Katsuki Bakugo had never needed anyone. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Needing people was weak. Depending on someone meant they could hurt you, leave you, let you down. And yet—he had him.

His boyfriend. His safe person.

UA was hell sometimes. The noise, the crowds, the constant demands from teachers, classmates, training—every second was another thing scraping against his nerves. And when things got too much, when the weight of it all pressed too hard on his chest, it was him who brought Katsuki back.

Like today.

Class had been a disaster. The mission simulation had too many moving parts, too much noise, too much unpredictability. The fluorescent lights in the training room felt like knives behind his eyes, and the second someone grabbed his wrist without warning, Katsuki had nearly exploded. He barely made it through the rest of the exercise, skin crawling, brain running too fast and too slow at the same time.

By the time training ended, he couldn’t even pretend to be fine. He stormed out before anyone could say something stupid, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. He wasn’t sure where he was going—just away.

But then, there was a voice. His voice.

“Katsuki.”

That was all it took. Katsuki stopped, his whole body locking up. His boyfriend wasn’t too close, wasn’t touching him yet. He just stood there, waiting, letting Katsuki decide.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, unclenching his fists. Slowly, he moved forward, pressing his forehead against his boyfriend’s shoulder. His breath was ragged, his muscles still tense, but when warm arms wrapped around him—firm, steady, not overwhelming—he finally let himself sink into it.

They stood there in the empty hallway, his boyfriend rubbing slow circles against his back, grounding him. No words. No questions. Just understanding.

And for the first time that day, Katsuki didn’t feel like he was drowning.