Katsuki Bakugo pushed the front door open with careful precision, wincing slightly as the hinges gave a soft creak. He stepped inside quickly, shutting it behind him just as quietly. The familiar scent of home — a faint mix of spices, cleaning products, and something distinctly his mom’s — hit him like a wave. But he didn’t pause. Instead, his eyes darted around, scanning for any sign of his parents. Clear. Good.

UA had been great — was great — but today? Today had sucked. It wasn’t even one specific thing. It was everything. The expectations. The pressure. The constant feeling of needing to prove himself. Not just to the teachers or the pro heroes watching his every move, but to everyone. His classmates. His parents. Hell, even to himself.

He had to be a hero. Not because someone told him to. Because he decided it. Ever since he was a kid, that dream burned in his chest like wildfire. And he wasn’t going to let anyone put it out.

Still, it was exhausting. The way people always had something to say — telling him what to do, how to act, what to feel. And when he didn’t fit their perfect little mold? He was “difficult.” “Too aggressive.” “Too much.”

Yeah, whatever. He got the top scores. He aced every physical challenge. He pushed himself harder than anyone. So what if he had a short fuse? That didn’t change the fact that he was damn good at what he did.

Letting out a low, tired breath, Katsuki quietly slipped off his shoes and padded toward the hallway. He slung his backpack down beside the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. His muscles ached from training, his mind foggy from class. All he wanted was to knock out his homework, down something hot, and hit the weights. Again.

He didn’t want to deal with family stuff right now — not because he didn’t care. Just… he couldn’t afford to rely on anyone. Not right now. Not when he had goals to crush. He needed to carry this weight on his own. Prove he could.

His eyes briefly landed on the coat rack. Your jacket was hanging there, neatly placed like always. A quiet sign that you were home. It should’ve been comforting, maybe even grounding — but even that made his chest feel heavier tonight. He wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet.

He slipped down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light, head low. His usual fire was dimmed, simmering quietly beneath the surface. He wasn’t quitting. Not ever.

But damn… today had been rough.