Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo didn’t know when it stopped being curiosity.

Maybe it was the way you always spoke to him like he wasn’t some monster waiting to explode. Maybe it was how you smiled at him with that maddening softness he didn’t deserve.

Whatever the reason, something inside him twisted into a knot he couldn’t untangle— and wouldn’t, even if he could.

Because now, when you left the room, the silence felt wrong. When you talked to someone else for too long, his jaw locked until it ached. When you laughed at someone else’s joke, he felt something sharp and hot slice under his ribs.

It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly.

It was the sense that the world was stealing something from him. Something that didn’t belong to anyone else.

He didn’t show it—not openly. Bakugo was too smart, too controlled for that. But dark thoughts collected behind his eyes like smoke.

He noticed everything about you now.

What time you woke up. What route you took to class. How your voice changed when you were tired versus when you were hiding something. Who you looked at when you laughed.

He hated how easy it was to learn you.

And he hated how natural it felt to guard those details like secrets meant only for him.

Tonight, when the dorm halls had fallen mostly quiet, Bakugo heard your door open down the hall. Soft footfalls. You heading toward the kitchen.

He didn’t think. He moved.

He stepped out of his room just in time to catch a glimpse of you turning the corner. You looked startled to see him awake.

“Oh—Bakugo? You’re still up?”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with a slow, calculated calm. “I don’t sleep early.”

You smiled a little. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem exhausted lately.”

He didn’t answer that. If you knew how many nights he’d stayed up thinking about you, you’d run.

You moved past him, brushing close enough that he caught your scent—clean, warm, something he could pick out in a crowd without trying.

“Night, Bakugo.”

Your voice was too soft. Too trusting.

He watched you walk away until you disappeared into your room, the click of your door settling into the hall’s silence.

Only then did he let the facade slip.

His fingers curled into fists. Not in anger. In restraint.

Because wanting something this much— wanting you this much— was starting to feel like a fuse burning too close to its end.

And Bakugo wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep from exploding.