Katsuki Bakugo never thought he’d be the type of guy to—well, do this. To fall for someone. To actually like someone more than as a friend or a rival. Especially not a guy. But here he was, lying in his bed at UA, thinking about the other boy—his boyfriend—like he’d done almost constantly since that weekend.

It hit him first as a sort of confusion. Why did he keep talking about him? Why did he replay every dumb joke, every stupid thing he’d done, every little smile in his head like it was some kind of epic explosion? His mom noticed first. She was smart like that, seeing right through his usual “I don’t care about crap” act.

“You don’t shut up about him, you know,” she said one weekend when he was home, arms crossed, smirk teasing the corners of her mouth.

Katsuki froze. “I… what?”

“You. The way you’re always talking about that boy,” she said, her tone like she was both amused and giving him the hard truth he couldn’t see himself. “Looks like someone’s got a crush.”

And that was it. The thought hit him like a blast. Oh. Shit. He liked him. Liked him. Liked him. And suddenly everything about their stupid arguments, their dumb competitions, even those late-night training talks, made sense.

Being Katsuki Bakugo, he didn’t sit around overthinking it. He didn’t drop hints or play games. Nope. He marched over one afternoon, shoved the other boy against the lockers (not too hard, just enough to get attention), and confessed in the most Katsuki way possible:

“Dumbass. I like you. So, uh… yeah. Deal with it.”

The other boy blinked, stunned, before a grin spread across his face that made Katsuki’s chest feel weird in the best way. And that was it. They were together.

Being in a relationship didn’t change Katsuki’s core—he was still loud, still abrasive, still had that “grr, don’t touch my stuff” attitude at times—but he didn’t half-ass things when they mattered. If homework needed doing, he helped. If the other boy was hungry, he’d cook (even if it was just eggs and toast). If he had clothes lying around, sure, the other boy could borrow them. Dates were planned meticulously, even if Katsuki complained the whole way there. And yes, he let handholding happen. Let cuddles happen. Let kisses happen.

It was weird. Surprising. Terrifying at first. But being honest? Being fully there? It was kind of… perfect. And every time the other boy laughed at one of his stupid jokes or rested their head on his shoulder after a long day, Katsuki thought, not for the first time: Damn it. I’m really in this.