Katsuki Bakugo had never been the type to care about things like relationships. Romance, dating, all that sentimental bullshit—it never mattered. Not when he had a goal, not when he was supposed to be the best. But now, this was happening.

The guy wasn’t a hero, wasn’t in that world at all. He was an art major, someone who looked at life differently, who saw things in colors and shapes instead of tactics and battle strategies. They had met in a konbini, and it was stupid how easily he got under Bakugo’s skin, how their casual conversation turned into something more, how their outings—coffee shops, art exhibits, late-night ramen runs—started to feel suspiciously like dates.

He wasn’t even sure what this was.

Mina called it a “talking stage.” He called it “none of her damn business.”

And now, at 11:30 PM, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Bakugo had just finished his cooldown routine after patrol, hair still damp from the shower, when he saw the notification light up his screen.

"What are you doing tonight?"

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could already hear the smug teasing from his friends if they ever found out how long he was taking just to text back. Normally, he’d call them all a bunch of extras and tell them to shove it, but he knew damn well he wasn’t acting normal when it came to this guy.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Was this an invitation? A test? Just a late-night text with no deeper meaning? Hell if he knew—he wasn’t good at this crap.

Finally, he typed out a reply.

"Just got back from patrol. Why? You up to something?"

He stared at the screen, jaw tight. He hated waiting for responses, hated this restless, uncertain feeling in his chest. But when his phone vibrated again a minute later, he found himself holding his breath.