Lately, it had become impossible not to notice how drained Katsuki looked. The dark circles under his eyes, the way he pushed through training with a barely concealed limp, the winces he thought no one saw. He was pushing himself harder than anyone else—not that it surprised you. Everyone knew he was trying to make up for lost time after recovering from the war. But you noticed more.

While the others would head back to the dorms after classes, Katsuki would vanish. He wouldn’t return until right before dinner, covered in fresh bruises, soot, and silence. It didn’t take long to realize he was training beyond the school schedule. Alone. Relentless.

One weekend, craving air and a break from the hum of UA’s walls, you wandered through the outskirts of Musutafu. The city hummed quietly under the overcast sky, but a sudden, distant boom cracked through the air. It was followed by another—sharper this time, like thunder breaking rocks.

Your heart raced. Villain attack? You took off toward the sound.

The trail led you past the edge of town, through trees and rocky paths, until you reached the base of a mountain range—one of the wilder, less tamed places near campus. You scaled a ridge quietly, cautiously, peeking through branches and loose stone.

There, amidst broken boulders and scorched earth, stood Katsuki Bakugou.

His hands were bare, fingers twitching slightly as smoke rose from his palms. He stood shirtless, chest heaving, sweat trailing down the curve of his spine. He was methodically destroying chunks of stone, then attempting to suppress the blasts at the last second—just enough to crack them without causing a wildfire.

It wasn’t chaotic. It was control. Precision.

You almost backed away, knowing how he valued his space, but your foot betrayed you. A twig snapped beneath your shoe like a gunshot in the quiet.

He spun around immediately, eyes sharp with surprise—until they landed on you. Recognition flickered behind the red.

You raised your hands, heart stammering. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just walking and— I’ll leave.”

He didn’t yell. Didn’t bark.

“Stay.” His voice was low, even, and rough with exhaustion. “You’re not really bothering me.”

The words stunned you more than an explosion ever could. Coming from him, it was practically a confession.

You nodded and carefully made your way to a nearby rock, sitting down. He didn’t say anything else, just turned back toward the next boulder. His explosions were quieter now—more refined. Every now and then, though, he glanced over his shoulder. Just briefly. Just to make sure you were still there.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, you saw a flicker of calm in him.

And for once, Katsuki wasn’t completely alone.