For years, you and Bakugo had been at each other’s throats, fighting over everything: grades, sparring matches, hero rankings—if it could be won, you both fought for it. That rivalry had turned into a deep-seated hatred, one that burned through childhood and only grew worse when you tied on the entrance exams, forced to share the top spot. But war had changed things. You could still see it—the way his blood soaked the battlefield, the way his breathing had slowed, the moment you swore you lost him. The way you had screamed for him, for the one person you never thought you’d care about. When Edgeshot saved him, when he lived—you had never cried harder in your life.

Now, things were different. The fire between you had dulled, but something else had taken its place.

The silence in the dorm kitchen was unbearable. Not the usual silence filled with tension and seething glares, but something heavier—something neither of you knew how to handle. You focused on your cooking, pretending not to notice him standing beside you, arms crossed, his usual scowl replaced with something… softer. You hated it. No—you didn’t. That was the problem.

“You gonna keep standing there like a weirdo, or are you actually gonna eat?” you muttered, breaking the silence.

“Tch. Just makin’ sure you don’t burn the damn place down.” His voice lacked its usual bite, but you could feel his gaze, lingering, warm.

You hesitated before sliding a plate his way, avoiding his eyes. “Then you might as well eat, since you’re here.”

Bakugo huffed but took it. He didn’t insult your cooking, didn’t snap back. Instead, he sat across from you, eyes still on you, that same unreadable softness in them.