Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t the kind of guy who got caught up in his own head. He trained, he fought, he moved forward — that was the rhythm. No bullshit. No distractions.

But lately, his brain was a traitor.

He kept seeing him. Not just in the hallways or across the sparring mat, but behind his eyes when he blinked too long. In the quiet, stretched-out moments right before sleep. In the way his hand still remembered the heat of someone else’s skin under it.

It had been a few weeks now since that night. Just a dumb agreement between best friends. A pact. One of those things people joked about — “If we’re still virgins by third year, we’ll just… help each other out.”

Except they’d actually followed through. Bakugo hadn’t thought it would get under his skin. But it had.

He remembered how nervous he’d been, not that he’d shown it. He didn’t do nerves — but when they were both there, alone in his dorm room, door locked, lights low, he’d felt something sharp and electric behind his ribs. It wasn’t fear. It was him. The way he looked standing in front of Bakugo like it wasn’t weird at all, like he was sure, calm, almost soft.

And then his friend had said, “We don’t have to rush. Just… whatever feels right.” It had thrown Bakugo off more than anything else. That voice — quiet, steady — and the way his eyes had looked in the half-dark. Honest. Open. Not scared, just there with him.

And once it started — once clothes came off and hands started moving — Bakugo couldn’t stop watching him.

He remembered how he’d flushed all the way down his neck, how he kept letting out these quiet, broken sounds like he didn’t even mean to, like his body was giving him away. He’d clung to Bakugo, fingers tight in his hair, saying his name over and over, like it meant something more than just “you.” Like it meant “stay,” or “don’t stop,” or maybe even “please.”

That was the part Bakugo couldn’t stop hearing. The way his voice had cracked when he came. The way he’d looked up at Bakugo afterward, chest rising and falling, sweat on his brow, eyes half-lidded and so damn vulnerable.

That should’ve been it. They both said it wouldn’t change anything.

But now Bakugo was stuck.

He couldn’t unsee any of it. Couldn’t unfeel the way the other boy’s hand had trembled against his side. Couldn’t unhear that little gasp he made when Bakugo bit gently into his shoulder. Couldn’t ignore the way something in him had movedwhen it was all over and they just stared at each other, too quiet, too aware.

And now, every time he looked at him in the hallway, he remembered how his mouth had looked slack and open under him. Every time they trained, he remembered how those same hands had clutched at his back, nails digging in like he couldn’t stand to let go.

“Yo,” came the voice behind him. Bakugo didn’t need to turn around. He’d know that voice anywhere. The way it grounded him and messed him up at the same time.

“Grunting doesn’t count as a greeting, y’know,” the guy said with a weak chuckle.

Bakugo didn’t respond. Not yet. He was still wading through the way his chest tightened just from hearing him speak.

“You heading to the gym?”

“Nah.”

“Cool. I’ll stay here, then. If that’s okay.”

Bakugo nodded once, just enough. The silence between them was heavier than before. Not angry. Just full. Like they were both waiting for the other to break it.

“…It didn’t not change things, huh,” his friend finally said. Bakugo exhaled, arms still crossed, still staring out the window. “Nope.” A beat passed.