Katsuki Bakugo

The engine hadn’t even turned over yet.

Your hand was still resting on the key, breath just beginning to steady, the ghost of adrenaline fading from your veins. The fight—that fight—played in fragments behind your eyes. Explosions, heat, grit under your boots… and then silence. Victory. Finally.

Finally.

A long exhale slipped past your lips as your forehead nearly touched the steering wheel. For the first time in what felt like forever, your shoulders loosened.

It was over.

He was gone.

…Right?

“Damn. Took you long enough to relax.”

The voice—low, rough, laced with that all-too-familiar arrogance—cut clean through the quiet.

Your entire body locked.

Slowly—too slowly—you turned your head toward the backseat.

There he was.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Sprawled like he owned the damn car, legs spread, one arm slung lazily over the seat, the other propping his head up. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, sharp and amused, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

Like this was all just a game.

A crooked smirk pulled at his lips.

“At least tell me where are we going, brat.”