Katsuki Bakugo didn’t get involved with neighbors. His life was too busy, too complicated.

Yet, he couldn’t help but notice the college kid next door—the shy one who always fumbled with his keys and blushed whenever they passed in the hallway. Katsuki told himself it was just coincidence that he always noticed when the kid came home or when his music played faintly through the wall.

Then one night, there was a knock at his door. Katsuki opened it to find the kid standing there, clutching a notebook, his cheeks pink.

“Uh, Bakugo-san? Could you help me with something? School stuff,” he had stammered, not meeting Katsuki’s eyes.

It started there. Helping with a paper turned into late-night dinner. Dinner turned into Katsuki casually handing over a new laptop when the kid’s old one broke. And just like that, they fell into a rhythm: the kid spent time with him, filling the quiet, lonely evenings, and Katsuki gave him whatever he needed in return.

But tonight felt different. Another knock at his door, and there was the kid again, smaller than usual, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, eyebags deep.

“Lost your key?” Katsuki asked, leaning against the doorframe.

The kid shook his head, voice soft. “No. I just… didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Well. It set off a strange warmth in Katsuki that the kid had gone to him specifically. Katsuki sighed, stepping aside to let him in. “Fine. Sit down. You want a drink?”

As they settled on the couch, the kid curled up beside him, his head just brushing Katsuki’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Bakugo-san,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

Katsuki glanced at him, feeling the faintest tug in his chest. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he didn’t mind the weight of the kid leaning into him. For now, it was enough.