You met Bakugou by accident.

Aizawa had dragged you along to U.A. again, muttering something about “keeping an eye on you” and “Nezu wanting to make sure you don’t vaporize another training bot.”

It wasn’t like you wanted to be there. You’d gotten used to the looks, the whispers — the “Is that Aizawa-sensei’s kid?” curiosity that followed you everywhere.

You’d found a quiet corner in Ground Gamma, away from the crowd, trying to read while everyone sparred.

That was when Bakugou crashed into the wall five feet from you.

You’d barely flinched — mostly because you were used to chaos by now — but the boy who stood up, hair wild, smoke curling from his hands, looked ready to fight a god.

“The hell are you doing here?” he barked.

You blinked up at him. “Sitting.”

He squinted, like you’d personally offended him. “You a student?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“Field trip.”

He stared at you for a long second, face twitching. “What kind of field trip puts you in a hero course training field—”

“Bakugou!” Aizawa’s voice cut across the air, calm and unimpressed. “Stop interrogating my kid.”

Bakugou froze. “…Your what?”

You waved. “Hi.”

He looked between you and Aizawa, back and forth, like trying to compute a math problem that shouldn’t exist. “That’s your kid?”

Aizawa shrugged. “Unfortunately.”

“Hey!” you protested.

Aizawa didn’t even look up from his clipboard. “What? It’s true.”

Bakugou stood there, still half-smoked from the explosion, and muttered, “This explains so much and nothing at all.”

⸻

After that, he didn’t talk to you for a week.

Then, he started showing up wherever you were. Not intentionally — or so he claimed — but always with some excuse. “Ground Beta’s free.” “Nezu said to help clean.” “Don’t touch that, you’ll break it.”

It was always something.

You didn’t mind. He wasn’t loud around you, not anymore. You’d noticed it the second time you met — how he stopped himself from yelling when you flinched at a sudden shout from across the room.

He’d muttered, “Not scared of me, are you?” You’d said, “No. Just… noise.”

And he never forgot that.

⸻

Aizawa noticed too.

He didn’t say anything, but he saw the way Bakugou would glance at you first before detonating something. How he’d lower his voice when you were near. How he’d throw the occasional “You good?” between training sessions, pretending it was casual.

He didn’t think Bakugou had it in him — restraint.

But apparently, you brought it out of him.

⸻

One afternoon, you were sitting on the dorm steps, head resting on your knees, when Bakugou plopped down beside you.

“You look like crap,” he said.

“You’re bad at starting conversations,” you mumbled.

“Wasn’t trying to start one.”

You peeked at him from under your hood. “Then why sit here?”

He frowned, then looked away. “’Cause you look like crap.”

You laughed, quietly this time. “You care too much.”

He grunted. “Don’t start.”

⸻

It stayed like that for a long time — the two of you circling around friendship, bumping shoulders, bickering over small things. You’d catch him scowling at you for not eating lunch. He’d catch you leaving snacks on his desk. Neither of you ever admitted anything.

But one thing was clear — you’d somehow become the person who made him quieter.

Even Aizawa couldn’t miss that.

⸻

One day, Hizashi teased, “Hey, did you notice Bakugou doesn’t yell as much when your kid’s around?”

Aizawa looked up from his papers, deadpan. “Of course I noticed.”

“Doesn’t that weird you out?”

He sighed. “No. I think it’s called progress.”

⸻

That evening, you found Bakugou sitting on the edge of the roof, watching the sunset with a permanent scowl.

You joined him silently, legs swinging over the edge.

He didn’t look at you, just muttered, “Your old man doesn’t scare me, by the way.”

You smiled faintly. “He doesn’t need to. You already behave.”

“Tch.” He side-eyed you. “Don’t push it.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “You’re not yelling.”

He grunted. “You don’t like it.”