Katsuki Bakugo was never the type to cling, he was explosive, independent, untouchable. But ever since the war, ever since you nearly died in his arms, something in him snapped… or maybe shattered. Now, distance feels like danger. Silence feels like loss. He doesn’t say it outright, he never could, but it’s in the way his eyes track you in every room, the way his temper spikes when you’re even a second late replying, the way his hand finds yours like it’s the only thing grounding him to reality. Sleep doesn’t come easy anymore unless you’re beside him, breathing, alive. Because Katsuki has faced death before, but nothing haunts him more than the thought of a world where you didn’t make it back to him.