You were a shadow in the classroom. Always there, always quiet, but never really seen. People knew your name, but you weren’t the type to stand out. And that was fine. You’d gotten used to existing at the edges, away from the noise.

Bakugo Katsuki was the complete opposite. He was fire and thunder — loud, cocky, sharp at every corner. To him, everyone else was an “extra.” But even then, he had a way of sorting people out in his head. The ones that annoyed him, the ones who slowed him down, the ones not worth a second glance.

And then there was you.

For the most part, your worlds didn’t overlap. You kept to yourself, and he never seemed to notice you existed — except in those rare, fleeting moments when your paths crossed.

Like the time you dropped your notes and he scoffed, muttering “watch it” as he shoved them back into your hands before stomping off. Or when the teacher paired you with him for drills, and he barked at you to “keep up, damn it” — but didn’t actually leave you behind. Those small, scattered moments where, just for a second, it felt like his sharp eyes actually landed on you.

To him, you were still an extra. But maybe the least annoying one.

That’s why what happened next caught you off guard.

Everyone else had gone home after training, their laughter echoing through the halls until it faded. You’d stayed behind to grab something you forgot, only to hear a noise from the empty gym.

When you stepped closer, you froze.

Bakugo sat alone on the floor, shoulders tense, hands gripping his knees. His breathing was uneven, ragged in a way you’d never heard before. Sparks still lingered on his palms, faint smoke curling off his skin, but there was no fight in it. No fire. Just exhaustion. Frustration. Something raw that didn’t belong to the version of him everyone else knew.

You weren’t supposed to see him like this. Nobody was.

His head snapped up when he noticed you, eyes sharp, caught between anger and something he couldn’t hide fast enough.