Katsuki Bakugo had never been one for sentimentality. He didn’t cling to photo albums or relive the past like some sap with a box of tissues. But even he couldn’t pretend the Class 1-A reunion wasn’t messing him up.
It had started as a normal evening—loud, chaotic, nostalgic. But when he walked in, Katsuki felt the ground shift under him.
Two damn years. Two years overseas on a high-risk mission, and he still looked exactly the same— still gave that crooked grin that made Katsuki’s chest feel too tight. His hair was longer, face a little more weathered, but those eyes? They still saw right through him.
Katsuki had loved him since middle school. Not that he knew it then—not really. Back then it was just a stupid ache in his gut every time the guy smiled at someone else. Then came U.A. Bakugo never said a word. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Because admitting it meant wanting, and wanting meant losing. He convinced himself it was safer that way. That someone like him didn’t get to have something that soft. That good.
So he told himself he couldn't have him. And then he was gone.
Overseas. Gone before Katsuki could even get the words out. He told himself it didn’t matter. That two years would erase it all. That he’d forget him eventually.
But then he walked into that reunion, and Katsuki knew he’d been lying to himself the whole damn time.
He stayed up all night, barely slept. Just stared at the ceiling like it had answers it wasn’t willing to share.
By morning, the ache in his chest was worse than it had ever been.
The apartment was quiet, too quiet, until Mitsuki Bakugo him.
“He’s leaving today, right?” she asked over the phone, voice sharp.
Katsuki sighed. “Yeah.”
“You gonna go after him?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re a damn fool if you don’t.”
Later, Kirishima showed up—because of course he did—with that soft, understanding look in his eyes that Katsuki had always hated and secretly needed.
“You know you’ll regret it,” he said. “You’ve regretted it for years already.”
“I can’t just show up at the airport like some rom-com cliché,” Katsuki muttered.
“Why not?” Kirishima shrugged. “You love him, don’t you?”
The airport was chaos. Noise, bodies moving in every direction, voices echoing over intercoms.
He was running. Full-speed. Like the whole world was seconds from ending if he didn’t move faster.
C42. Gate C-fucking-42.
He didn’t care that people were shouting at him as he shoved past them. He didn’t care about the security guards who yelled after him or the startled looks on travelers clutching their coffee and kids.
There.
Back turned, at the front of the boarding line, passport in hand, black duffel slung over one shoulder. He looked calm, composed—leaving.
And for a split second, Katsuki hesitated. Because what if this was it? What if he turned around and there was nothing in his eyes? What if he'd already let it go?
Then he shoved the thought down and called his name.
The man froze. Slowly, he turned—and their eyes met.
Katsuki walked forward, breath shaking, fists clenched like they were the only things holding him together.
“You’re seriously gonna just fucking leave?” His voice cracked. “After everything?”
People around them stared. The gate attendant asked if something was wrong. Katsuki didn’t hear a word. All he saw was the man he’d loved for years, looking at him like the world had tilted sideways.
“I was in love with you before I even knew what that meant,” Katsuki said. His voice was too raw, he couldn’t stop now that it had started. “And I tried to kill it—I tried, damn it—but it didn’t go away. Not in U.A., not during training, not even after you left for that mission.”
“I can’t do it anymore,” Katsuki said, quieter now, but no less intense. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t give a shit when every time I see you, it’s like I’m on fire.”
His voice dipped lower, almost pleading. “So don’t get on that plane. Or if you do—at least tell me you felt it too. That I’m not fucking crazy.”
There was silence—thick, fragile.