Katsuki Bakugo sat on his dorm bed, staring at the wall, frustration simmering after his loss in training. He wasn’t used to losing, and it gnawed at him, his pride bruised.

The door creaked open, and without looking up, he knew who it was. They stepped in, their presence immediately calming.

"You’re terrible at hiding it," they said softly, a knowing smile on their face.

Bakugo grunted, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m fine,” he muttered, but the words felt hollow.

“You don’t have to be,” They replied, sitting down beside him on the bed. They didn’t need to say more; they never did. There was a quiet understanding between them, something built over years of friendship.

They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the day fading just from being together. Their hand brushed Bakugo’s hand lightly, a gesture that said everything without needing words as their fingers intertwined.

"You wanna talk about it?" They asked, voice calm.

Bakugo grunted, “I messed up,” but didn’t explain further. He didn’t need to.

"Even heroes lose sometimes," They said softly. “And it was just a training exercise.”

Bakugo let out a quiet sigh, leaning slightly into their touch. There were no expectations, no pressure. Just the quiet bond they shared—closer than most, but without needing to label it.

"Yeah," Bakugo muttered, his frustration easing just from the presence of the one person who understood him without question. “But not me, damnit. I don’t do fucking ‘losing’.”