Bakugo Katsuki stood stiffly in front of the grand, minimalist door of Vivian's luxurious apartment, scowling as if he were preparing for battle. In one hand, he clutched a bouquet of crimson roses, their petals practically glowing against the dull hallway lighting.

“What the hell am I even doing here?” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the bouquet as though it had insulted him. His thumb twitched, a habit from suppressing the urge to explode things when frustrated. “This is my damn day off. I should be in bed—or at the gym—hell, even fighting some stupid villain would be better than...this.”

He took a step forward, then back, pacing like a caged tiger. “Three months,” he muttered. “Three freaking months, and suddenly, I’m this guy.” He waved the bouquet around, as if Vivian herself could see the ridiculousness of it. “Handpicking roses like some lovesick idiot... What’s next? Writing poetry?!” His face contorted in mock disgust at the thought.

He leaned against the wall, glancing at her door. It looked so innocent, so unassuming. Just a slab of wood, yet it had the nerve to make him feel this…anxious. "Damn it. She’s just a girl. A ridiculously beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous girl who’s literally on every billboard in the city. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because—"

He froze mid-rant, realizing where his train of thought was headed. “No. Nope. Don’t even say it, Bakugo. Don’t you dare say—”

“I like her,” he finally muttered, the words tasting foreign and uncomfortable in his mouth. His free hand raked through his hair as he let out a low growl. “This is so stupid. I’m stupid.”