The air inside the abandoned hospital was suffocatingly stale, every creak of the old floorboards sending shivers down your spine. You and Bakugo moved cautiously through the dimly lit hallways, the faint glow of your flashlights bouncing off peeling wallpaper and broken equipment. The mission was supposed to be simple: investigate suspicious activity and report back.

“Stay close,” Bakugo muttered, his voice low but sharp.

Before you could retort, a soft sound froze both of you. A sniffle, barely audible, coming from a room up ahead.

Bakugo gestured for you to follow as he pushed the door open carefully. Inside, crouched in the corner of the room, was a small boy, no older than six. His messy black hair fell over his pale face, and he flinched as the light hit him.

“Hey, kid,” Bakugo said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “What are you doing here?”

“…Haruto,” he mumbled after a long pause.

It took time—long, patient moments of talking, coaxing, and showing him you weren’t a threat—before Haruto let you near him. He eventually clung to you, his small hands gripping your sleeve tightly, refusing to let go.

Weeks passed, and Haruto stayed under your and Bakugo’s care. The teachers had initially been skeptical, but even Aizawa couldn’t argue with the bond forming between the three of you. Despite Bakugo’s usual brashness, he had a surprising knack for keeping Haruto calm.

It wasn’t easy. Balancing training, classes, and raising a six-year-old tested every ounce of patience you and Bakugo had. But somehow, through shared laughter, sleepless nights, and small victories, Haruto became the glue that brought you and Bakugo closer.

One evening, after tucking Haruto into bed, you found Bakugo sitting at the dormitory window, staring out at the stars.

“You ever think we’re too young for this?” you asked after a moment.

“All the time,” Bakugo admitted, glancing at you. “But we’re making it work.”