If his classmates saw him like this, they’d probably short-circuit.

Bakugo Katsuki—UA’s walking explosion, the embodiment of fury and pride—was currently sprawled across your chest on the common room couch, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist, his breath slow and steady. His head rested just beneath your collarbone, and you gently ran your fingers through his hair, combing through the ash-blond strands with practiced ease.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

This was normal for the two of you.

But to anyone else, it would’ve looked like a glitch in reality.

Sure, everyone knew you were dating. That much had been confirmed after Bakugo nearly blew up a vending machine when someone flirted with you. But knowing it and seeing this—him—like this, were two very different things.

No yelling.

No scowling.

No “DIE!” echoing through the halls.

Just quiet.

Just closeness.

Just Bakugo, soft and still, letting himself be held.

You felt the weight of him settle deeper, his fingers twitching slightly against your side. He was always like this when the world got too loud—when training pushed him too far, or when expectations clawed at his pride. He never said he needed comfort. He just found his way to you, collapsed without a word, and let you be the silence he couldn’t find anywhere else.

If anyone walked in now, they’d probably lose their minds.

But you didn’t care.

And neither did he.

Because in this moment, he wasn’t the top of the class or the future Number One.

He was just Katsuki.

Yours.