𓇼

It had been fourteen days. They’d gone on dates, held hands, hugged plenty… but no kiss. Not one.

It wasn’t for lack of trying either. He’d had his chances, or so he thought. But with each time, something always got in the way.

The first time? He’d walked her home, heart racing, ready to go for it at her doorstep… only for her dad to pull into the driveway right at that exact second. Lights and all.

The second? They’d been sitting together in the park alone. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leaning in—when the sky decided to unleash a downpour and drench them.

And the third… They had been so close. Their faces literally inches apart, breaths mingling, eyes shut—and then he’d sneezed. Right on her. He still cringed every time he remembered it.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he had a plan. A foolproof, rock-solid, absolutely genius plan.

“Scary movie night,” he said aloud, pacing in front of the couch like a man preparing for battle. “She’ll get scared and sit close. I’ll put my arm around her, real smooth, and be like, ‘It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you.’ Then, she’ll look up at me, and I’ll lean in and—boom. Kiss. Success!”

He stopped, shot finger guns at his reflection in the dark screen of the TV, and whispered, “Bokuto Koutarou: master of romance.”

A knock at the door snapped him out of it.

Showtime.

He practically leapt to the door, quickly fixing his hair, and opened it with the brightest smile.

“Hey! You made it!”

“Would’ve been rude not to after all your excited texts,” yn said with a soft laugh, holding up a bag of snacks. “Hope you don’t mind me bringing reinforcements.”

“Only if I get half,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “Actually, make it more. I am providing the entertainment.”

She chuckled, brushing past him. “We’ll negotiate.”

He closed the door and watched, heart pounding, as her gaze swept over the room.

“Wow,” she murmured, her fingertips brushing over the armrest. “You really went all out.”

Bokuto couldn’t help but puff his chest a little more. “Yeah. I thought, you know, if we’re watching something, I’d set the mood.”

She smiled at him, eyes soft and warm. “That’s really sweet, Bokuto. Thanks, I like it.”

He grinned back like an idiot, his stomach doing somersaults. 

“Anything for you, beautiful,” he replied with a playful wink, because why not go for bonus points?

Her laugh was everything.

Okay. Okay, this was going great.

She got comfy under the blanket, and Bokuto sat down next to her, careful not to sit too close just yet. He needed to wait for the right moment.

“Oh, I haven’t seen this one yet,” she said, reading the title as she opened the chips. “Have you watched it?”

“Nope. But Kuroo said it’s terrifying though,” Bokuto said, stealing one chip before grabbing the remote. “He said it’d give us nightmares.”

“Want me to hold your hand through it?” she teased.

“Pfft. No way,” he scoffed, flashing a cocky smile. “But hey, if you get scared, just say the word.”

She snorted. “Please. You’re a bigger baby than me.”

“Sure, sure.” He hit play. “We’ll see who’s crying first.”

The movie started slow. Just a typical horror movie setup—a family moves into a new house that’s probably haunted. Bokuto kept sneaking glances at her, waiting for a flinch or a gasp.

Nothing.

He relaxed back, determined. She’ll get scared eventually. 

BAM!

The first jump scare hit out of nowhere. A door slammed shut behind the father down in the basement, the creepy music playing.

Bokuto jumped.

Yn cursed under her breath.

“... You good?” he asked, voice higher than usual.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound so confident.

From there, their tough fronts started to crumble.

They both leaned in unconsciously, huddled under the blanket, with their feet tucked up. The food was forgotten on the coffee table as their eyes remained glued on the screen.

“Nope. Nope. I don’t like this,” Bokuto said, raising the blanket to his chin.

“It’s gonna be in the mirror. I know it’s gonna be in the mirror,” she whispered, clutching the pillow to her chest.

The mirror scene hits, and they both jolted anyway.

And the scares just kept coming.

“Oh no. Why’s the music doing that?!” yn said, inching closer to Bokuto, when her foot brushed his.

Bokuto let out a shriek, kicking the blanket off. 

“WHAT?! WHAT HAPPENED?!”

“SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!”

“FUCK! WHERE?!”

They both flailed for a good five seconds before realizing… it was just their feet.

“…Oh,” Bokuto breathed.

And just as they settled back down—another jump scare came, causing more yelling and panic.

Soon, they were both openly hiding.

“Nope. I’m not looking at this one. You tell me what happens,” yn said, face buried in her hands.

“Forget that. I’m not looking either,” Bokuto mumbled, peeking through his fingers. “... Okay, I think it’s safe now—WAIT NO. NOT SAFE. SHE’S RIGHT THERE!”

The chase scenes were absolute chaos.

“Yes! Yes! GRAB IT—NOOO!” Bokuto shouted at the screen, slamming his fist into the pillow.

“Oh, now you run fast?” yn yelled. “Where was that energy five minutes ago, idiot?!” 

By the climax, they were fully tangled up under the blanket, gripping onto each other for dear life.

“Don’t go down there, Bobby,” Bokuto whined, clutching her arm. “You’re gonna die, man. Don’t do it.”

“He’s gonna die. Definitely,” yn muttered, deadpan.

Seconds later, Bobby died.

“BOBBY, NOOO!” yn cried, devastated.

“Goddamnit, Bobby!” Bokuto groaned, raising his hands in frustration. “I liked him!”

As the plot twist was revealed, they both gasped.

“Wait… WAIT.” Bokuto sat up, eyes wide. “DOES THAT MEAN—?!”

Yn nodded, looking horrified. “Yep. They just screwed themselves over from the start.”

The final chase had them both on edge. The last survivor sprinted through the house, the ghost in hot pursuit.

“OH FUCK, OH FUCK SHE’S GONNA DIE!” Bokuto screamed, practically latched onto yn.

“WHY ARE YOU GRABBING ME?!” she yelped, laughing despite herself.

“I’M STRESSED! HE’S RIGHT BEHIND HER!”

The girl tripped on-screen, and yn panicked, trying to cover her eyes.

