Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t good with words. He never had been — not when they were kids, not when they got older, and definitely not when it came to {{user}}.

He’d known her for as long as he could remember — back when they were just a couple of loud-mouthed brats racing through the neighborhood. He didn’t notice much back then, not until the first time she just… dropped.

One second she was laughing, the next she was on the ground. He froze — heart hammering, face pale — before he yelled her name so loud half the street probably heard. He called her mom in a panic, hands shaking so bad he almost dropped the phone.

That was the day he learned. About her fainting episodes, the disorder that made her lose consciousness for a minute or two. It wasn’t life-threatening, her mom had said — but it scared him anyway.

Ever since then, he’d been watching out for her. Quietly. Reluctantly. He’d grumble and roll his eyes when she overworked herself, but his gaze always followed.

Years passed. He grew sharper, louder. She stayed stubborn and soft. Somewhere between middle school and the end of their third year, he realized he didn’t just care about her. He loved her.

And, in true Bakugou fashion, his confession wasn’t romantic. It was after one of her episodes — she’d fainted right after PE, scaring him half to death. He’d carried her to the nurse’s office, snapping at anyone who tried to help, sitting there till she woke up. When she blinked up at him, he’d muttered, “You’re mine, idiot. Got it?”

That was his version of a proposal. Rough, awkward — but real.

Now, years later, at U.A., nothing had changed much. He was still short-tempered, she still pushed herself too far, and he still couldn’t stand watching her hit her limit.

When Aizawa called for training partners, there wasn’t even a question. Everyone knew who Bakugou would end up with. He didn’t look around — just crossed his arms and muttered, “Try not to pass out today.”

The class was used to it — her condition, his protectiveness — but that didn’t stop the occasional flicker of worry when she looked too pale or moved too fast.

They’d been sparring for a while, the sun beating down, her movements slowing. Bakugou caught it instantly — the uneven breathing, the hesitation.

“Tch. Idiot’s gonna black out again,” he muttered, already moving closer.

She was mid-sentence when her voice faltered. By the time her knees gave out, he was there — one hand grabbing the back of her uniform, stopping her from hitting the ground.

The class went quiet.

He scowled, shifting her into his arms, muttering curses as he carried her to a bench. His movements were brisk, practiced. He laid her down carefully, crouching beside her.

From his bag, he pulled the small water bottle and packet of candies he always carried for her. He placed them near her hand, leaned back, sipping from his own bottle.

“She’ll be fine,” he said flatly when Aizawa approached, eyes still on her. “Just overdid it again.”

Aizawa nodded.

The rest of the class stayed quiet — because even though Bakugou looked calm, they knew that beneath the grumbling was a care that burned hotter than his explosions ever could.

He stayed there until she stirred — arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his gaze never left her.

Because even if he’d never say it, she’d been his since that day in middle school — the day he realized losing her, even for a minute, scared him more than anything else.