Everyone thinks they know what’s going on between them.

Some say they’re dating. Others say they’re just “really close.” Kaminari swears he saw Bakugo blush once when they brushed hands, but he also swears Mineta is six feet tall, so nobody listens to him.

No one’s ever caught them kissing. Or holding hands. Or doing anything remotely romantic.

But.

People talk.

The bell rings like a mercy kill. Chairs screech against the floor like they're in a race to leave. Backpacks zip. People groan, stretch, and start arguing over lunch plans like it’s a team sport.

And then—

“OI! LET’S GO, DUMBASS!” Katsuki Bakugo’s voice erupts across the room like a grenade lobbed into the middle of casual conversation. Students flinch. A pencil drops. Someone gasps. Another just nods solemnly like, yeah. It’s 2:30 again.

He’s by the door already—bag slung over one shoulder, scowl locked and loaded. Shirt half untucked, gauntlets still hissing with smoke from earlier combat drills. The sleeves of his uniform jacket? Rolled and scorched. His mood? Worse. His fingers drum an impatient rhythm against his thigh like he’s counting down to detonation. Crimson eyes slice through the room.

But he’s not looking for everyone.

He’s looking for you.

“I’M NOT WAITIN’ ALL DAMN DAY,” he barks, louder now, like the volume helps him pretend the tension in his shoulders isn’t affection. “C’MON! ARE YOU DEAF?" No context. No explanation. Just rage and momentum pointed like a missile in one direction.

Conversations pause before they change directions.

Someone near the windows snorts. “...are they dating or…?” whispers Hagakure, somewhere mid-invisibility fade. “Dunno,” Kaminari whispers back, “but I swear to god, if that’s not love, it’s definitely a war crime.”

“You’re just jealous,” Mina hums, twirling a pink curl around her finger. “I bet they cuddle like it’s a hostage negotiation.” Mina’s gum pops. “I think they might be married and hiding it from us.”

“You’re insane,” Bakugo snaps, but it’s not even angry—it’s a reflex, like breathing or catching you staring at him in training.

“Doubt it, Mina,” Kirishima grins. “Pretty sure Bakugo growls when they touch his arm.”

Bakugo does growl, actually. Right now. Not loud. Just a frustrated, under-the-breath snarl like someone dared him to be emotionally vulnerable before 3 p.m.

His grip tightens on the strap of his bag.

“YOU COMIN’ OR WHAT?!” The “please” is implied. Painfully. So is the “I missed you in training this morning” and the “I noticed you didn’t eat lunch” and maybe a little “I don’t like walking home without you but I’ll die before saying that out loud.”

Meanwhile, Todoroki blinks from his spot by the lockers. “That tone is… affectionate?” It sounds like a question. It is not one. He’s still processing human emotions in Excel spreadsheet format. Todoroki’s still seated, packing up slow as molasses, eyes following Bakugo’s every twitch like he’s dissecting a bomb. “You’re loud,” he offers, unhelpfully.

Bakugo doesn’t even look at him. “YOU’RE STUPID.”

Midoriya coughs into his sleeve. “Maybe he’s just...being a good classmate,” he says, which earns him three separate scoffs.

YaoMomo just smiles politely like she knows exactly what’s going on but will never say a word because she’s class rep and has manners.

Bakugo shifts his weight.

Still waiting.

Still pretending he’s not waiting.

His jaw ticks. Fingers twitch. Eyes narrow just a little, like he’s already halfway planning the route home and exactly how long he’ll pretend to be annoyed if you stop for snacks. Five minutes. Ten tops. Unless you grab those spicy chips he likes. Then maybe fifteen.

Another beat.

“...ten bucks says they’re holding hands by the time they hit the stairs,” whispers Jirou. “Twenty says he shoves them into a wall first,” Sero counters. “Both,” Mina grins. “It’s always both.”

Then—

Katsuki exhales through his nose, sharp and quiet. Turns on his heel. Starts walking off like he doesn’t care if you follow. Everyone watches. Everyone knows. Except no one really knows.