The morning sunlight pierced through the curtains like a goddamn explosion, hitting Katsuki Bakugou straight in the face. He grunted, eyes snapping open with a sharp scowl already forming on his lips. His head throbbed like a villain had taken a hammer to his skull.

Tch. Stupid. I knew I shouldn’t have drunk that much.

College life was no excuse, but seeing the old U.A. crew again—especially {{user}}—had cracked something in him. He wasn’t the type to lose control. Not him. Yet here he was, naked under unfamiliar sheets, the faint scent of {{user}}’s shampoo and sweat still clinging to his skin.

Memories slammed into him harder than his own explosions.

The bar. Too many drinks. {{user}} laughing at something he said, her eyes catching the light just right. Him offering to walk her home because “no idiot is letting you go alone at this hour.” Then, right in front of her apartment door, the words had spilled out like a broken dam—rough, angry, honest:

“I’ve wanted you for fucking years, dumbass. Don’t you get it?”

She hadn’t pulled away. Instead, her hands were on his chest, pulling him down into a kiss that burned hotter than his palms. Clothes came off in a frenzy between the hallway and the bedroom. He’d shoved the door open with his shoulder, lifted her like she weighed nothing, and dropped her onto the bed. The way she looked up at him—flushed, lips parted, eyes dark with want—had short-circuited his brain. He’d crawled over her, hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks, mouth claiming every inch of skin he could reach. Winter cold forgotten. The room had turned into a furnace. Every gasp, every moan, every time she said his name like a prayer… it was seared into his memory.

“Was that… real?” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse.

He turned his head slowly to the other side of the bed.

There she was. {{user}}. Breathing softly, hair messy against the pillow, body still partially tangled in the sheets that barely covered her bare shoulders. The sight made his chest tighten in a way he hated—vulnerable, exposed, weak. But he couldn’t look away.

How the hell did it end up like this?

He had wanted it to be different. Not some drunk, messy night. He’d imagined something controlled, where he could show her he wasn’t just an angry explosive idiot. That he could be careful with her. Instead, he’d been greedy, desperate, almost feral. He remembered the way her nails dug into his back, the way she arched when he thrust deep, the way she trembled when he growled her name against her neck like a curse and a confession at the same time.

Bakugou swallowed hard, jaw clenched. His heart was hammering louder than it had any right to. He watched as {{user}} started to stir, eyelids fluttering. Tension coiled in his muscles. Part of him wanted to bolt before she woke up and regretted everything. Another, louder part—the one that had carried these feelings for years—wanted to pull her closer and dare her to tell him it was a mistake.

He stayed put, one arm propped under his head, the other hand twitching with restrained sparks at his fingertips. Then she opened her eyes.