“Bokuto! Let go! I can’t block my eyes—WAIT! NOO! I DON’T WANT TO SEE—!”

By the time the credits finally rolled, they were slumped against each other on the couch, completely wiped out, still half-hugging.

“... Let’s never do that again,” Bokuto muttered, voice muffled by her shoulder.

She let out a shaky laugh, still tucked close. “Agreed.”

Then—screech.

One last jump scare in the post-credits sent them screaming again as the screen went black.

Silence followed, the two of them shaken up.

“... Wanna watch cartoons before I walk you home?”

“Yes, please.”

Bokuto let out a long, exhausted sigh as he finally stumbled out of the shower, his hair still damp.

He tugged on an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, still feeling a little on edge. The damn movie spooked him. Every time he caught his reflection in the mirror, he half-expected some creepy ghost lady to show up behind him.

“Nah,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “That was just the movie.”

Still, he avoided looking directly at the mirror. Y’know. Just in case.

He flopped onto his bed, grabbing his phone to distract himself, and saw a new message waiting for him.

Kuroo [11:07 PM] yo so did you finally kiss her or what?

Bokuto froze.

Wait.

He read the message again, his brain catching up in a slow, horrifying realization.

The kiss. His whole plan.

He’d forgotten.

Like, completely.

He dropped face-first into his pillow, letting out a muffled, mortified noise.

How did I forget the kiss?!

He scrambled to reply, thumbs flying across the screen.

Bokuto [11:08 PM] DUDE I FORGOT

Kuroo responded immediately.

Kuroo [11:08 PM] LMAOOOO how???

Bokuto sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Bokuto [11:09 PM] I DON’T KNOW ONE MINUTE I WAS FINE THE NEXT I WAS YELLING AT THE SCREEN

Kuroo [11:10 PM] so you’re telling me you had her alone in your house watching a movie and your brain decided to focus on GHOSTS???

Bokuto slammed his phone down onto the pillow, eyes shut in pure regret.

He could already picture Kuroo’s smug face from here.

Still, he grabbed the phone again and typed back.

Bokuto [11:11 PM] IT WAS REALLY SCARY YOU ASSHOLE

Kuroo [11:11 PM] you’re hopeless

Bokuto groaned aloud.

Bokuto [11:11 PM] DO YOU THINK SHE THINKS I’M NOT INTO HER??

He stared at the screen, his stomach twisting.

Kuroo [11:12 PM] oh she definitely thinks something

Bokuto sat bolt upright, panic rushing in again.

Bokuto [11:12 PM] I’M GONNA TEXT HER RIGHT NOW AND EXPLAIN

Kuroo [11:12 PM] NO DO NOT BOKUTO YOU BETTER NOT SAY “SORRY I DIDN’T KISS YOU I WAS TOO BUSY BEING SCARED” TELL ME YOU DIDN’T

He laughed. “Isn’t it already the next day for you?”

“It still counts,” you said, stifling a yawn. “Besides, I wanted to see you.”

The sunlight streaming behind him cast everything golden. He was sitting on the floor, back resting against the wall near a glass veranda. You caught a glimpse of his volleyball bag off to the side, and the faint chirp of birds filtered through the open window.

“You just got back from practice?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, brushing his hair off his forehead. “Sand training. My legs are dead.”

“I bet.” You leaned your chin on your pillow, voice softer. “You look good, though.”

He ducked his head at that, smiling a little to himself. “I, uh… I got your box.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really?”

He nodded, scooting out of frame for a second. When he returned, the cardboard box was in his lap, your handwriting sprawled across the top, a cartoon sun sticker slapped beside the shipping label.

“I wanted to wait ‘til I was on call with you,” he said, even as his hands were already halfway through the flaps. “Kind of. I peeked.”

You laughed. “I knew you would.”

He grinned and started pulling things out, holding each one up proudly like treasures: compression sleeves from Kageyama, a bottle of heavy-duty sunscreen from Tsukishima with a sticky note taped to it that read ‘So you don’t fry like shrimp,’ good luck charms from Yamaguchi, a small scrapbook of Karasuno memories from Yachi, a waterproof belt bag and  mini first-aid kit from his mom.

Then came a small beaded bracelet with ‘Go Nii-chan!’ spelled out in blocky, colorful letters.

“Natsu,” he murmured, running his thumb across the beads.

He reached down again and brought out the last gift. Your gift.

A set of small glass bottle keychains, each one filled with liquid dyed soft blue. There were different shapes floating inside—a sun, a heart, a star. Each had a small bell tied to the loop, delicate and clear.

“These are…” His voice trailed off. “They’re for my bags?”

You nodded. “One for every strap, every zipper. I even tested them. They’re loud enough that you’ll hear them if they’re moved.”

You hesitated, then added quietly, “I remember how upset you were… about the wallet.”

He looked up, eyes meeting yours.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “The one from Natsu?”

He swallowed, hard. For a moment, he didn’t speak.

“She saved up,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Her own allowance. She was so proud when she gave it to me. And I just—” His voice cracked a little. “I lost it in the first few days.”

“Shoyo,” you said gently, “you didn’t mean to.”

“I know, but…” He let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh and covered his face with one hand. “I didn’t even tell her. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“You’re not a disappointment,” you said, firm and quiet. “Not to her. Not to anyone.”

He held one of the keychains between his fingers, the bell making a soft jingle.

“I miss home,” he admitted, eyes still fixed on the little bottle. “More than I thought I would.”

You nodded, holding back your own words to give him space to speak.

“I miss you,” he added. His voice cracked, soft and small. “I miss hearing your voice in person. I miss walking you home. I miss having someone to hug after a bad game. I miss—everything.”

Your heart ached in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered. “I miss you too.”

He looked at you, eyes tracing your face through the screen. “Is it bad… that sometimes I just want to give up and come back?”

“No,” you said. “That’s not bad. That’s normal. What you’re doing is hard, Sho. Of course it’s going to wear you down sometimes.”

You took a breath, eyes soft.

“But missing home doesn’t mean you’re failing. If anything, it means you care. It means you’re giving it your all.”

