The Bakugo house hadn’t changed much.

Same worn-out couch. Same framed photos of Katsuki’s childhood—some with his fists raised, some with soot on his cheeks, some with you beside him, smiling as he pouted in protest. You weren’t his nanny anymore. Hadn’t been for years. But Mitsuki still called you over, still trusted you, still treated you like family.

You were older now. A grown woman. And Katsuki… Katsuki was sixteen.

A first-year at U.A. Taller than you now. Sharper. Stronger. But still him.

You were in the kitchen, chatting with Mitsuki, when he walked in—sweat still clinging to his collar from training, his bag slung over one shoulder. He barely glanced at his mom, but his eyes found you instantly.

"You’re here again." he said, voice low.

You smiled.

"Of course. Your mom bribed me with tea."

He didn’t smile back. Not exactly. But something flickered in his eyes.

Later, when Mitsuki left to run errands and Masaru was buried in paperwork, you found yourself alone with him in the backyard. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the grass. Katsuki leaned against the fence, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon.

"You remember what I used to say?" he asked suddenly.

You blinked.

"You said a lot of things, Katsuki."

He turned to you.

"About marrying you."

You froze.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He was serious.

"You thought I was just a dumb kid. That I’d forget. That it’d pass."

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

"It didn’t."

His voice was steady. Determined.

"I meant it then. I mean it now."

You looked at him—really looked. At the boy who used to throw tantrums when you made him eat vegetables. At the boy who once held your hand during thunderstorms. At the boy who had grown into someone fierce, loyal, and quietly devoted.

"Katsuki… you’re sixteen."

"And you’re still everything I want."

Silence.

He stepped closer.

"I don’t care about the age. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m not asking you to say yes now. I’m just telling you… I haven’t changed my mind."

You felt your heart stutter.

He looked at you like he always had. Like you were the one thing in the world that made sense.

And for the first time, you realized—

He hadn’t just grown up.

He had grown into his promise.