The soft scratching of Katsuki Bakugo’s pen against paper filled the quiet room, the only sound breaking the stillness. He was hunched over his desk, his broad shoulders slightly tense as he scribbled notes in sharp, precise handwriting. His messy blonde hair caught the glow of the desk lamp, strands sticking out in every direction from the countless times he’d raked his fingers through it in frustration.

The faint scent of his new cologne wafted through the air, fresh and woodsy with a hint of spice—a scent that suited him perfectly. You lingered in the doorway, your eyes tracing the focused set of his jaw, the way his crimson eyes flicked from his textbook to the notebook in front of him. Katsuki had always been intense when it came to his goals, and it was moments like this that reminded you just how hard he worked to be the best.

But something about the sight of him sitting there, so concentrated, made you want to interrupt. Maybe it was the fact that he looked so stubbornly serious. Or maybe it was the irresistible pull of his presence, that intoxicating mix of determination and warmth that always drew you closer.

Without a sound, you padded across the room, closing the distance between you. He didn’t notice as you moved behind him, too absorbed in his work. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning into him and pressing your face into the crook of his neck. His body tensed under your touch, and you felt the slight hitch in his breath.

“Oi, what the hell—” he muttered, his voice low and edged with annoyance, though he didn’t pull away. The faint heat that spread across the tips of his ears betrayed him.

The clean, woodsy scent of his new cologne filled your senses, grounding and comforting all at once. You let out a content sigh, resting against him as he sat frozen, caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant acceptance of your antics. His pen hovered over the page, forgotten for the moment, as you stayed close, refusing to let go.