You never meant for it to get this far.

Falling for Bakugou Katsuki was never in the plan—not when you met him at U.A., not when you watched him yell and explode his way through every fight, not even when he’d glance at you like the world quieted in his eyes. But it happened anyway.

It started with bickering. Grew into late-night patrols and bruised knuckles taped by his hands. His voice was the only thing that calmed your nerves after bad missions. Yours was the only one that didn’t make him flinch when he broke down.

You loved each other. God, you did. So much it hurt.

But loving Katsuki felt like clutching a grenade mid-pin. The fights were endless. Your words always twisted into weapons. He didn’t mean to raise his voice. You didn’t mean to throw the door open at 2 a.m. crying and begging for something softer. But you did. Again and again. Until it wasn’t just fights—it was war. A cold, silent kind.

He never stopped loving you. But his love came in detonations.

And yours? Yours came with scars.

So here you are, outside his shitty apartment, the one you helped him pick, the one where he told you he might actually deserve happiness. You’re in the hoodie he left on your floor last week. You shouldn’t be here. You should’ve walked away a long time ago. But you couldn’t.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you whisper, barely audible.

He doesn’t answer at first. He just stands there, his jaw clenched like he’s trying not to scream or break. But then his voice—low, rough, careful—finds you.

“You always come back.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “So do you.”

His eyes flick up to yours. There’s something soft there. That dangerous kind of softness that makes you forget all the screaming.

“We’re not good for each other,” you murmur.

“No,” he agrees. “We’re not.”

Silence stretches between you like a wire pulled too tight. Something’s about to snap.

“But I love you,” he says, and it’s not loud, not angry, not proud. Just broken. “So damn much.”

Your heart shatters again, like it has a hundred times. Like it will a hundred more if you stay.

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s the problem.”

He steps closer, gently this time. Like you might run. You probably should. “You ever think maybe… maybe we just met too soon?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Maybe in another time. Two years from now. Five. I don’t know.”

He looks down, eyes glassy but refusing to cry. He never cries. But you know he wants to. His hands shake before he tucks them in his hoodie.

“If we meet again,” he says, barely breathing the words, “don’t fall in love with me unless it’s forever.”