the moment katsuki bakugo woke up, there was no peace to be found in stillness.

his whole body screamed in protest—torn muscles, cracked ribs, bandaged wounds that throbbed with each heartbeat—but none of it mattered. not when the world had burned, and he didn’t know if you had made it through the fire. not when the last thing he remembered was blood and smoke and the way your voice had sounded—cut off, then gone.

the hospital was too cold. too quiet. and katsuki had never been good with quiet. not this kind. not when his thoughts raced faster than his pulse, dragging him down darker paths with every second he spent lying there, doing nothing.

they told him to stay in bed. that his heart wasn’t ready. that rest was the only thing keeping it beating.

he didn’t listen.

couldn’t.

he shoved off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, teeth clenched against the pain. the floor was unsteady beneath him, the kind of unsteady that came from blood loss and too many surgeries. he didn’t care. he’d crawl if he had to.

the IV pole rattled behind him as he made his way through the hallway, one hand pressed to the stitches in his side, ignoring every nurse that tried to stop him. somewhere on this floor—somewhere behind one of these goddamn doors—you were lying in a bed, and he needed to see you. needed to know.

he finally stopped in front of your room.

the door was cracked open. pale morning light filtered in through the window, and in that glow, he saw you—still, but breathing. bruised, but alive. hooked up to machines that beeped too loud in the silence, but alive.

his fingers curled around the edge of the door, jaw tight as he stepped inside. slow. like if he moved too fast, he’d shatter the fragile quiet that held the room together.

you looked over. tired eyes, the kind of tired that went deeper than wounds. the kind that only came from surviving something that should’ve ended you.

his chest rose sharp with breath. he didn’t know what to say. couldn’t say it, even if he did.

but his voice still found you. rough, like it had been scraped raw from screaming your name days ago.

“hey.”

he didn’t move any closer—just stood there in the doorway, like if he crossed the distance too quickly, it’d all turn out to be a dream.

he waited.

for you to speak. for you to yell at him for being an idiot. for anything to remind him that you were still here.