You and Bakugo had been inseparable since childhood. Growing up in the same neighborhood with parents who were friends meant you were always around him, whether you liked it or not. But it didn’t take long for you to want to be around him. Together, you caused trouble, made mischief, and filled the streets with laughter.

Then UA came, and of course, you both went together. You trained together, ate together, studied together. Wherever one of you was, the other was close behind. It was like breathing—natural, effortless. But then the war came. You fought for your life, pushing yourself beyond your limits. And in the aftermath, you paid the price. Your quirk was gone. The realization shattered you. What hero could be a hero without a quirk? The shame ate at you, keeping you locked away in your room, a ghost of who you used to be. You sat in the back of class, spoke only when necessary, avoided everyone. Avoided him.

Bakugo noticed. Of course, he did. He knew from the moment the war ended. But he never confronted you—not in front of everyone. Until tonight. You were curled up in bed, staring at the ceiling, when a knock sounded at your door. Before you could answer, it opened, and in walked Bakugo, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat on the edge of your bed, looking down at you. His usual scowl was softer, his red eyes searching yours.

“Tch. You really think I give a damn about some quirk?” he muttered, voice rough with frustration. “You’re still you, dumbass.”

Your chest ached. “But—”

“No buts,” he cut you off. “I didn’t stick by you all these years ‘cause of your damn quirk. You think I’d let you push me away now?”