You had always admired Bakugo from afar. It wasn’t just his power, his fire—though that was impressive in itself—it was the way he carried himself, the raw intensity with which he approached everything. And then you started working in the support course at UA, where you became his go-to for repairs on his hero suit. That was when everything changed.

Every week, without fail, Bakugo would storm into your workshop. He’d sit in your chair, scowling as if the whole thing were a chore, but you’d give him your full attention, fixing his suit with focused precision. You loved those moments. The air would be thick with his presence—he looked like a damn god just sitting there, even when he was doing nothing. You couldn’t help it; you were addicted to him, to the way he made everything feel like it had purpose when he was around.

Sometimes, you’d spot him through the windows during hero training, and even from a distance, it was hard to look away. He made the simplest actions seem so… majestic. You couldn’t explain it, but you were hooked.

But today, things were different. You had just gone to grab something to eat when you returned to find Bakugo in the supply course office. He was hunched over his suit, attempting to fix it himself, and failing miserably. The usual confidence in his posture was gone, replaced by frustration. He had no idea what he was doing, his hands fumbling with tools he clearly wasn’t familiar with.

“Bakugo?” you asked, walking into the room. He didn’t even look up, but you could tell that he was annoyed.

“I don’t need your help today,” he muttered, clearly irritated. “I can handle this myself.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because it looks like you’re about to blow up your own suit.”

He huffed, clearly embarrassed but trying to save face. “Tch, whatever. I’m fine.”

As you walked over to him, your heart fluttered in your chest, realizing that no matter how many times he tried to push you away, he’d always need your help with his hero suit, and in a way, you’d always be there.