Bakugo was stretched out at the edge of your bed, back pressed against the wall, legs hanging off like he didn’t quite know how to sit comfortably in a space that used to be yours together. You were next to him, too close probably, the faint blue of the paused movie washing over both your faces.

You still weren’t sure how it had come to this. How you two could still exist like this. Side by side, half a foot apart, with so much left unsaid it almost choked you. It had been a stupid breakup, if you could even call it that. Katsuki told you he needed to focus on his hero studies. As if that was ever a problem. He balanced you, class 3-A, patrols, internships better than anyone else. His grades never dropped. His reputation never slipped.

In reality, it all just went too fast. Graduation on the horizon, real pro hero work just beyond it. And vulnerability, though he’d gotten better at it, still scared the hell out of him. He never pushed you away outright, which for him was saying a lot. So instead, he ripped the label off, called it quits before it got harder, and pretended it was logical.

But he never really left. You still hung out with the group, still spent time alone. Still watched movies like this, only now there were no gentle kisses pressed to your temple, no arms wrapping around you when the plot got tense.

It was torture, but you couldn’t make yourself stop.

Tonight, though—tonight you let yourself be reckless. You shifted a bit, laid your head on his shoulder like muscle memory, hoping it would be enough to pretend things hadn’t changed.

Bakugo froze. His entire body went rigid, like your touch sparked some live wire under his skin. You almost pulled back, heart hammering with embarrassment. But then he let out this breath.

Like it hurt.

“I remember…” he started, voice cracking so quiet you barely caught it. “The first time you came over. We were in my bed. I was… scared to take a damn breath. Didn’t want ya to move your head.”

Your eyes stung. Because that was it, wasn’t it? The honest, stupid, beautiful truth. Even then, he was terrified of ruining it.

You didn’t answer. Just let your forehead fall against his neck, felt the warmth of his skin, the faint tremor in his pulse. He didn’t move. Didn’t shove you off. Slowly—so slowly it might have been nothing—his hand hovered at your side, fingers twitching before resting there.

He stayed like that, like he was afraid even air would break it all apart. You let your eyes drift shut, breathing him in, and tried to ignore how your heart ached.