He blinked, breath shaky.

You smiled through your own tears. “You’re doing something really brave, Sho. You made it over there, chasing a dream most people wouldn’t even dare to try. And yeah, it sucks. It’s lonely. It’s exhausting. But look at you. Look at how far you’ve come.”

“I don’t feel brave,” he mumbled.

“You are,” you said, your voice certain. “It doesn’t always feel like it, but we see it in you. Every day you keep going, even when it’s hard—that’s bravery, Shoyo.”

Shoyo closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were wet, but clearer.

“I only have a year left,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “One more year.”

“And then I’m coming back.”

“I know.” You grinned. “And when you do, I’m going to give you the fattest, wettest kiss ever.”

He laughed through the tears, bright and unguarded. “I’m holding you to that.”

Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned a little closer to the camera, mischief lighting up his eyes.

“Better brace yourself,” he said, licking his lips with exaggerated flair. “I’ll practice slurping on spoons.”

“Ew, Sho!”

“You started it!”

The two of you laughed, carefree and weightless, as if there was no ocean, no time zone, no distance between you.

When the laughter settled, he wiped his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “God, I love you.”

Your heart swelled. “I love you too, Sho.”

He leaned closer to the camera, resting his chin on his hand, eyes still damp but soft. “Thanks for staying up. And for the gifts. And for… just being you.”

You smiled at him, full and warm. “Of course. Happy birthday, Shoyo.”

A pause.

“Keep flying, okay?”

His eyes sparkled.

“Always.”

You sighed, letting your eyes flutter shut as the pen slipped from your fingers. “Mmm… you’re going to say two,” you murmured back, your lips quirking into a smile. “Probably ‘go’ and ‘home.’”

“Funny,” he said, pressing a kiss to your nape. “I was going to say ‘come’ and ‘here.’”

A quiet laugh bubbled from your throat. You slowly turned in his arms and there he was—tired eyes, dark circles, hair tied back loosely. Stupidly handsome, as always.

You leaned up to kiss him, soft and quick, before wrapping your arms around his waist. Tucking your face in his shoulder, you breathed him in. He smelled like clean soap and night air.

It had been two months since you last saw him.

Your gaze caught on a plastic bag resting on one of the tables behind him. That hadn’t been there before, and the red logo was unmistakable.

“You brought dinner?” you asked, knowing full well it’s past 2 A.M.

He shrugged, the barest of smiles tugging at his mouth. “I figured you hadn’t eaten. Or slept. Am I wrong?”

You pinched his cheek, shifting slightly to at least pretend to hide the chaos on your desk. “You haven’t either,” you muttered, gaze flicking to the shadows under his eyes.

He chuckled, then nodded toward the couch in the corner. “Come on. Before it gets cold.”

The couch creaked beneath your combined weight as the two of you settled in. Shota set the takeout bag on the coffee table, unwrapping its contents. He handed you your portion without a word.

You accepted it with a small smile, the wrinkle of wax paper loud in the quiet room. “So,” you started, peeling back the wrapper of your burger, “what’s the occasion?”

You took a bite before he could answer, humming in content. It was only then that you realized how hungry you were.

“Your cholesterol wasn’t high enough,” he replied dryly, popping a nugget into his mouth.

You laughed, stealing one for yourself. “How romantic.”

“I try.” He smirked, nudging the nugget container closer to your side.

“But seriously, didn’t you have patrol tonight?” you said around a mouthful. “And it’s a school day tomorrow too.”

“I switched shifts,” he said. “And I’m not staying long. Just for a few hours.”

Your heart warmed at that. Of course he’d trade rest for this. For you.

You ate in silence for a few minutes, but you didn’t mind. It felt nice to share a meal like this again, a sliver of normalcy in your sleepless world. You didn’t realize how much you’d miss this. How grounding it was to just be next to him.

You glanced at him.

As you chewed, a few strands of your hair slipped loose, falling over your eyes. You tried blowing them away with a breath, though unsuccessfully.

Then, without a word, Shota leaned forward. Fingers brushed your hair back behind your ear, the backs of them lingering against your cheek for a beat too long. You felt the warmth trail after them like a tide pulling back, slow and reluctant.

“What?” he said, but his mouth curved into that lazy, knowing smile.

“Nothing,” you murmured, and turned away.

Your eyes dropped to his mouth and found a smudge of ketchup near the corner, barely noticeable.

Without thinking, you reached over, wiped it away with your thumb, and licked it clean like it was second nature.

And it was. You’d done it before, countless times.

But the way he looked at you, you’d think it was the first time.

“That was kinda hot,” he murmured, voice amused but soft.

You huffed a laugh, gently nudging his shoulder. “That’s all it takes to get you going? You’re more sleep-deprived than I thought.”

His chuckle vibrated against your palm, but that look—that wasn’t him getting turned on. Not even close.

Then, without warning, he said, “I missed you.”

You paused, the words landing somewhere deep.

Shota never said things like that first. 

You usually had to tease it out of him, pull it loose behind a wall of dumb jokes and half-hearted grumbling. And even then, he’d deflect, tossing some excuse like, “The cats keep looking for you,” or “The bed’s too cold.”

Yet, here he was, handing it over without a fight.

You put your food down slowly, more carefully than needed, as if sudden movement might startle the moment away. After a pause, you wiped your fingers with a napkin and shifted closer to him.

Then, you leaned in, resting your head against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was warm, soft from too many washes.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you exhaled, long and quiet, letting go of something you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I missed you too,” you murmured, cheeks warm. “Even when you’re here right now.”

There was a brief silence. Then came the low rumble of his voice, deadpan and almost fond.

“You always get like this when I say nice things.”

But he didn’t pull away. If anything, his shoulder stayed steady beneath your cheek. He tilted his head, just enough to rest his cheek against yours. The bristle of his stubble scraped your skin, and something fluttered low in your stomach.

You snorted. “Wow. Groundbreaking observation. What’s next? ‘Water’s wet’? ‘Sky’s blue’?” 

