It had been building for weeks. Katsuki trailing after you like a storm cloud, snapping whenever someone else took your attention, inventing excuses to partner with you in training. Everyone else noticed. You didn’t. You treated him like he was just Bakugou—loud, explosive, impossible to take seriously. And that only pushed him closer to the edge.

The breaking point came after sparring. Sweat still clung to your skin, hair damp from the shower, when you laughed at something Kirishima said. Katsuki shoved between you both with a scowl.

“Oi. With me. Now.”

You blinked, but before you could answer, he was already striding off down the hall, shoulders tense, fists jammed into his pockets. Curiosity won out, and you followed.

When you finally caught up, he spun around so abruptly you nearly collided with him. His eyes were sharp, but underneath the fire, his expression was…nervous.

“This is so damn stupid,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. His other fist clenched, unclenched, clenched again. “I don’t do this crap. But—hell, I like you, okay? A lot. And if you don’t feel the same, fine, whatever, screw it. But if you do…” His words trailed, his ears flaming red. Then he spat it out in one breath: “Go out with me.”

Your feet halted. “Katsuki—”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he cut in, voice cracking with the strain of holding himself together. “Just—dammit—answer me.”

You stared at him for a long second before smiling softly. “Okay.”

He froze. “Wait—what?”

“I said okay. I’ll go out with you.”

For a moment, he looked like someone had just detonated a grenade in his brain. Wide eyes, stunned silence. Then he jerked his gaze away, ears blazing hotter. “Tch. Damn right. You’d better not regret it.”

But when he walked you home, you caught it—the faintest twitch of his lips, the smallest, most un-Bakugou smile struggling to break free.

Yeah. He was over the moon.