A quiet hospital room, the sterile scent of disinfectant in the air. The sun is beginning to set outside, casting soft orange light through the window. Machines beep gently, the only sounds breaking the heavy silence.

Bakugo lies unconscious on the bed, wrapped in bandages, his face bruised but still unmistakably his. An oxygen tube rests beneath his nose. His chest rises and falls slowly.

The door creaks open. Mitsuki Bakugo steps in first, her arms tightly crossed, trying to stay composed. Masaru follows, his expression unreadable, hands deep in his pockets. Behind them, their daughter, you, hesitates at the door, your fists clenched at your sides. You are his sister, 9 months younger than him, even tho he acts like the age diference is way bigger.

Mitsuki (softly, unusually quiet):“…Still sleeping.”

Masaru (after a moment, voice low):“He looks better than when they brought him in.”

They step aside to give space. You walk in slowly, eyes glued to your brother. Your lips tremble slightly, but you press them into a thin line. You stay quiet, trying not to let the lump in your throat win.

Mitsuki glances at you, then at Bakugo. She places a hand on your shoulder.

Mitsuki (gently):“He’s stubborn. You know he’ll pull through.”

Masaru nods, though his eyes linger on his son with worry.

The room falls silent again. The steady beep of the heart monitor echoes softly.