You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, already rolling yours. “Yes, Shota, when you’re nice, I like it. I know. Shocking.”

His lips twitched, trying to hold back a grin. “Damn. With this level of skill, I think I deserve a promotion.” 

His hand slid up your shoulder and gently pushed, guiding you back into the cushions as he shifted to hover above you. His weight didn’t press—but the suggestion of it was there.

“What’s above a detective again…?”

You burst out laughing, half at awful innuendo, half at the ridiculous way his eyebrows wiggled. “Oh my god. That was so bad.”

He didn’t budged, still caging you in, but his smirk softened. “Worked on you, though, didn’t it?”

“Barely.” You shoved at his chest—half-hearted and not really trying. His presence was solid, familiar. And oddly comforting. “And the answer is nothing, because you’d be a terrible boss.”

“Oh, really?” he murmured, dipping his headcloser. “You weren’t complaining when I bossed you around in bed last time.”

You squinted. “Perv.”

But you didn’t move. And neither did he. Until his mouth found yours.

The kiss started slow, gentle. His lips moved with unhurried certainty, like he had nowhere else to be, like this was the only thing on his list tonight. You curled your fingers into the front of his shirt, already halfway to dragging him closer when—

Your stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl. It sounded halfway between a snarl and a dying cat.

Shota froze, lips still hovering close. “... Wow.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your face. “I’m hungry, okay?”

“Clearly.”

He stayed where he was for another second, intentionally putting his weight on you just to be difficult. And your stomach made another dramatic complaint.

He chuckled, finally easing off you and helping you sit up. “Alright, alright.”

He reached for the abandoned takeout, pressing it back into your hands like it was a peace offering.

“Here,” he said. “Eat. Before you start chewing on me.”

As you both settled back into the food, the conversation drifted easily into life updates. You told him bits about the case, nothing sensitive, just the parts that frustrated you most. He listened the way he always did, never offering solutions unless you asked for them. Just letting you talk, until you didn’t need to anymore.

You rolled your eyes but took the burger anyway, biting into it with a vengeance.

Then, as if on instinct, you kicked him lightly in the shin.

He didn’t even flinch.

In return, he gave you updates from U.A.—small things, subtle milestones, the kind of stories that made you realize just how far you’d slipped from the normal rhythm of life. And how much you’d missed it.

“Oh, right,” you said as the last of the wrappers were balled up and tossed into the bin.

You crossed the room to your desk, rummaging through one of the drawers until your fingers closed around a white envelope. It was pristine, elegant, embossed with delicate swirls that shimmered faintly in the light.

“Kaede and Ren got engaged,” you said, offering the envelope as you returned to the couch.

The words came out too carefully, like you were reciting a report rather than sharing news.

Shota raised an eyebrow, fingers brushing over the embossed edge. “Really?”

“Yeah. Sent us an invite. It’s next spring,” you said, watching him too closely as he opened it. “She says she’s thinking of quitting the field too. Maybe start a consultancy firm instead.”

He nodded slowly, skimming the invitation before sliding it back into the envelope and leaving it on the coffee table.

You bit your lip. Why was this so hard? You weren’t asking for a promise. Not even a plan. Just a thought. A possibility.

But the fear was there, coiled tight in your stomach.

What if he hadn’t considered it at all? 

What if you were the only one letting your mind wander there?

You didn’t talk about these things. Not unless they were buried under sarcasm or deflection. And even then, only when you were brave enough to pretend you weren’t serious.

But tonight, with that envelope glowing white against the dark wood, and with his warmth pressed beside you after too many nights apart, the words just hung on the tip of your tongue, desperately wanting to be said.

You glanced at him sideways, heart hammering. “Does that… ever cross your mind? Stuff like that?”

He didn’t answer right away. 

But he didn’t look away either.

“Sometimes,” he said at last. “Lately, more often.”

You nodded, your fingers toying with a napkin, twisting it slowly. 

“I never used to think about it,” you said. “I was always focused on work. And I thought… what we have, it’s enough.”

And then, with a rush of panic, you waved your hands in front of him.

“And it is,” you rushed to say. “It still is. I just—”

You exhaled shakily. “I’m starting to realize how temporary everything is. How one day you’re this invincible twenty-something and the next you’re watching everyone move forward while you’re still…” 

The sentence crumbled under its own weight, the rest of the thought too vulnerable to voice.

Your gaze dropped, voice softer. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if wanting more than what we already have—on what we agreed on—makes me… selfish.”

The word tasted bitter in your mouth.

You hadn’t meant to say any of it. These were just silly thoughts, the kind that came in waves after too many hours at your desk, when you passed a bridal shop and your reflection lingered in the glass, or when you found yourself staring at high chairs in restaurants, imagining a tiny hand reaching for yours.

Just stupid yearnings you tucked away before it could take root.

You shook your head, trying to laugh. “No, forget it. That was dumb,” you muttered. “I’m probably just missing you too much.”

The attempt at humor didn’t land, not even with yourself.

Shota shifted closer. His hand found yours, threading your fingers together.

“I don’t think wanting more is selfish,” he said, his voice low but certain. “And it’s not dumb.”

You stared at your hands, at the way his thumb moved in circles against your skin. “But we agreed—”

“We agreed on what made sense then,” he cut in. “That doesn’t mean we can’t want something different now.”

You fell quiet. And then, softly, almost as if he wasn’t sure you’d believe it—

“You’ve never asked for more than I could give. Not once. Even when you should have. So… be selfish. It’s okay.”

Your chest tightened. 

Of course he knew. 

Of course he’d noticed all the ways you held back. The weekends you gave up without complaint. The way you buried your feelings when his schedule didn’t align. The way you told yourself—and him—that you didn’t need anything else.

You thought you were being understanding. Strong. Low-maintenance. 

But he’d seen you. All of you.

And now, hearing it out loud, hearing him say it, had you remembering all the words you’d swallowed. But for once, they didn’t taste so bitter.

