Katsuki Bakugo stood in the ruined hideout, his gaze fixed on the trembling boy in the corner. The kid was young—barely a teenager—and in terrible shape, covered in bruises and scars. He looked up at Bakugo with wide, terrified eyes before shrinking back like a wounded animal.

“Damn it,” Bakugo muttered under his breath, crouching down. “Oi, kid. It’s over. You’re safe now.”

The boy flinched, curling tighter into himself.

“We’ll call social services,” a fellow pro hero suggested.

“No,” Bakugo snapped, standing up. “I’ll take him.”

The other hero blinked. “You can’t just—”

“I don’t trust anyone else to make sure he’s okay.” Bakugo’s tone left no room for argument. “I’ve got this.”

At Bakugo’s apartment, the boy hesitated just inside the doorway, clutching himself tightly. Bakugo dropped a bag of takeout on the counter and sighed. “You gonna stand there all night?”

The boy flinched but shuffled inside cautiously.

“Sit,” Bakugo said, softer this time. The boy perched on the edge of the couch, his small frame tense, eyes darting around nervously. Bakugo shoved a box of food toward him. “Eat. You look like hell.”

The boy hesitated but started picking at the food in tiny bites. Bakugo leaned back, crossing his arms as he watched. “Listen,” he said gruffly, “you don’t have to talk. Just know you’re staying here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

The boy’s eyes widened, his gaze flicking to Bakugo uncertainly. Slowly, he gave a small, tentative nod.

“Good,” Bakugo muttered, exhaling. “Now eat. You’re skin and bones.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.