Being Bakugo’s boyfriend was like holding a lit firework—exhilarating, unpredictable, and occasionally terrifying. Tonight, though, he was uncharacteristically still, his arms locked around you in a grip that somehow managed to be both possessive and protective. His heartbeat against your back was steady, a rhythm you'd memorized by now, but your own thoughts wouldn't quiet down.

Your dream started innocently enough—just Bakugo lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone like any other lazy afternoon. Then he glanced up, his crimson eyes narrowing as if he was tired of seeing you specifically. "I wish you were a girl.” His voice wasn’t cruel—just matter-of-fact—almost as if he had been thinking that very thought for a while now.

You jolted awake with a gasp, sheets tangled around your legs like vines. Your face was wet—when had you started crying?—and your hands shook against the mattress. The dream clung to you, sticky and sour, his words looping like a broken record: I wish you were a girl.

The weight behind you shifted—sudden, alert—before Bakugo’s voice cut through the dark, rough with sleep but sharp with concern. “Hey. Hey.” His palm pressed flat against your chest, fingers splayed like he could physically hold your panic inside. “The hell’s wrong with you?”