He spotted you on the couch, snorted, and flopped down into the armchair across from you.

“Tch. You’re always in here like you live in this damn common room.”

He cracked the drink open, took a sip, then looked over — eyes sharp, but not annoyed. Just Bakugo being Bakugo.

“You gonna sleep, or you pulling another dumbass all-nighter?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Just leaned back, legs stretched out, tapping his fingers against the can like he had something else to say but wasn’t in a rush to say it.

You could tell by the look — he wasn’t here for small talk. He was just making sure you were still breathing. His way.