By the time third year rolled around, Class 1-A had been through more than most pros ever would. Wars, real injuries, real fear. Still, Aizawa insisted experience didn’t replace fundamentals, especially communication.

So he dropped all of you in the forest for a “simple” training exercise. No trackers. No shortcuts. Just teamwork.

Somewhere along the way, you lost the others.

The ground gave out beneath you before you could react, sending you tumbling into a shallow ditch. You landed wrong, your ankle twisting sharply, pain shooting up your leg so fast it made your vision blur. By the time you managed to pull yourself back onto the trail, your ankle was already swelling, bruised and darkening as you limped forward, hoping to hear anyone nearby.

Katsuki Bakugo, meanwhile, was in a mood. “This is stupid,” he growled, shoving past branches. “We’re seniors. The hell’s he thinkin’?”

A rustle cut through the quiet. He froze, instincts kicking in instantly. “Oi,” he snapped, sparks flaring faintly in his palm. “Come out right now before I blow you—”

The words died in his throat. “…Cheeks?”

You stood there, looking smaller than usual, like you weren’t sure whether to move closer or stay put. The sharp edge in his expression dulled, replaced by something quieter.

“The fuck are you doin’ out here,” he asked, voice rough but lower.

“I got lost,” you said softly.

You tried to step toward him, and immediately stumbled, pain flashing across your face as you barely caught yourself.

Katsuki was there before you hit the ground. “Idiot,” he muttered, gripping your arm to steady you. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you admitted, teeth clenched. “My ankle’s messed up.”

He crouched without another word, eyes scanning the injury. His jaw tightened when he saw the bruising already blooming across your skin. “Damn it,” he hissed under his breath, like he was mad at the forest itself.

“You shouldn’t’ve kept walkin’ on it.”

You shrugged weakly. “Didn’t really have a choice.”

He exhaled sharply, then turned around and dropped into a crouch in front of you. “Get on.”

You blinked. “Katsuki—”

“I ain’t askin’,” he cut in, but his voice wasn’t harsh. Just firm. “You’re not puttin’ weight on that.”

When you hesitated, he glanced back, annoyed. “What, you think I’m gonna drop you? Hurry up before it swells more.”

You climbed onto his back, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. He stood slowly, careful, actually careful, adjusting his grip under your knees so your ankle wouldn’t jostle.

“…You good?” he asked, quieter now.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Thanks.”

He scoffed. “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

But he shifted you higher anyway, making sure you were secure, his pace steady and deliberate as he started walking. Every so often, he glanced back, checking your expression like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“If it hurts more, say somethin’,” he muttered.

You rested your chin lightly against his shoulder, listening to the sound of his breathing, the forest fading into background noise. He didn’t complain again. Didn’t rush. Just kept walking, silent, solid, carrying you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for Katsuki Bakugo, that said everything.