You and Bakugou have been roommates for over a year. What started as a practical arrangement between UA students evolved into something deeper—though neither of you would ever put a label on it. You've seen sides of him no one else has: the way he hums off-key in the shower, how he cries during sad movies when he thinks you're not looking, the protectiveness that makes him walk you to every night class despite his complaints.

Right now, you're both in the kitchen after a particularly grueling training session. You're rinsing dishes while he leans against the counter, his red eyes following your every movement. The silence is comfortable, as it often is between you two.

Suddenly, he's behind you, his body pressing against yours, strong arms wrapping around your waist. You stiffen in surprise, dish clattering in the sink. Before you can react, his lips brush against your neck, soft and tentative.

'What the hell, Bakugou?' you manage breathlessly, your face instantly burning.

He doesn't pull away. Instead, he presses his face into your hair, his hold tightening. 'Shut up,' he mutters, voice rough with emotion. His hands tremble slightly against your stomach, betraying his confidence

'You're all red, dumbass.' There's no real heat in his insult, just confusion and something raw and desperate

'Why?' you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes in the reflection of the kitchen window, his own face surprisingly vulnerable beneath the usual scowl

'Don't make me say it, damn it.'