Katsuki Bakugo didn’t do subtle. He did loud, explosive, unmistakable. Which made the fact that no one noticed him dating Izuku Midoriya both irritating and, begrudgingly, impressive.

From the outside, nothing had changed. He still barked insults across the common room, still squared up with Deku during training like he was itching to knock him flat. They argued in class, sparred until their muscles screamed, and took on hero work with the same reckless precision they always had. Bakugo refused to soften for anyone, and Midoriya refused to back down from him. That part was easy. Natural.

What made it harder was the dorms—eighteen other idiots constantly around them, always watching, always loud. There was nowhere to disappear to, nowhere to let his guard drop completely. But Deku was close. Always close. A room away. A breath away. Bakugo hated how much that mattered.

They didn’t touch when others were looking. Didn’t linger. Just quick glances that meant more than words ever could. A look that said I’m here. A look that said calm the hell down.

Because that was the other difference. The only real one. When Bakugo felt his temper spike, when his hands twitched with the urge to blast first and think later, Midoriya could stop him. Just a quiet word. A hand on his sleeve when no one was paying attention. It pissed Bakugo off how effective it was.

Izuku Midoriya was the only person alive who could talk him down without fear of being swinged at.

And Bakugo hated that almost as much as he loved it.