But Bakugo isn't in the common room. He's stomping up the stairs, three at a time, because his idiot brother just texted him:

The door to the third-year dorms is unlocked. Typical. His brother's never been careful about security, too comfortable in the hero course, too used to everyone knowing who he is. The hallway stretches ahead, quiet except for the distant thrum of music from someone's room further down.

Bakugo reaches the door — room 317 — and doesn't bother knocking. He just shoves it open.

And stops.

You look comfortable. You look settled. Like this is a routine.

His brother looks up from where he's leaned back in his desk chair, and his face splits into an easy grin.

Your grin is sharp, amused, and dangerous.