He exhaled. “I know I’m not easy. My job, the hours, the unpredictability… And yours is just as bad.” His eyes searched yours, steady and dark. “That’s why we told ourselves this was enough. Because we used to think people like us weren’t meant for that kind of thing.”

His fingers curled tighter around yours, guiding you gently into his arms. He pulled you in, tucking you beneath his chin.

“But right now,” he murmured, “it doesn’t sound so far away anymore. Doesn’t sound so foolish. Even if it’s messy. Even if we’re scared sometimes. If it’s with you… it’s something I’d want. And—”

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

You felt it in the way his fingers stilled, in the subtle shift of his breath. For all the steadiness in his voice earlier, this part had been harder for him to say.

Your heart softened. 

Shota never fumbled his words, not even under pressure. Apparently even he had his limits.

So you tilted your head toward him, voice no louder than the hush between heartbeats. “And?”

He looked down at you, gaze steady. Open. “And I wonder,” he said quietly, “if it’s something you’d want… with me.”

You almost laughed, but it came out as a shaky breath instead.

Not because it was funny, but because the weight you’d been carrying—years of quiet yearning, careful restraint—suddenly felt so light.

All that time spent tiptoeing, stuffing those dreams into the corners of your mind, convincing yourself not to need too much… and he’d been thinking the same things all along.

You’d both been afraid. Overthinking the same silences.

But here you were.

Asking the same question.

And finally wanting the same answer.

“Of course I do,” you whispered, words thick with emotion as you hugged him tighter. “I always have.”

Something in you finally let go.

It hadn’t broken anything. Saying it out loud hadn’t made it fragile. If anything, it had stitched the two of you closer—tightened something that had already been strong for years, but now felt even more solid. More real.

“I mean,” you added, blinking quickly to fight the sting behind your eyes, “I wouldn’t stick around for eight years with your grumpy ass if I didn’t want to.”

That earned a small huff against your temple. The tension in his shoulders eased all at once, and you felt the exact moment his smirk formed.

“Grumpy, huh?” he murmured, mock-offended.

“You scowl, like, constantly.”

“I’ve saved cities with this face.”

You pulled back, snorting. “Yeah, by making villains think you’re one of them.”

His hand dragged lazily up your arm, warm and familiar. “You’re not exactly sunshine yourself, detective. Didn’t you threaten to arrest me the first time we met?”

You scoffed, indignant. “You were covered in blood and refused to answer any questions.”

“I did answer,” he said. “I told you it was mine.”

“After fifteen minutes of silence,” you shot back. “And only when I blocked the exit.”

You could still remember that moment with startling clarity—the way his capture weapon had twitched when you stepped into his path, the way your quirk had hummed under your skin, ready to activate. A standoff between two overworked, underslept people with too much pride and no patience.

“I was trying to avoid paperwork,” he muttered, but there was no edge to it now. Only warmth and a hint of amusement.

“And I was doing my job,” you said. “Some scruffy stranger ducking out before forensics arrived? Covered in blood? Yeah, forgive me for finding that suspicious.”

A beat. 

Then you both cracked.

Soft laughter spilled out between you, warm and unguarded.

He shook his head, his eyes crinkling faintly at the corners. “We’re so stupid.”

“Mmm. Speak for yourself,” you said, smirking. “I’m delightful.”

Shota rolled his eyes, but his grin gave him away. “Sure. That’s why I keep coming back. For the delight.”

“Damn right.”

Your smirk barely had time to settle before he leaned in. His lips ghosted over yours, not kissing, just letting you feel the possibility of it. It was enough to steal the smugness right off your face.

“Oh, screw you,” you muttered, and kissed him first.

He chuckled against your mouth, the sound low and warm, vibrating between your lips as you tugged him in by the collar. It started off soft, familiar, but the way he gripped your waist told you exactly where this was headed. There was no rush, but no hesitation either.

“I love you,” he murmured in between kisses, just barely.

Your breath hitched. Fingers stilled against his shirt.

But before you could say anything back, he took advantage of the pause—your lips parted and your guard down. He kissed you deeper, rougher. Tongue sliding in, stealing the words right out of your mouth.

By the time you pulled back, flushed and breathless, his hands had already started roaming. One arm circled your waist, pulling you flush against him; the other palmed your chest through your blouse. He gave a squeeze, and you let out a startled snort, half scandalized, half amused at the sheer nerve.

“Are we really doing this on my couch?” you breathed, not quite stopping him.

He glanced around, casual. “There’s a desk right there.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you mumbled, swatting at his arm.

“What?” he said, unbothered. “You were complaining.”

“Shota—”

“So the desk thing’s a no?”

You narrowed your eyes, already fighting a grin. “I thought you already knew I like it when you take charge.”

He laughed hard, his hand sliding beneath your thighs. 

You barely had time to react before he lifted you, strong and steady, his breath brushing your cheek as he carried you the short distance across the room. Mischief burned in his eyes. You could’ve walked, but that wasn’t the point.

He set you down on your desk with a soft thud, knocking over a pen holder in the process. Neither of you cared. Not when his fingers were already working open the buttons of your blouse, slow but practiced, like he knew the exact rhythm that would drive you just a little crazy.

The fabric slid open and his mouth followed—shoulder, collarbone, a scrape of teeth that pulled a quiet sound from your throat.

You arched into him, gasping, and tugged at the hem of his shirt in return. Your hands slipped underneath, dragging your nails lightly up his back.

He shivered. And you smiled.

You loved that. How easy it was to unravel him. How willingly he let you.

You tipped forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I love you too,” you whispered.

And just before things went further—before more clothes hit the floor, before the night dissolved into heat and motion—you cradled his face in your hands. 

You kissed him one more time. Gentle. Devoted. 

A seal on all the things left unspoken yet deeply and undeniably present.

Whatever the future held, you’d figure it out.

Together.

The lights were off, save for the faint glow of a desk lamp behind them—left on, probably, as an afterthought in the mess they’d made of the office.

The couch cushions shifted beneath his weight. 

