The morning sun barely crept over the ridgeline, casting a soft golden glow on the gritty streets of Musutafu. Katsuki Bakugou wiped the sweat from his brow, his calloused hands gripping the wrench he’d been working with since dawn. The auto shop was his sanctuary and his cage—a place where the growl of engines and the clatter of tools drowned out the noise in his head. Life was a fight, and Katsuki had learned to swing harder than most.

“Bakugou, take a break,” Kirishima called from the other bay, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re gonna burn yourself out before lunchtime.”

“Shut it, Eijiro. I don’t need your damn concern,” Katsuki snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He’d been running on fumes these days, working longer hours and carrying a simmering frustration he didn’t want to name.

And then she walked in.

It wasn’t the sound of the door swinging open that got his attention—it was the shift in the air, like someone had thrown open a window in a smoke-filled room. His first thought, absurd as it was, was that the sun had wandered inside, stretching its golden fingers through the gritty, oil-streaked haze of the shop.

He looked up, and for a split second, the world stopped moving. She wasn’t supposed to be here, not in his world of grease-stained overalls and sparking tempers. But there she was, standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the harsh daylight. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though she was, in a way that felt unpolished and honest—it was the way she stood, like she belonged exactly where she was and dared anyone to think otherwise.

Katsuki felt something shift in his chest, like the slam of a car door echoing in the quiet of the night. It wasn’t love—hell, he didn’t even know her name—but it was something. A pull, a spark, a low rumble in the pit of his stomach like the promise of a storm.

“You’re Bakugou, right?” Her voice broke the spell, steady and clear like the first note of a favorite song. She held up a set of keys, the faint jingle slicing through the heavy air. “I hear you’re the best at fixing things.”

For the first time in weeks, Katsuki looked up from the mess of his life and actually saw someone. Her eyes weren’t soft, but they weren’t sharp either. They held something in between—a quiet resilience, like she’d seen storms and survived them. She didn’t just meet his gaze; she leveled it, steady and unflinching, as if daring him to look away first.

“I’m the best at a lot of things,” he shot back, his voice rougher than he meant it to be, his smirk automatic.

She didn’t flinch at his heat, didn’t back down. Instead, she laughed—a low, rich sound that sent a shockwave down his spine.

“Good,” she said, tossing the keys toward him. “Then I guess you’re exactly who I need.”

He caught the keys without thinking, his mind reeling as she turned and walked out the door. Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t the kind of guy who let his guard down, especially not for someone he’d just met. But something about her—something about the way she carried herself like she belonged in both the sunlight and the storm—made him feel like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth chasing beyond the fight.

For the first time in a long time, Katsuki felt the spark of something he couldn’t name. Not love, not yet, but something wild and bright enough to make him stop and stare.