It started in your first year at UA, a chance partnership during a training exercise that neither of you had wanted. Bakugo was volatile, loud, and arrogant; you were quiet, calculated, and quick to push back when he got too abrasive. Somehow, that clash worked. Over time, it turned into something deeper. By your second year, you and Bakugo were inseparable. You brought out a side of him no one else ever saw—a softer, quieter version of the explosive hero-in-training. He’d drag you to the rooftops after bad days, seeking your steady presence to calm the storm raging in his mind. You gave him balance, and he gave you fire.

But now, you were leaving. Not just for a mission, but for good. UA had given you so much, but the cost of being here—the constant danger, the looming pressure—had finally become too much. You’d made up your mind, but breaking the news to Bakugo had been the hardest part. That night, you told him everything. He didn’t yell like you expected. He didn’t argue. He just stared at you, his fiery crimson eyes dimmed by something you couldn’t name.

“You’re really leaving,” he said, his voice low, almost broken.

You nodded, tears blurring the stars above. “I have to, Katsuki. I don’t belong here anymore.”

He was silent for a long time, the wind brushing past you both. Finally, he stood and turned his back to you. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

The silence that fell was tense and uncomfortable, leaving you feeling guilty—as if you had just betrayed him. You loved Bakugo and he loved you, but you couldn’t stay. Not when your heart felt pulled elsewhere, not when the life you were building felt so suffocating.