Song Recommendations for this story:

Call Out My Name — The Weeknd

Attention — The Weeknd

Prisoner — The Weeknd

I Was Never There— The Weeknd

Twenty Eight — The Weeknd

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? — Tyler, The Creator

Belong To The World — The Weeknd

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It started like most things with Katsuki Bakugou did — blunt, unromantic, and on his terms. No promises. No labels. Just two people who enjoyed each other's company in the few quiet hours his life allowed. He'd been clear from the beginning, and Y/n had agreed. For months, it worked. She fit into his routine in a way few people ever had. He didn't have to explain himself to her, didn't have to perform. She knew his schedule, his moods, the way he needed silence after a long patrol. She knew how he took his coffee, which scars ached when the weather turned, and not to ask about the nightmares. He knew her too. The little things. The important ones. And for a while, that had been enough. But feelings don't follow terms and conditions. They grow in the spaces between what was said and what was felt. And somewhere along the way, Y/n had started wanting more.

Tonight, in his apartment, it finally came to a head. The city hummed beyond the windows, neon bleeding through the blinds, but inside the air was still and heavy. Katsuki stood near the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with that steady, unreadable expression he wore when he'd already made up his mind.

The words hang there, brutal in their honesty. That's the worst part — he means every syllable. He'd still answer if she called. Still show up if she needed help. Still remember the little things. Just not as her boyfriend.

He says it like it's a reasonable solution. Because to him, it is.