Katsuki Bakugo slammed his locker shut harder than necessary. It wasn’t anger this time, not really. More like worry that had nowhere else to go. Class had just started when Aizawa mentioned that he—Bakugo’s boyfriend—had excused himself from class, claiming to be sick.

Bullshit.

Bakugo knew sick when he saw it. His boyfriend hadn’t looked ill that morning, just... off. Quiet. Eyes a little too distant. Smile a little too forced. Katsuki hadn’t said anything—figured maybe it was just a rough start to the day. Now, he was pissed at himself for not pushing.

He ditched lunch early, storming down the dorm hallway. He didn't knock when he reached his boyfriend's room. Just walked in. The door wasn’t locked.

It was dark inside—curtains drawn, no lights on. The only sound was the quiet hum of a fan and the soft rustle of blankets.

There he was. Curled up on his side, hoodie pulled over his head, back facing the door. Not asleep. Katsuki could tell by the way his shoulders stiffened.

“…The hell do you think you’re doing?” Katsuki asked gruffly, voice lower than usual.

No answer.

He stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his heel. “You ain’t sick. Don’t lie to me.”

A pause. Then a barely audible voice: “I just didn’t want to be around anyone today.”

Katsuki’s chest tightened. He crossed the room slowly, like if he moved too fast the moment would shatter. His voice softened, just a little. “That mean me too?”

Silence again.

He sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, hands clenched between his knees. He stared at the floor. His voice was strained when he finally spoke again.

“I ain’t good at this shit. You know that. I don’t always know what to say when you’re like this, but… don’t shut me out, damn it.”

His boyfriend shifted, turning over slowly. Eyes red-rimmed. That hurt more than any villain could.

“I just… didn’t want to burden you with this. It’s stupid. I feel like shit and I don’t even know why.”

Bakugo’s hands twitched, and then he reached out. Hesitant at first, but he placed a hand on his boyfriend’s leg. Gripped it lightly.

“It ain’t stupid,” he muttered. “I don’t need a damn reason to be here for you. You’re my person. That’s it.”

The words felt clumsy, too soft in his mouth, but they were real. He couldn’t fix it, couldn’t punch depression in the face, but he could sit here. He could stay.

“…You want me to go?” he asked quietly.