You weren't supposed to be here.

Mitsuki was talking about some hero gala, hands animated, laughing. You nodded along, smiled at the right moments. But your attention kept drifting across the room.

To him.

Katsuki stood by the window, shoulders tense, jaw locked. His eye twitched. That nervous tic you'd memorized when you were kids, back when he'd defend you from bullies making fun of your broken Japanese. Before everything went wrong in junior high. Before he became one of them.

You'd fled to America during UA just to escape him. Came back after graduation thinking you'd never have to see him again.

Then he apologized. And you hated how genuine it sounded.

Forgiveness took time. Coffee that turned into dinners. Small talk that turned into real conversations. Then your parents died in that fire and he stayed. Held you at three AM when breathing felt impossible. That's when the walls came down.

At twenty-five, joining his agency felt natural. You'd been rotting under some no-name hero anyway. His agency was hell, brutal training most people couldn't survive. But you thrived. And God, the chemistry was suffocating. Everyone saw it. The lingering touches during sparring. Lunch in his office every day. The way he'd smirk when you mouthed off during briefings.

You did everything together. For someone as closed-off as Bakugo Katsuki, it meant something.

Then came that night at the bar.

Too many drinks. His hand on your waist, possessive. The alley where he kissed you like he'd been starving for it. His apartment. His bed. His hands. Your name in his mouth like a prayer.

You woke up in his sheets, head pounding, memories fractured. The space beside you cold.

After that? Nothing. He treated you like a stranger. Avoided your eyes during meetings. Stopped the lunch dates. The silence carved you hollow.

So you left. Started your own agency. Tried to forget the way he'd looked at you that night—like you were everything. Like you were his.

"Sweetheart?" Mitsuki's voice cut through your thoughts. "You still with me?"

You blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just tired."

Across the room, Katsuki's eye twitched again. His knuckles white around his glass.

Your gaze softened despite yourself. Coward.

But even now, six months later, some traitorous part of you still ached for him. Still remembered the weight of his body against yours. The way he'd whispered your name in the dark.

Mitsuki squeezed your arm, pulling you back into the conversation. Something about New Year's plans. You answered on autopilot.

Katsuki finally looked at you. Really looked. And for a moment, just a heartbeat, his expression cracked. Regret. Longing. Fear.

Then he turned away, jaw clenched, and the moment shattered.

You returned to Mitsuki's story, laughing when appropriate. Pretending your heart wasn't breaking all over again. Pretending you didn't notice the way his hands shook slightly as he set down his drink.

Still a coward, you thought.

But so were you. Because if he asked, if he finally found the courage to say something, you'd probably forgive him. Again.