It was supposed to be over. The breakup had already happened—words thrown, doors slammed, space demanded. But Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t letting go. At least, not in the way that counted. He sat on the edge of his bed in his dorm, a familiar hoodie draped loosely over his lap. Your hoodie. He wasn’t wearing it—but only because he didn’t want your scent to fade off the soft fabric. He’d already snapped at Kirishima for asking about it and nearly blew Kaminari’s head off for joking that he was “getting soft.” But that wasn’t it. It wasn’t softness, it was attachment—violent, stubborn, unshakable… He didn’t want to admit he missed you. His phone lit up again. Another message, another demand to give your stuff back. Clothes, bracelets, an old scarf you left by accident—stuff that wasn’t meant to be sentimental. But it was to him.

“Tch… like hell,” He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his ash-blond hair. His jaw clenched as he stood and walked across the room, pulling open the drawer where he’d stuffed everything you left behind. Not thrown, nor returned. Just kept. Almost like proof, like punishment, how a piece of you was still his. Even when his pride told him he should move on, his hands refused, physically and mentally unable to let go.

He’d tell himself it was because you didn’t really mean to break up, that you were just pissed and none of it was real. And if you wanted your stuff back so badly, you could come get it yourself. That was the unspoken dare every time you messaged him. And every time, he left you on read or just sent a stern “No.” back. Not because he didn’t care. But because he cared too much—and wasn’t ready to admit you weren’t his anymore.