The glass was cold against {{user}}'s palm as they stood silently, staring into Katsuki's hospital room. At ten years old, the sight of their father lying still, entangled in wires and bandages, felt like a nightmare they couldn’t wake from. Tears streamed down their cheeks, stinging like acid as they whispered, voice trembling, “Dad...”

Seeing Katsuki like this—so unlike the strong, unyielding hero they knew—was an unbearable ache. Each beeping machine seemed to echo their fear: What if he never wakes up? Days turned into weeks, and the weeks stretched into months. Eventually, even their grandmother, Mitsuki Bakugo, stopped visiting. It was too much. Somehow, the months slipped into years, the hospital room becoming a memory too painful to revisit.

Now sixteen, {{user}} stood in their room, carefully packing their belongings into boxes. They were heading to U.A., determined to follow in Katsuki's footsteps and become the kind of hero he would be proud of. Their thoughts were interrupted as they headed downstairs for more boxes—and froze in their tracks.

Katsuki stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall as if nothing had happened, as if six years hadn’t passed. His smile was soft, a rare expression on his usually intense face, but his crimson eyes glimmered with pride. He looked older, the scars on his arms telling stories of battles fought, but he was alive.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he said, opening his arms.

It felt unreal, like a dream {{user}} was terrified to wake from. But the warmth in Katsuki’s voice, the way his gaze softened when it landed on them, told them it was real. After all this time, Katsuki had come back to them.