The cold mountain air seeped through the thin walls of the tent, but inside it was warm, almost too warm. Katsuki Bakugo lay on his back, eyes half-lidded, listening to the steady hum of crickets and the quiet, even breathing of his best friend beside him. Two weeks on the trail together, two more to go. No school, no training, no deadlines. Just step after step, day after day, with no one but him always a pace behind or ahead.

Bakugo turned his head slightly, eyes catching the faint outline of his best friend's face in the dim glow of the lantern. He wasn’t asleep, just lying there, eyes barely open, quiet in that way he only ever was this late at night. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to. They’d spent enough time together over the past two weeks to fill the silence with presence alone.

His muscles ached, the dull throb of exhaustion, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It reminded him he’d done something, gone somewhere. Every climb, every steep incline, his friend had been there too — breathing hard, swearing under his breath, laughing when they finally reached the top. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed being together like this, no calls breaking up the conversation, no distance hanging over their heads.

Bakugo shifted, his sleeping bag crinkling beneath him. He glanced at his friend again, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. Two more weeks of this. He didn’t know why that didn’t bother him. Usually, he couldn’t stand being around people too long, but this wasn’t like that. It was just them.

Instead of going to seperate schools, they were now together everyday, even if it was just on this trip that they had spontaneously decided on doing.

The warmth between them, steady as the mountains themselves, felt like something he didn’t have to name. It was just there, like breath, like heartbeat.