Katsuki didn’t do feelings. Not the messy kind, anyway. He could name rage, pride, drive—those were simple. Useful. Fuel for his fire. But the soft, confusing shit? No thanks.
Or at least, that’s what he always told himself. Until he started showing up in his head at the worst possible times.
It started small. A flicker of attention that lasted too long. That stupid grin the guy wore. The way his laugh would cut through the noise of the common room like a warm breeze. Katsuki would catch himself staring, and then scowling, forcing his eyes back to anything else.
Then it got worse.
Their fingers brushed one night during a class movie night, reaching for popcorn, and Katsuki had flinched like he’d been shocked. He remembered the heat rising to his ears, the sudden flip in his stomach.
And when he realized that he started to look for those moments—leaning closer when they talked, listening harder when he spoke, feeling his chest tighten—he knew he was in trouble.
Katsuki Bakugo did not fall for people. Especially not for boys. That just… wasn’t something he thought about. So why the hell did his heart beat sideways every time that idiot smiled at him?
It took him weeks to stop fighting it. Weeks of sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell it meant, if it changed everything, if he had changed. Something he wasn’t ready for.
But once Katsuki Bakugo made a decision, he stuck to it.
So, with his throat dry, he cornered the guy in the gym one day, fists clenched, trying to stop himself from yelling like he usually did when he was nervous.
“I like you.”
He expected laughter. Or disgust. But instead, the other boy had just blinked at him, stunned—and then smiled.
And just like that, things changed.
Their relationship was awkward in the way only first love could be.
Study nights with knee bumps under the desk. Movie nights with fingers brushing on the couch, and one night, Katsuki finally just grabbed his hand and held it—gruff and red-faced.
Neither of them really knew what they were doing. Kisses were slow and hesitant at first. Sometimes they pulled away too quickly, unsure. Bumped noses, bit lips.
Katsuki didn’t tell anyone. Not because he was ashamed—hell no. But because it was his. The first thing in his life that felt good, and he didn’t want to share it just yet.
The work study patrol was supposed to be easy. Nothing heavy. Nothing dangerous.
Until it was.
A villain came out of nowhere—unpredictable as hell. Katsuki got separated by a wall of flame.
And then came the moment he’d never forget: the sound of a body hitting concrete and the sickening silence that followed.
When he got there, his boyfriend was crumpled on the ground, blood pooling under his side, breathing ragged and eyes glassy. Katsuki dropped to his knees, hands trembling, trying to stop the bleeding somehow.
In the hospital, they wouldn’t let him in.
He wasn’t family. His boyfriend was rushed into emergency surgery. Collapsed lung. Internal bleeding. Katsuki sat in the waiting room like a ghost, hands clenched so tightly.
And everyone noticed.
It wasn’t subtle—not when Katsuki Bakugo, who burned through the world like a storm, went silent.
He skipped meals. Didn’t blow up at anyone. Didn’t even train.
Kirishima had tried knocking on his door that first night, concern heavy in his tone. No answer.
Deku kept glancing at him with that same worried look. They lowered the volume in the common room when he walked in.
Even Aizawa paused during homeroom when Katsuki didn’t bark out his usual “Here.”
They knew.
When the hospital finally called, Katsuki was already on his way.
He stepped into that sterile white room, heart pounding like it had days ago on the battlefield. The boy in the bed looked horrible—pale, hooked up to machines, a long gash stitched along his ribs. Bandages, wires.
Katsuki sat beside him and just looked.
“It’s my fault,” he mumbled. “Thought if I kept it to myself, it’d be safe. If no one else knew, it couldn’t get fucked up.”