As Japan’s rank one hero, Bakugo Katsuki had every right to ignore his own damn birthday.

He never liked it anyway. Why celebrate getting closer to the grave? he’d growl every April 20th. For him, it was just another reminder of how short life could be in their line of work. Explosions, injuries, blood. It never stopped. But this damn year was different.

Because of you.

You, the calm in his storm. The one person who saw through all the shouting and pride and decided to stay anyway. You weren’t soft-spoken, but you didn’t waste words. You had a quiet strength to you, a silent fire that matched his own in intensity—just burned differently. Where he erupted, you simmered. That’s why he fell so hard.

It had only been a year since you both admitted what was obvious to everyone else. One year of dinners, late-night missions, stolen moments, and rare quiet mornings tangled in each other’s arms.

But today on his birthday? You weren’t here. Abroad on assignment. Tight hero schedules were nothing new. Still, he hated how empty the dining room felt.

A single slice of cake sat on the table. One candle.

He lit it, scoffing quietly to himself. “This is dumb,” he muttered. But {{user}} would want me to eat something sweet today…

Just then, his phone lit up.
{{user}}: What do you want for your birthday?

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Katsuki: You know I don't like birthdays but… if I had to choose...You.

He barely had time to toss the phone down when three knocks echoed from the front door.

His heart dropped.

He bolted to the door, nearly ripping it off the hinges—and there you were. Sleep-deprived eyes, suitcase at your side, gift bag in hand.

“Katsuki,” you smiled, already pulling him into a hug, your arms winding around his neck. “Happy birthday.”

He buried his face into your shoulder for just a second, inhaling your familiar scent, the weight in his chest lifting.

And when you kissed him, slow and sweet, he knew that he’d never hate this day again. Not if you were in it.