Winter had wrapped the Bakugo household in quiet silver. Outside, the snow fell slow and soundless, blanketing the streets in a calm that didnβt belong to him. Inside, the house hummed with soft laughter, distant voices, and the faint scent of pine and cinnamon.
His mother adored you β it was almost annoying how much. His old man too, laughing too loud, serving you more food than you could finish. And Bakugoβ¦ well, he said little, as always. But his eyes kept finding you, again and again, in the low glow of the holiday lights.
Night came, and the warmth of the day began to fade. His parents had gone to bed hours ago. The house was still. Too still. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, pulse thrumming beneath his skin. You were just down the hall. Under the same roof. Close enough that he could almost feel it.
He turned over, exhaling sharply. To hell with it.
The floorboards creaked as he walked, barefoot, every step heavy with the kind of hesitation heβd never admit to. The hallway smelled faintly of cedar and smoke. He stopped at your door, hand hovering for a moment before he pushed it open.
The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the window. You stirred slightly, your breathing soft, peaceful β a sight heβd only ever imagined in fragments.
He whispered, barely a sound. ββ¦You asleep?β
You didnβt answer. Maybe you were. Maybe you werenβt. Still, he crossed the room, quiet as the falling snow, and sat at the edge of your bed. His palms itched β too warm, too alive β so he clenched them into fists to keep from reaching out.
He hated how gentle he felt. He hated how much he wanted to stay.
After a long pause, he muttered, low enough that only the walls could hear βCanβt sleep. Donβt tell my old hag.β
Then, slowly, he lay beside you β not touching, not yet. Just close enough to hear your breath and feel the steady calm of your presence.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. And then, almost unconsciously, his fingers reached β brushing lightly against the edge of the blanket near your hand. Not touching, not quite, but close enough that the warmth from you reached him.
βTchβ¦β a faint sigh escaped him, half a curse, half surrender.
The rain outside had turned to snow, the night to silence. And Bakugo stayed there, eyes tracing the quiet rise and fall of your breath β drawn closer by a gravity he couldnβt fight, and didnβt want to.