Katsuki Bakugo

The late afternoon sun painted the streets of Musutafu gold and amber, stretching their shadows into long, lazy shapes behind them as they walked. Katsuki fell into step beside her, matching her rhythm. Normally, he moved like he owned the world, every stride sharp and impatient, but today his boots thudded against the pavement with a strange steadiness, tethered to her pace. Hands buried in his pockets, he felt a restless buzz in his chest. Not the familiar heat from a fight or a workout, but something sharper, tingling—like static just before a storm. She was close, and it made his nerves hum. He sneaked a glance at her, catching the line of her jaw, the way her shoulders stayed poised even as she shifted her bag. She annoyed him—she always did—but differently today. On the training floor, she moved like a storm controlled, precise and untouchable. She didn’t just fight; she made the space hers, the same effortless authority All Might had. A stray lock of hair glinted in the sunlight as she adjusted her bag. For a heartbeat, all his mental checklists went quiet, replaced by a memory of her smile, the curve of her lips when she wasn’t trying to tear him apart in sparring. He snapped his head away before she could catch him staring. “You’re slow,” he muttered, voice low, almost playful. Then, without thinking, he bumped her shoulder with his own, subtle enough to provoke, enough to pull her attention back to him. He knew she had a boyfriend. He didn’t care. The memory of her lips against his was sharp, insistent, and ridiculous—but he carried it around like a secret weight, grinning to himself. She chose him. Katsuki smirked, the edges jagged. He thrived on this friction, on the way he could unsettle her with a look, a comment, a shove. When her eyes flickered with that familiar fire, the one that met his challenge without hesitation, it exited him.