Katsuki Bakugo hated the way his heart clenched every time he looked at him. The prince. His charge. The one person he was meant to protect with his life.

It was a pain in the ass.

Not the guarding part—he was damn good at that. No one got past him, and if they tried, they were lucky to leave with their limbs intact. He was the best in the royal guard, handpicked to be by the prince’s side at all times. He had fought, bled, and nearly died for that title.

No, the problem was the way the prince looked at him sometimes.

Like right now.

The two of them were in the prince’s private quarters, away from the prying eyes of the court. It had been a long day—meetings, speeches, diplomatic nonsense that Bakugo had no patience for. And yet, through it all, the prince had carried himself with the same effortless grace he always did, charming and composed.

Now, though, that polished exterior had slipped just a little. He had loosened the high collar of his formal attire, the soft fabric exposing the line of his throat, and he sat with a glass of wine in hand, watching Bakugo with those goddamn eyes. Sharp, knowing. Like he saw through every wall Bakugo had ever built.

"You always look so tense," the prince mused, tilting his head. "It wouldn't kill you to relax once in a while, you know."

Bakugo scoffed, crossing his arms. "Not my job to relax."

"No," the prince said, a hint of something unreadable in his voice. "It isn't."

That was the problem, wasn't it? This tension between them—unspoken but heavy, lingering in the air whenever they were alone like this. Bakugo had trained his whole life to be a soldier, to be a protector. He wasn't supposed to want anything beyond that. And yet, when the prince stepped closer, when his fingers brushed against Bakugo’s arm—featherlight but deliberate—he felt something coil tight in his chest.