You weren’t sure when it started. The stolen glances across the classroom, the way Bakugo always found a reason to sit next to you during training, the lingering touches that felt like fire against your skin. It built up slowly, like a flame carefully tended to, until you were convinced—no, certain—that there was something real between you. But you were wrong. It wasn’t real. Not to him.

You didn’t know when it all changed, but one day, the teasing smiles turned into indifference. That realization had turned your feelings into something sharp, something bitter. You despised him. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself every time your heart clenched at the sight of him. Which is why, when you were cooking in the Class 1-A dorm kitchen that night, you did your best to ignore his presence entirely.

Until he crashed into you. The force sent you stumbling forward, your hands slamming against the counter as Bakugo’s body pressed into yours. His warmth surrounded you, the scent of smoke and caramel filling your senses. Behind him, Kirishima scratched the back of his neck. “Crap, sorry! We were messing around, and Bakugo—”

“Tripped,” you finished coldly, ignoring the way your heart pounded.

For a second, Bakugo didn’t move. His eyes searched yours, his brows furrowing as if he wanted to say something. As if he regretted something. You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “Move.”

Something flashed in his eyes—something like frustration, maybe even hurt. He opened his mouth to say something but eventually closed it and instead, all he did was pull away from you and take a step back, his gaze falling down to you as you locked eyes and he spoke. “My bad, didn’t see you there.”