Yn lay draped over him, her bare skin warm against his, cheek pressed to his chest, her breath slow. One leg curled between his. A hand rested lazily over his ribs. She was heavier now than she’d been an hour ago.

He wasn’t tired. Not yet.

His fingers moved through her hair, slow and steady. She liked that, or at least, she didn’t ask him to stop. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe not. He didn’t move to check, not wanting to disturb her. 

The silence was soft here, and they didn't get much of it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing with her. Letting the heat between them fade. Letting his body cool and settle.

She smelled like him now. Like night air and sweat and something sweet beneath it all.

He liked that more than he probably should.

They’d done this before, more than a few times. On couches, in beds, cheap hotel rooms. Hell, once on the floor of the dorms, curled up in his sleeping bag after she’d shown up past midnight with exhaustion in her voice and dirt on her boots. They were good at this—at catching up, making space, carving time out of whatever cracked hours they had left.

It always meant something.

But tonight felt different.

Not because of what they did.

Because of what they said.

His eyes opened again and he looked down at her.

Her lashes cast faint shadows across her cheekbones. Her lips were slightly parted, breath brushing warm against his chest. She looked… relaxed. Completely.

That was new.

Even asleep, yn was usually tense—wired from caffeine and adrenaline, her body half-braced for whatever new emergency might pull her from rest. But now… now, she was still. And Shota wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her this peaceful before.

His hand slipped from her hair, tracing slowly down the line of her spine. Not sexual, he’d done that plenty earlier. This was just… feeling her. Like he was mapping something fragile and didn’t want to leave a mark.

She shifted slightly, murmuring something in her sleep he couldn’t quite hear. Her face nuzzled further into his chest.

And that’s when he saw her hand again, splayed over his ribs. Unguarded and vulnerable.

He reached for it gently, cradling it on his own.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, then down toward her ring finger.

And paused there.

Shota had never been a romantic. He wasn’t built for that kind of thing. Marriage had always sounded like too much noise, too many expectations. He didn’t think he had space for it in his life, and he didn't want to be someone else’s obligation.

He knew what it meant to be loved with conditions.

And worse, what it meant to love in spite of them.

But yn… she never asked him for more than he could give.

Never once made him choose.

And now, with her asleep on his chest, her hand in his, her ring finger bare beneath his thumb—he wondered, not for the first time, if maybe he could give her more.

Not because she asked.

Because he wanted to.

Not now. Not tomorrow. But someday.

When the world was a little quieter. When the nights weren’t quite so short.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to that ring finger. A soft, fleeting brush. Nothing she’d feel. But maybe something he’d remember.

She stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.

He exhaled through his nose, then tucked her hand to his chest. His other arm came around her, drawing her in closer, as if to shield her from the weight of everything outside this room.

He closed his eyes.

His boots tapped against the polished tile—at least, he assumed they did. These days, sound was more of a memory. His hearing aids buzzed softly in his ears, letting in pieces of the world like light through cracked glass. Voices blurred, distant and muddled. Sharp one moment, swallowed the next.

He still wore them though. Most days. When he remembered.

He stopped by the reception desk. The nurse glanced up, clearly recognizing him. Pro-hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite wasn’t exactly subtle, even in civilian clothes. 

He didn’t bother speaking.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly wrinkled sticky note—bright yellow with a tiny inked flower blooming in the bottom corner. Yn had given it to him months ago, back when he'd muttered—half ashamed—how much he hated asking people to repeat themselves.

The message was simple:

Hi. I’m hard of hearing. Can you write things down for me, please?

He held up his phone next, showing a photo of yn—caught mid-laugh, paint smudged on her wrist, eyes shining with something quiet and untouchable.

The nurse smiled gently and scribbled something on a notepad, turning it toward him.

She’s on the third floor. Art event today.

He nodded his thanks and made for the elevator, the paper note folded carefully back into his pocket.

As he waited for the elevator doors to open, he let himself replay the conversation from this morning.

“I’m losing my hearing,” he’d said, blunt and brief. “It’s almost gone.”

He expected disbelief. Or pity. Or those strained silences people always gave when they didn’t know what to say.

But it didn’t come.

Kirishima just slammed a hand on his shoulder, grin bright and unwavering. “Damn, man. That’s rough. But you’re still gonna kick ass, right? You’ll figure it out. And if you need backup, we’ve got you.”

Kaminari blinked, then leaned forward, curiosity overtaking any hesitation. “Wait, so does this mean you won’t hear me when I’m being annoying? Sweet—uh, I mean, not sweet, but—can I learn sign language just to mess with you?” He grinned, dodging the half-hearted swipe Bakugo took at him. 

Sero snorted. “Dude, you already ignore us half the time. What’s the difference?” When Bakugo glared, Sero held up his hands. “Kidding, kidding. But seriously, if you ever need us to repeat shit or write stuff down, just say the word.”

Mina didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, new rule. We’re all taking sign language classes. Also, don’t think this gets you out of game night. We will mime everything if we have to.”

And Deku—the one who’s known him longest, who’s seen him at his worst and his best—didn’t even flinch. His eyes remained steady, analyzing, before he nodded once. “You’ve already been adjusting, haven’t you? The way you’ve been positioning yourself in fights, relying more on visuals…” Of course he noticed. “You’ll still be one of the best. And… if you want help finding resources, or training workarounds, I’m here.”

No one stiffened. No one treated him like he was broken. And that hit harder than he’d thought it would.

And now, standing alone in the quiet of the hospital, he wasn’t sure if it made the weight in his chest had eased or fucking doubled.

The elevator dinged.

He stepped inside, pressed the third-floor button, and leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t here for anything urgent. Wasn’t even sure what he planned to say.

He just… needed to see yn.

They’d met a few months ago when his hearing started going to shit. She was always here, a familiar figure in the waiting rooms and hallways, worn hospital bracelets like second skin. At first, she was just a girl with the tired eyes and bright laugh who somehow made the place feel less suffocating. 

But she was more than that. 

She understood, really understood, what it felt like when your body turned against you.

