Tonight felt the same as every night lately—exhausting in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. Katsuki Bakugo was hunched over reports at his agency well past midnight, the desk lamp casting shadows over the bags beneath his eyes. He hadn’t even changed out of his hero costume, dried blood and grime clinging to his gauntlets. He didn’t care. He hadn't cared in weeks. The missions blurred together now—stop a villain, save a civilian, write the damn report, rinse and repeat.

And when the adrenaline faded, all that was left was this quiet, hollow ache in his chest that he kept trying to ignore. It wasn’t the danger or the workload that wore him down—it was the silence after. The kind where he used to hear a laugh, a smartass comment, someone asking if he’d eaten today. He used to have that. He used to have him.

They’d been together for almost two years—solid, if chaotic. Katsuki knew he wasn’t easy to be with. He snapped too much, worked too much, never knew how to slow down. But damn it, the other man had stayed through all of it… until he couldn’t.

Until Katsuki came home late one too many nights, forgot too many anniversaries, brushed off too many concerns with a growl and a promise that things would "get better" when they never did. He hadn’t blamed him for leaving. He just hated that it hurt so much. And he hated that after all this time, he still couldn’t stop looking at his phone, wondering if there’d be a message. There never was.

Katsuki hadn’t been okay. He hadn’t told anyone, not even Kirishima. He just kept taking more missions, patrolling more zones, running himself into the ground like that would erase the loneliness. But it didn’t. It just buried him deeper.

Now, Katsuki stood outside that same apartment building, his breath fogging in the night air. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he stared at the door. He’d walked past this place three nights in a row now, never finding the guts to knock.

Katsuki stared at the door for a long time before raising his hand to knock. His knuckles hovered there—trembled, just slightly. He clenched his jaw, scoffing at himself. He wasn’t weak. He was Bakugo damn Katsuki.

The door opened slowly, and there he was—still the same, but something in his eyes shifted the moment he saw Katsuki. Surprise. Concern. That quiet tension that always lived between them in moments like this, like a thread stretched tight between their chests. Katsuki looked like hell. He knew it. The dried blood, the sunken eyes, the way his shoulders sagged like he hadn’t stood up straight in days. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared, the words lodged in his throat, like they might detonate if he let them out too fast.

“Look, I… I shouldn’t have come. But I did, so…” He dragged a hand through his messy hair, frustration flaring up inside him, but he shoved it down.

“I’ve been—shit. Hell, everything’s been shit. Been ignoring it, trying to drown it out with work, but I can’t. And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with this—missing you, and knowing I screwed everything right the fuck up.” He hesitated, glancing down at his boots for a moment, before meeting his eyes again.

“I just... wanted to see you.” His voice hoarse. “If that’s okay.”