot to make room because of course you do. His arm slings over your waist. You can feel the way his muscles settle, the tension bleeding out of his body like he’s been holding it in all day.

You brush your fingers through his hair.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I missed you,” he grumbles, already half-asleep.

Then—

Knock knock.

Your heart leaps. Katsuki tenses beside you.

The door creaks open before you can say anything.

Aizawa steps in, wrapped in his capture scarf, hair even messier than usual, a half-empty mug of coffee in his hand. He squints at you both.

Katsuki sits up a little, like he’s ready to bolt.

Aizawa sighs. Deep and weary. The kind of sigh that’s lived through too much in the past two weeks to give a single damn about Katsuki Bakugo cuddling his girlfriend past curfew.

“I didn’t see anything,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “If you’re gonna break rules, keep it down. And if you get caught by Midnight, I’m not helping you.”

Then he shuts the door and walks off.

Silence.

Bakugo flops back down, arm tight around your waist again.