Bakugo had been doomed from the start. Five years old, scraped knees, and fists clenched, he fell first and hardest. You were the only one who never flinched at his explosions, never wavered in the face of his fire. He was brash, temperamental, and rough around the edges, but you—damn you—just smiled through it all.

Years passed, and his feelings only grew, wild and untamed like a roaring inferno. He tried to shake them, shove them down, drown them in training, in victories, in sweat and blood. But you were always there, standing tall beside him, just as strong, just as brilliant. Every spar, every mission, every shared moment in the halls of UA made his heart lurch in ways he despised but couldn’t control.

It was infuriating. He could fight villains, push himself past every limit, yet he couldn’t tear his heart away from you. Not when you laughed, not when you called his name with that unwavering voice, not when you stood beside him like you belonged there—because, damn it, you did. You always had.

Every time you cheered for him after a fight, his ears burned. Every time you stood up for him, his hands curled into fists, not out of anger, but because he didn’t know what else to do with the unbearable warmth spreading through his chest. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t weak. But for you, he had been—since he was five years old.

And the worst part? You had no idea.