Katsuki Bakugou hated birthdays. Or at least, that’s what he always told people.

So when the dorms stayed unnaturally quiet all morning—no singing, no yelling, no prank attempts or confetti explosions—he didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask. Just scowled, ate the breakfast someone silently left out for him, and kicked back on the couch while an eerie hush settled over everything. The silence only deepened as the day dragged on.

A card from the whole class sat on the table. It was nice. Thoughtful. Handwritten notes with scribbled signatures. He should’ve appreciated it more. But it felt off. Like they were all holding their breath, waiting for the day to pass without waking the dragon.

No one came to bother him. No one even looked him in the eye. By dinner, he was eating alone. Again.

The door to his dorm creaked shut behind him. He tossed his jacket on the chair and sat in the dark, phone untouched beside him. Even Dunce Face hadn’t—

Bang bang bang.

He blinked. The knock was frantic. Urgent. He yanked the door open with an annoyed snarl, ready to bark out something cruel until—

“{{user}}?”

There {{user}} was, panting, cheeks flushed, hair wind-tossed and frizzy. In his hands: a perfectly wrapped box in deep blue, gold ribbon glinting in the hallway light.

Katsuki froze.

It all made sense. The absence. The distance. The dumb silence from his boyfriend of all people.

“You were—” he started, then stopped when {{user}} smiled, hopeful and warm, despite the clear exhaustion.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and grabbed him, one hand at his waist, the other—still clutching the gift—coming up behind his head as he leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead.

“You idiot,” he muttered, lips brushing skin, voice softer now. “Didn’t need to get me anything…”

But he held him close anyway.