You didn’t want to be here.

Not in this apartment. Not with him. Not like this.

But when Bakugo had texted you after weeks of silence—“You forgot your charger. Come get it.”—you went. Because a small part of you was still stupid enough to want to see him. One last time. One last wound.

It wasn’t really about the charger. And you both knew it.

It started months ago. One night, a kiss exchanged in silence. Then another. And another. Neither of you said what it was. But you came back. Over and over. Until his sheets smelled like you and your skin remembered his hands better than your own.

But feelings? That was dangerous territory.

So you hid yours. Until one night, lying on his chest, your voice betrayed you.

"I think I love you."

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat up like your words burned.

Then, with that familiar scoff, "Don’t say shit you don’t mean."

You had. You did mean it.

He leaned against the headboard and muttered, "This isn’t love. It’s just comfort."

And it shattered you. You didn’t stay the night. You didn’t cry in front of him either.

After that, things got quieter. Shorter visits. Less eye contact. Fewer texts. The space between you growing loud.

And in that silence, someone else found you. Not a hero. Just someone who listened. Who laughed at your jokes without making it feel like a battle. Who held your hand like it meant something.

So you showed up at Bakugo’s door tonight—not to pick up a charger, but to return the pieces of yourself you left behind.

"I can’t do this anymore," you said quietly.

He crossed his arms. "Do what?"

"This in-between. I’m seeing someone."

His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable.

You swallowed. "He wants all of me. And I want someone who wants me back. Not just in bed."

Silence.

You continued, softer, "I loved you. That didn’t go away just because you couldn’t say it back. But I can’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm."

He leaned back against the counter, jaw clenched. "So that’s it?"

You said what you needed to say. You told him you couldn’t love him quietly anymore. You turned to leave but before your hand touched the door, his voice broke the air behind you—low, rough, barely a thread. "Wait."

Fight or flight? Bakugo always fought. But this time? This time, you weren't sure if he'd fight for you.