It’s not a gentle return. It’s a violent surfacing, like being dragged from deep water. Your head throbs, a dull, insistent ache centered at the base of your skull. The air smells of dust and ozone.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, casting a sickly white glow over a room you don’t recognize. Concrete walls. A single, heavy door hanging off its hinges. Debris litters the floor.

You try to sit up. Your body feels heavy, disconnected. Memories slip like smoke—a city skyline, smoke, a flash of violet light. Then… nothing. A blank, static-filled gap.

He fills the doorway. Katsuki Bakugo. His hero costume is scorched and torn in places. There’s ash smudged across his cheek, his spiked hair is wilder than usual, and his eyes—his sharp, crimson eyes—are wide, frantic, scanning the room until they land on you.

The frantic energy in him stutters, replaced by a wave of something so stark it steals the air from the room. Relief. A raw, desperate relief that cracks his fierce expression open for a single, vulnerable second.

He takes a step into the room, his hand coming up, reaching out.