It had been a long day—one that clung to his shoulders like sweat that refused to dry. Bakugou stepped out of the locker room, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair still damp, irritation simmering low as usual. The hallway was mostly empty now, lights dimmer, quieter. Then he saw you.

Slumped against the wall, knees slightly drawn in, head tilted to the side—fast asleep.

“Tch.”

The sound left him on instinct, though it carried more concern than annoyance. He walked closer, boots echoing softly. You’d stayed. Again.

His fiancée.

The word still felt strange, unfamiliar in his mouth. A month ago—snow biting at their skin, lungs burning from the climb—he’d asked you there, on top of a mountain that felt as unforgiving as he was. No speeches. No hesitation. Just certainty.

Now, standing in front of you like this, he felt that same quiet resolve settle in his chest.

He nudged your knee lightly with his boot, careful despite himself.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice rough but low. “Time to go home.”