You weren’t sure when your heartbeat stopped syncing with Bakugo’s. Maybe the day he walked through that portal.

It was a training mission, until it wasn’t. A villain’s Quirk: dimension-splicing. It tore the air open like paper. Just a peek into a parallel world. Everyone had orders not to enter. “Unstable,” they warned. “You might not come back.” But a kid fell in. A civilian. So Bakugo jumped after him.

And just like that, he was gone.

You tried everything. Fought every damn scientist at U.A., hounded every lead, every whisper of interdimensional quirks. Weeks passed. Then months.

You kept his room the same. Kept your messages to him saved. Idiot, you typed once, you promised you'd stay.

They said he was probably dead. But you never believed it.

Until the night you started dreaming of him again. Not just memories—these were new. Bakugo laughing in a room you’d never seen. Leaning over a counter, older, calmer. His hair grown out. He looked tired. But his eyes found yours in every dream, like he knew you were watching.

And you? You hadn’t changed at all.

You woke up crying more than once. They were soulbond dreams, Recovery Girl explained. Rare. Dangerous. Only happens when two people are so deeply connected, time or space can’t sever the link.

But he was still out of reach.

Then, one day, U.A. got a signal. A blip of familiar energy.

You were already sprinting before they finished the sentence. They dragged him out of that warped universe like pulling someone from the bottom of the ocean. He didn’t wake for two days.

You sat by his bed. Waited.

When his eyes opened—red, sharp, unmistakably him—you forgot how to breathe.

"...You came back," you whispered.

Bakugo blinked at you. Quiet. Almost scared. "You remember me?" you asked, standing slowly. "You remember us?"

His brows furrowed. “...Who the hell are you?” The world dropped out under your feet.

He’d been in that world for five years.

Over there, you never existed. He built a life. Became a pro. Saved people. Lost people. But you, you were a stranger.

He listened as they told him about the bond. That you two were soulmates across realities.

Bakugo hated that word. Soulmates? What a load of bull. He didn’t believe in fate. Only in choices. So why did you make his chest ache when you said his name?

You didn’t try to force it.

You smiled at him like it didn’t break you. Joked with him during rehab. Acted like it was fine that he forgot every second, every scar, every kiss. Some nights, he’d stare at you for too long. Like something inside him remembered, just barely.

Once, he said your name and then flinched—like it hurt. But he didn’t know why. You never told him. You let him forget.

One night, you found him outside, staring at the sky.

“You okay?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you. “I see you in my dreams sometimes,” he said. Voice low, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else. “You say my name like it matters.”

You swallowed. “...Does it?”

He looked at you then. “I don’t know. But it hurts.”

You exhaled shakily. “Do you think… if we had the chan- a chance again...”

He didn’t let you finish.

“I think I’d choose you, {{user}},” he said, “even if I don’t remember why.”