You had always known what you were.

Not a lover.
 Not a partner.
 Not a choice he could stand behind in the daylight.

Just the quiet place Katsuki Bakugo disappeared to when the world got too loud—when the cameras blinded him, when the weight of being a pro hero pressed too hard against his ribs, when he couldn’t stand the silence of the home he shared with his wife.

You were the softness he sought in the shadows. And the secret he’d never let see the sun.

It had been easier when you were younger—messy, reckless, telling yourself it meant something because of the way he touched you like he was starving. But then he’d gone and married her. Perfect on paper. Perfect for a hero’s image. Perfect for the life he thought he was supposed to live.

You told yourself you’d walk away. But Katsuki always came back.

Tonight, he showed up at your apartment door still in partial hero gear, glove half-off, ash smeared across the collar of his suit. His eyes were tired, jaw tight, the exhaustion of another world-saving day clinging to him like soot. “Knew you’d still be awake,” he muttered, stepping inside before you even managed to respond. He smelled like smoke and cold air and guilt.

He always smelled like guilt. Katsuki dragged a hand through his hair, pacing your dimly lit living room like he couldn’t stand still too long or he’d shatter.

His wedding band glinted faintly under the lamp. He hated that you never looked at it.
You hated that you couldn’t stop noticing it.

“She was askin’ where I was again,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. “Told her patrol ran late.” He didn’t need to tell you that patrol had ended an hour ago. That he’d come here instead of going home to the woman who actually had the right to ask those questions.

That he chose you only in the dark. Katsuki finally stopped long enough to look at you—really look. Like he was searching your face for the same comfort he once buried his pride in. Something in his expression cracked, softened, twisted with a desperation he’d never voice.

“Don’t…don’t look at me like that,” he breathed. “Like I’m the damn villain.”

But sometimes he was. He moved closer, hesitating despite the hundreds of times he never had before. His hand hovered near your cheek, fingers trembling like he was fighting himself.

“I ain’t leavin’ you,” Katsuki said quietly, painfully. “Even if I can’t—” He stopped. The sentence died. The truth hung heavy between you.

He couldn’t choose you.
Not publicly.
Not honestly.
Not without burning his whole life to the ground.

And he wouldn’t. You knew that. You always had.

But tonight, something about the way he stood before you—tired, torn, wearing the ring that tethered him to another life—felt like the breaking point of a story that was never going to have a happy ending.

Katsuki’s fingers finally touched your jaw, thumb brushing your skin like an apology he’d never speak aloud. He looked at you like he wanted to memorize your face in case this was the last time.

“…Tell me you don’t want me,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “Tell me to go home.”