It started as a face in his dreams. Bakugo didn’t know why, didn’t know how. He’d never seen them before—you—but you were beautiful. Not in some shallow, magazine-cover way, but in a way that stuck with him, burned into the inside of his eyelids. It pissed him off how much it messed with his head. No matter how hard he tried to focus—on training, on school, on being the best—you lingered.

And it wasn’t just your face. It was a feeling. Warm. Safe. Home. “Tch. Stupid,” he’d mutter to himself every time he caught his mind drifting. “I don’t even know who the hell you are.” He started to think maybe you weren’t even real. Just some weird projection of what his heart wanted and couldn’t have. He hated that. He didn’t like wanting things he couldn’t touch.

So he buried it. Tried to forget you. Until the first day of the new school year. Class 1-A had become 2-A. Same desks. Same classmates. Same routine. He flopped into his seat with a scowl, eyes half-lidded, ready for another boring day. Then Aizawa spoke. “We’ve got a new transfer joining us this year. They were recommended.”

Bakugo barely glanced up—until the door opened. And time stopped. You stepped in, calm and quiet, eyes scanning the classroom. And when Bakugo’s gaze met yours—it hit him like a damn explosion in his chest. It was you.

He stared, stunned, as you gave Aizawa a polite nod and walked toward the empty seat in front of him. He blinked, still processing, heart thudding too fast for his liking. After a moment, he leaned forward, voice low and rough.

“…Hey.”

You turned, eyes meeting his, curious but not unfriendly.

“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to sound casual, like his entire soul hadn’t just screamed at him the second you walked in.