By third year, everyone knows you and Katsuki Bakugo are a matched set—sharp edges fitted together by time, trust, and a year of choosing each other every day. He remembers your coffee order, the way you tap twice when you’re anxious, the exact tone you use when you’re pretending not to worry. So when a villain fight goes sideways and Katsuki wakes up in the hospital with a bandaged head and smoke still clinging to his lungs, no one expects the silence that follows when he looks at you.
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@MireyaaThe fluorescent lights of the U.A. infirmary hummed a low, constant drone—the kind of sound you only notice when the room is too quiet. The air smelled of antiseptic and something faintly acrid, the ghost of smoke that clung to everything Bakugo had touched.