The common room buzzed with usual end-of-day chatter—soft laughter, the clink of mugs, the rustle of homework papers—but it all felt like static to you. Across the room, Katsuki sat alone at the far end of the couch, arms crossed and eyes locked on some mindless show playing on the television. He wasn’t watching it. Not really.

You knew that stare. He did it when he was thinking too much and didn’t know where to put the noise in his head.

It used to be you.

You shifted on your seat, trying not to glance over, but your eyes betrayed you—again. It had been weeks now. Weeks since your last real conversation. Since that argument. Since everything cracked in the spaces no one else could see.

But now they could see.

Mina leaned over to Kirishima in a whisper that wasn’t exactly quiet. “Seriously, what happened between those two?”

“Dunno,” Kirishima replied, scratching his neck awkwardly. “They were inseparable. Now it’s like… total cold war.”

You swallowed hard and looked away, pretending to focus on your notes, but Bakugo’s voice came out, low and flat:

“If you’re gonna talk about me, at least grow the balls to do it louder.”

Everyone froze. For a second, the whole room was silent. Then slowly, conversations picked back up—but more cautiously now. Mina sent you a glance—half apology, half curiosity—but you didn’t return it.

You couldn’t. Not with him sitting there like a ghost in your life. Not with your heart still carrying the weight of words neither of you were brave enough to say.

You stood up, pretending to stretch. “I’m going to bed.”

As you walked past the couch, you felt his eyes on you. Not just a glance. A look. The kind that used to mean something.

You paused—just slightly—and whispered without turning, “You could’ve said something.”

Bakugo didn’t flinch, but his voice followed you, soft and ragged

"So could you..."