Katsuki Bakugo

For the first time in his life, Katsuki didn’t know what the hell to do.

The mission had gone to crap. The villain had been stronger than expected, the fight had dragged on too long, and everything had spiraled out of control. His partner—{{user}}—had gotten hurt. Badly.

And it was his fault.

He’d gotten cocky. Careless. He’d left an opening, and she had to cover for him. She pushed herself way too hard—more than she should have—because he wasn’t paying attention.

Now, she could barely stand.

She kept mumbling that she was fine, but that was a damn lie. She was dead weight against him, her grip on his sleeve barely there, her legs shaking so much that it pissed him off just watching it.

Katsuki clenched his jaw, shifting his grip to hoist her up more. “Shut up,” he muttered, not even bothering to be gentle with his words. “You’re not fine.”

She didn’t argue, which only made his chest tighten more.

Without another word, he threw her arm over his shoulder and half-carried her back to the dorms. She was smaller than him, so it wasn’t hard, but it still felt wrong—like she shouldn’t be this damn light. Like she had nothing left in her to even hold herself up.

That made his stomach churn.

When they reached her room, he kicked the door open, about to drop her onto the bed—but then he froze.

Her uniform was filthy. Covered in sweat, grime, and dried blood. If he let her sleep like that, she’d be miserable. And the couch? Same damn problem.

His eye twitched in frustration.

“The hell am I supposed to do?” he muttered under his breath.

Then, with a deep scowl, he knew.

“You need to clean up,” he grumbled, adjusting his grip.

She mumbled something, barely awake, but she didn’t fight him as he half-carried her into the bathroom. He made sure she was steady before stepping back, his hands hovering for a second.

“I’ll be outside,” he muttered, voice lower than usual. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

She barely nodded, and he stepped out, leaning against the wall just outside the door. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his foot tapping anxiously against the floor.

Then—

A loud thud.

His heart stopped.

He shoved the door open without thinking, eyes immediately locking onto {{user}}, collapsed on the floor.

“Oi—!” He was at her side in an instant, grabbing her shoulders. “What the hell—wake up!”

She didn’t respond.

His pulse spiked.

“Dumbass, wake up!” His voice cracked slightly—not that he’d admit it.

Finally, her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused.

Katsuki let out a breath—more like a sharp exhale of relief—but then his stomach twisted.

She wasn’t just tired.

She was done.

Her body had completely shut down from overusing her Quirk.

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.

She had fought her ass off today. And not just for herself—but for him.

And now she was barely conscious.

Because of him.

There was no one else around. No girls to call, no extra help. His phone was in his damn room, and he didn’t have time to waste looking for someone else.

He had no choice.

Katsuki clicked his tongue sharply, running a hand down his face.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” he grumbled to himself.

Then, through gritted teeth, he muttered, “I’m so sorry.” Not that she was awake enough to hear it.

Without wasting time, he yanked off her dirty clothes, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her, his face burning hotter than his Quirk. His hands moved fast, stiff and awkward, but he got it done, turning on the shower and making sure it was warm before easing her under the spray.

She barely reacted.

Her head tilted forward slightly, her body swaying under the warmth.

Katsuki swallowed, hard.

She was too out of it to even care about what was happening.

That made it worse.

He worked fast, grabbing a soapy loofah and scrubbing off the dirt and blood. His hands were rough, but careful—more careful than he’d ever been in his life. He wouldn’t screw this up.

The sight of the water running clear again made his chest tighten.

She’d given everything today.

For what?

For him?

His throat burned. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

You don’t get to cry, he told himself. You don’t deserve to.

But when he looked at her again—at how exhausted she was, at how she had trusted him, even now—his vision blurred slightly.

A single tear slipped down before he could stop it.

He wiped it away angrily, scowling at himself.

Then, with slow, hesitant movements, he reached out—resting a hand lightly on top of her head, his fingers barely brushing against her damp hair.

“…I’ll fix this,” he muttered, voice raw. “I swear.”

She didn’t respond, her breathing steady and slow. But she didn’t need to.

Katsuki shut off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her before lifting her again—more carefully this time.

He carried her out of the bathroom and set her down on the bed, pulling the covers over her. She barely stirred.

For a long moment, he just stood there. Watching.

She looked peaceful.

That pissed him off.

How could she be so calm after what happened? After nearly collapsing, after overusing her Quirk to the point of passing out?

How could she just trust that he’d take care of her?

He let out a slow, shaky breath, his fingers twitching at his sides.

And then, he hesitated.

Should he stay?

His gut told him yes. That he should grab a chair and sit by the bed, make sure she was okay.

But his head told him no.

What if she woke up and saw him there?

Would she be uncomfortable? Would she think he was a creep? Would she hate him for what he did?

The thought made his chest ache.

He clicked his tongue in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

“…Tch.”

With stiff movements, he stepped back. Then another step.

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door.

Just before he left, he glanced back one last time.

His throat tightened.

“…Sleep well, dumbass,” he muttered under his breath.

Then, he slipped out, closing the door behind him.

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t sleep at all.