He hadn’t expected to find someone like that in the middle of this nightmare.

Yet there she was. Her presence, gentle and steady, made it easier to breathe. She didn’t pry. Didn’t talk just to fill the silence. And she knew exactly how to sit with this kind of slow pain that didn’t have clean answers.

But when he needed it most, she always seemed to know what to say to help him hold his shit together.

The doors open, scattering his thoughts like startled birds. Before he could gather them again, his feet carried him out.

The third floor was loud.

Not in sound—Bakugo barely caught snippets of laughter and the thuds of feet—but in color, in motion. The hallway was lined with drop cloths and plastic sheets taped across the walls and floor. Furniture had been pushed back. Paint buckets sat open, and kids ran by waving paintbrushes like flags.

It smelled like wet acrylics and masking tape.

Bakugo didn’t need to ask who was responsible.

“Hey! No paint in anyone’s eyeballs, got it?” came a voice from further down the hall. “We want windows, not lawsuits!”

He turned the corner just in time to see yn balancing a tray of mini palettes, swerving between kids and elderly patients like it was a practiced dance. A brush was tucked behind her ear. Paint dotted her sleeves. Her smile was effortless.

And then her eyes met his.

She brightened instantly. “Bakugo,” she called, walking over. “You don’t have an appointment today, right?”

Bakugo shook his head and signed stiffly, fingers sharp with feigned disinterest, “Had extra time. Figured I’d see what you’re up to.”

Yn didn’t miss a beat. She was fluent by now, between her own years in this hospital and months of chatting with him.

“Oh, so you missed me,” she signed back with a cheeky grin, handing him a clean smock. “Got it.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t refuse it. He slipped it on, its sleeves straining around his biceps, while surveying the windows. Every one of them, long panes stretching the whole corridor, was already a riot of color—splashes of sky blue, cartoon suns, stick figure heroes, one ambitious mural of a dragon and a bakery somehow mashed together.

“What the hell is all this?” he asked aloud this time.

Yn adjusted her stance, instinctively positioning herself so he could see her lips, just in case he hadn’t caught her words. They’d practice this enough that she didn’t even think about it now. 

“Window canvases,” she said. “They’re replacing the glass soon, so I asked if we could paint on them instead of just throwing them out. Figured it’d be good fun for the others. Plus, my friend’s gallery agreed to exhibit them, so they get recycled and displayed. Cool, right?”

Bakugo folded his arms. “Let me guess—you bribed the staff, didn’t you?”

“Hey! I got permission from the hospital director,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “Now quit stalling and help me out.”

They spent the next hour darting between stations. Yn played the ringleader—passing out fresh brushes, hyping up shaky stick figures like they were masterpieces. Bakugo kept a closer eye, steadying ladders, pulling kids away from spilled paint, reminding a particularly rowdy pair of teens not to paint each other’s faces again.

It was loud. It was uncoordinated. It was a mess.

And it was… nice.

He wasn’t giving orders or chasing down villains, but he could still do something here. Still be useful.

One of the older patients tugged on his sleeve, holding up a brush. She pointed to the top corner of her window, then mimed her arm not reaching.

Bakugo didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a chair, climbed up, and filled in the empty corner with simple strokes of yellow.

When he stepped back down, the woman gave him a toothy grin and signed, slowly but clearly, “Thank you.”

He blinked. Then nodded, almost sheepishly.

Yn watched it all with a warm, quiet smile.

By the time the last of the patients shuffled off to their rooms, the floor had fallen quiet.

The sunset bled through the painted windows in long, glowing streaks. Everything was bathed in amber. Where once there was sterile white, there was now a wash of color—skies, forests, tiny heroes flying beside flowers, scrawled messages of hope and names written with confidence.

Bakugo stood at the center of it all, arms folded, head tilted back. Even the ceiling had caught a few stray splashes. The low hum of his hearing aids filled the silence, a steady static he’d grown used to. Tonight, it felt less like noise, and more like… presence.

Yn drifted to his side, her shoulder nudging his.

“Think they’ll let me do this again next year?” she asked, voice light and teasing.

Bakugo huffed. “Not if they see what you did to the walls.”

“They’re covered. Mostly.” She gestured to the plastic sheets still clinging to the walls, though tiny paint splatters had seeped into the creases. “Besides, they're repainting the whole floor anyway. I just… sped things along.”

He shook his head, a low laugh slipping out despite himself. He glanced over. Her hair clung to her forehead, cheeks flushed, fingertips stained in streaks of color. Despite the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders, triumph sparkled in her eyes.

“You did good,” he signed. Hands slower than usual, but sure.

She didn’t hesitate to sign back. “You helped.”

He looked away at that. His hand twitched at his side before he shoved it into his pocket.

A moment passed.

Then another.

“I… told them,” he muttered, more to the empty hallway than to her. Fuck if he knew why. Maybe just to prove it mattered. “The other heroes. Told ‘em I can’t hear for shit anymore.”

Yn didn’t react. She just waited, giving him space to let it out.

Bakugo stared out at the windows, jaw tight. “I didn’t think I’d be able to say it. But I did. Told ‘em I’m still learning sign, still working on reading lips. But I’d still… probably need someone to help interpret if my aids crap out. Might miss shit or mess up.”

A pause. And his throat worked again. “I didn’t expect them to—to take it so well. Just an, ‘Okay. We’ll adjust.’ They didn’t even look at me like I was broken.”

Yn’s hand settled on his shoulder, the touch feather-light. “Because you’re not.”

“But I’m slower now. I can’t do the same field work. Can’t hear civilians shouting. That used to fuck with me so much.” He exhaled sharply. “But they said they’d work with me. That they’d adapt or whatever.”

“Then that’s their call,” she said, shrugging. “They know what they’re signing up for. And they asked you to stay anyway.”

His gaze flicked to hers. Something tight and uncertain lingered beneath the surface.

“You ever think people say that shit just to be nice?” he asked, voice scraping low. “Like, they believe it now, but deep down, they still think you’re… a liability?”

