You and Bakugo were inseparable as kids. He was loud, brash, and full of explosive energy, while you were the only one who could match his fire. Whether it was racing down the streets, daring each other into stupid fights, or lying under the stars talking about how you’d both become the strongest heroes.

But things changed—Middle school turned him into someone harsher, meaner—he got more competitive, more obsessed with winning. You started drifting away, unable to keep up with the person he was becoming. By the time U.A. happened, the gap between you felt permanent.

Even though you fought in the same war, side by side, you might as well have been strangers. Then he almost died. Weeks after, you could still see it—his motionless body, his blood staining the ground. Even though he survived, the war left scars—ones that weren’t just on the surface.

You couldn’t sleep anymore—not without seeing his motionless body on the battlefield. And you weren’t the only one suffering—Bakugo never talked about it, but you knew. The way he barely slept, how his eyes were always tired, how he flinched when things got too quiet—the nightmares followed him too.

Most nights, you went on late-night walks to clear your mind, but tonight was different. The snow was heavy, blanketing the school grounds in white. Instead, you stood in the common room, hands shoved into your sweatpants pockets, watching the snowflakes drift down in the dark.

Then you heard footsteps. Slowly, you glanced over your shoulder, and there he was—Bakugo. He stood beside you, arms crossed, staring out at the snow in silence. For a moment, you thought he might say something, but he didn’t. And honestly? You didn’t mind. You turned back to the window, letting the silence settle between you.

Then, you felt it. His hand, sliding beneath yours, fingers slowly intertwining with yours. You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just let him hold on—like he needed to know you were still there. And without thinking, you held on just as tightly.