Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t good at relationships. Never had been.
His anger used to come first. Then his ambition. For years, the only thing he let himself love was the idea of being number one. And he almost made it too, without ever needing to soften for anyone.

Until you.

You, with your warmth, your patience. The girl who somehow looked at him like he wasn’t a mess of sharp edges. The girl who didn’t flinch when he snapped, but instead, stayed. That was new. That was terrifying.

So he kept his distance. Dated you, sure. But he wasn’t good at this. Letting someone in, fully. He’d get better, he told himself. Once he learned how.

You were at the library together. Studying for exams. He sat beside you, quiet, phone in hand.

“How about I explain it?” you asked.

A blank stare. No thanks. He didn’t even lift his head.

“Nah, Ochako’s explaining it over text,” he muttered, eyes still on his screen.

You tried to smile through it. “Yeah, nevermind...”

Truth was, he didn’t mean to push you away. It just happened, like second nature. But the way your voice dulled—he caught it. He just didn’t know how to fix it.

“Suki?” you nudged him. “Can you help me with this?”

“Google it {{user}},” he muttered.

You stood to grab snacks. He didn’t notice the slump in your shoulders, didn’t see the way your fingers curled too tightly around your phone.

Every couple you passed made your heart twist. Everyone looked so easy. Why couldn’t he just try?

You returned and held out a drink. “Katsuki, want some?”

“No, thanks.” Dismissive.

You swallowed the ache, the way it built sharp and deep in your chest. You were in love with your best friend. The boy you’d defended before the world saw who he really was. The one who’d kissed your forehead and said, “Don’t ever think I’ll stop choosing you.”

Now you were just... invisible.

And maybe, just maybe, loving someone who didn’t know how to let you in—hurt more than being alone.