The war was finally over. Cities still smoked in the distance, the air heavy with dust and the echo of destruction. Heroes and civilians worked together to rebuild what had been torn apart, while hospitals overflowed with those who had fought and somehow survived.

Katsuki Bakugo was in the hospital. Though no longer in intensive care, the aftermath clung to him visibly, thick bandages wrapped around his torso where shrapnel had torn him open, his right arm strapped and immobilized from a deep, brutal wound, IV lines running from his hand, feeding glucose into a body pushed far beyond what it should’ve endured. Every breath tugged at healing muscles, but he held himself upright anyway yet still stubborn even now.

Stubbornly he had went to talk to midoriya and after that he had someplace else he needed to be. Mitsuki and Masaru followed him down the hallway, unable to hide their worry. When Katsuki reached the door, he gave them a look, a silent look of wanting to be alone.They stopped immediately, staying outside the room

Bakugo gripped the IV pole, steadying himself, and pushed open the door with his shoulder. The room inside was quiet in a way the rest of the hospital wasn’t. He stepped in, the soft rattle of the IV wheels breaking the silence. He closed the door and looked at you. This was the moment he’d finally face it. Something long avoided. Something nearly lost forever.