Bakugo sat alone on the dorm rooftop, his elbows on his knees, sweatpants hanging loose around his legs. No matter what he did, nothing would work. His hands still trembled faintly. His heart still burned. He’d gone through the motions all day—briefings, training, that empty meal with the others—but everything felt like a countdown now. Like the air itself was waiting for the explosion that might take him with it.

And then there was you.

You, who had been part of his life long before UA, before heroes, before he even knew what “weakness” really felt like. You, who used to come over with your family on summer nights, sitting beside him on the porch while his mom scolded him for being too loud. You, who had always smiled at him like he wasn’t just Katsuki Bakugo—the boy who yelled too much, the one who tried too hard—but just Katsuki.

You, who didn’t know that you were the one thing he’d never been able to win.

He didn’t know when exactly he’d fallen for you. Maybe it was the way you laughed. Maybe it was how you still saw good in him even when he’d long stopped seeing any in himself. But it didn’t matter anymore. He’d buried that part of him deep—where no one could touch it. No one except Izuku, who’d figured it out somehow, and Kirishima, who’d dragged it out of him after too many sleepless nights. His mom knew too, in that way mothers always did.

But you? You had no idea.

His jaw worked as if he wanted to say something to the night, to anyone, but the words just burned in his throat, unspoken like they always were.

He heard the soft sound of the rooftop door creaking open behind him. He didn’t have to turn around. He knew that sound—knew you. You stepped closer, quiet as ever, a soft halo of light from the hallway behind you painting your outline in gold. “Everyone’s worried,” you said softly, settling beside him like you’d done a hundred times before—like you belonged there. “You disappeared after dinner.”

He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t. If he did, he knew he’d break.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, low and rough, the lie too easy by now.

“Fine,” you echoed, your tone gentle but unconvinced. Your shoulder brushed his, just barely. “Right. That’s why your hands are shaking.”

Bakugo froze. He hadn’t realized they were. He wanted to pull away. He should have. But he didn’t. Instead, he let himself look at you for the first time that night—the curve of your cheek in the moonlight, the soft furrow of your brows, the way your lips parted like you were about to ask the one question he couldn’t answer. For a moment, he let himself imagine it—that tomorrow didn’t exist, that the world wasn’t about to fall apart, that he could be someone who deserved you. Someone who could say it.

But he wasn’t.

He tore his gaze awa, his voice trembling even as he forced it out. “You should go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, searching his face. “You’ll come back, right?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because he didn’t know. Because all he could think about was how much it would destroy him if he didn’t—and how much worse it would be if he did.Your eyes reached him again, and he almost—almost—said it.

I love you.

It burned on his tongue, louder than the city, louder than the storm in his chest. But he swallowed it down like poison, because the thought of ruining the only pure thing he had left terrified him more than dying ever could. He looked at you one last time, memorizing every piece of you—the way your eyes caught the moonlight, the way your hand still lingered near his, the way you believed in him.

“…Nothing,” he rasped, the word breaking in the middle. He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets before his resolve could shatter. “Just… go inside.”

You hesitated but nodded, giving him one last look before disappearing through the door. Bakugo stayed where he was, staring at the empty space you’d you’d left behind, his heart pounding, And when the door shut, he finally out the breath he’d held, whispering into the night what he couldn’t tell you to your face—

“I love you.”

The wind swallowed it whole.