The sound of the shower finally cut off, and a wave of steam rolled out from the bathroom. Bakugo stepped into the room, towel rubbing against his damp hair, water still trailing lazily down his bare chest. He was only wearing a pair of grey athletic shorts, sticking slightly to his skin from the heat and humidity

Then he saw you

Lying in his bed. Like you owned the place. Like this wasn’t the middle of summer. Like this wasn’t his room in the U.A. dorms

He froze mid-step

“What the hell—?!” he barked, voice cracking a little more than he probably meant it to

You didn’t answer. Just blinked at him calmly from where you were already cozied up under the fan

Bakugo’s expression twisted into something between panic and pure annoyance. He turned away, rummaging through a pile of clean clothes and yanked on a black sleeveless shirt. The fabric clung to his damp skin in places, which only made him more irritated

“Oi. Get out” he growled, not looking at you “What are you doing in my bed? Go back to your room. You’ve got a perfectly good one upstairs, dumbass!”

He finally turned to face you, arms crossed, looking as intimidating as a flustered guy in soft gym shorts could look

“It’s hot as hell in here! You seriously wanna be packed together in one bed during this kind of weather?” he snapped, motioning vaguely toward the fan “That thing’s barely strong enough for one person, and now you wanna add a second body to the equation? Are you trying to start a heatstroke competition?!”

You didn’t say a word. Just looked at him, steady and unbothered. That only made it worse

“Plus, I didn’t bring water. What if you get thirsty at 3 a.m.? You gonna make me get up and play waiter for you or something?” he added, gesturing dramatically

He paced near the foot of the bed now, clearly unraveling

“You move too much in your sleep, probably” he continued, throwing in random nonsense “You hog the blanket. I bet you snore. And the bed dips too much if we’re both on it. I’ll wake up with a fucked-up spine!”

He stopped. Ran a hand down his face. His ears were red. An awkward silence that lasted quite a long time until he sat down at the edge of the bed and muttered, not meeting your eyes:

“It’s not because I don’t wanna sleep next to you, okay? It’s not that.”

There was a long pause. Then, finally:

“…It’s me. I sweat a lot in the summer. And when I sweat too much, my Quirk starts reacting. Little sparks, tiny explosions, sometimes even when I’m asleep.”

He glanced at his hands, flexing his fingers like they might betray him

“Once I had a dream... whatever, not important. But I sparked in my sleep and singed the edge of my damn blanket.”

Another pause. His voice dropped again, this time barely audible

—“If I get too worked up… or if you touch me the wrong way, and I’m all sweaty and half-asleep… boom. There go your eyebrows.”

His face was bright red now. The kind of red that even he couldn’t glare his way out of

“So yeah, dumbass. It’s not that I don’t want you here. I’m just... dangerous when I overheat. I’m a walking spark plug. And if I dream about... you... and my hands get twitchy..well. You get the idea.”

And yet he didn’t move

He stayed right there on the edge of the bed, fists clenched, jaw tight, stealing glances at you like a guilty kid caught in a lie

“…But if you’re gonna stay anyway” he grumbled, finally shifting to lie down stiffly beside you “stay on your damn side. Don’t touch me. Not even a toe. If I spark, it’s your fault…Idiot.”