Yn paused, thoughtful. Then tilted her head. “Would you?”

Bakugo blinked. His mouth twitched. “Fuck no.”

“Then why assume they would?” she asked, sliding her hand down his arm to catch his hand. “They’re not stupid, Bakugo. They’re pros. They know what a liability looks like. I don’t think they’d risk the safety of people on someone they didn’t believe in.”

His brow furrowed, mind scrambling to find the flaw in her logic. There had to be one.

As if sensing his spiral, she cut through with quiet certainty. “You’re not weak, Bakugo.” The word landed deliberately, dismantling his unspoken fear. “You’re just changing. That doesn’t diminish who you’ve always been.”

Bakugo was silent. He let her words sit, feeling its weight. Then, slowly, his hand turned, fingers lacing with hers.

“I just… I get scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “Not about being deaf. About being fucking useless.” His thumb brushed her knuckle, an unconscious plea. “I thought it meant I was done. That I couldn’t be a hero anymore.”

“You’re not done. You’re just learning a new way to fight,” she said, her voice was softer but the steel beneath it never wavered. “And if anyone’s stubborn enough to make it work? It’s you.”

She leaned in until their shoulders touched, forcing his gaze up. “Imagine it—first deaf hero in the charts. Kids with hearing loss seeing someone like them up there.” Then her smile widened, teasing again. “Unless… you’re actually considering retirement?”

He snorted, real and unguarded. “No fuckin’ way.”

“Then you’re not done.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Because you get to decide that.”

Her words sat in his chest like a live wire.

Bullshit. 

Heroism was supposed to be hard. He'd welcomed that—the broken ribs, the sleepless nights, the impossible choices. But this wasn't another challenge to overcome. It was a permanent fucking handicap. Deafness wasn’t an enemy he could punch. It was a door slammed in his face.

But.

His hands flexed against his thighs. The same hands that had once sparked with explosions now knew the shape of signs. The same body that had lunged into battle without hesitation now calculated angles, light, vibrations—workarounds.

Was that weakness? Or just another fight?

The hospital hallway stretched too bright, too quiet. He could still see the other heroes’ faces when he’d told them. No flinching. No whispers. Just nods, quick adjustments. They planned to work around it. Like pros. Like equals.

Bakugo slowly felt the warmth of her hand then.

He gritted his teeth. Fuck. A long-buried memory resurfaced—one he’d almost let slip away.

Heroism wasn't about perfection. It was about persistence. About dragging yourself through hell with whatever pieces you still had, just to keep the light in others’ eyes.

A breath shuddered out of him. Fine. Fine. If the world wanted to count him out over something like this, they’d learn the same damn lesson they always did.

Because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t lose. Not to villains. Not to fate.

And definitely not to himself.

He breathed out slowly. His heart beat steady in his chest.

And then, with absolutely no warning, he reached out and ruffled her hair with excessive vigor, fingers combing through the strands just to wreck them completely. 

“The hell?” he asked, voice full of forced insult, but his touch was gentle. “Since when did you get smart enough to say shit like that?”

Yn squeaked, batting his hand away. But she didn’t move far. Because she felt it, too—the way his hand hovered for a moment too long. Shaking, not from strain, but from everything it took to admit he was scared.

She could’ve called it out. Could’ve gone soft. Instead, she smirked and poked his cheek. “Says the guy who needed me to spell it out for him,” she fired back.

He scoffed, but his hand lingered, sliding from her hair to cradle her cheek. His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone—lighter than his usual rough handling, but just as deliberate. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping to something dangerously close to tender. “Guess I needed that.”

He barely heard it, but he saw her breath hitch.

“Oi.” His squint was all mock-suspicion as his thumb brushed the flush spreading across her skin. “The hell's this, huh? Sunburn?”

“Shut up.” She tried to twist away, but his grip shifted to her chin, holding her in place.

“Ain't wearing makeup,” he mused, leaning closer. “So unless you're running a fever—”

“I swear to god—”

“—must be me.” The smirk in his voice was audible. “Damn. That's embarrassing for you.”

She huffed, but didn’t pull back this time. Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, right over his chest.

The light from the painted windows spilled across her face just then, making her eyes look like they were glowing. Blue paint smudged her cheek, a messy contrast to the red flush beneath it. And her lips, damn it, they looked so soft. So inviting.

He’d imagined this. More than he’d ever admit. Would she go all soft and sigh, feeling warm like her hugs or laughter? Or would it be all teeth and fire, like when she’d snap a comeback with that infuriating grin, leaving him itching for more? God, either would ruin him.

Bakugo leaned closer, their noses brushing. “Hey… I’ve been thinking—”

And then her body tipped.

His reflexes moved before his thoughts did.

He caught her easily, arms looping around her middle as her knees buckled. Her head dropped lightly against his chest, her weight sudden but familiar.

“Shit,” he muttered, adjusting her in his hold.

Her breathing was soft, even. Completely out like a light.

Right. Her sleep spells.

She’d explained them the first time it happened—some kind of neurological disorder with no warning signs or real triggers. One moment she was awake, the next she was out cold, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings. She’d joked that her brain had a faulty “off switch.” Nothing dangerous, just… inconvenient. That’s what she called it.

But it still scared the hell out of him every time.

“Ruined the moment, idiot,” he mumbled, brushing her hair back.

She didn’t respond, obviously. Just nuzzled unconsciously into his chest like she always did when this happened.

Bakugo sighed and looked around.

The hallway was empty. Lit gold. Quiet

He stood there for a long minute, holding her steady, his heartbeat slow in his ears. Her weight wasn’t heavy. Just… warm.

This wasn’t the kind of saving he was used to.

No villains. No collapsing buildings. No flash of cameras or crowd roaring after.

But maybe… that was okay.

Maybe saving people wasn’t always about being the strongest. Sometimes, it was holding someone when they fell. Watching over a hallway of kids so they could paint suns. Catching a brush before it hit the floor.

He looked back at the art. 

At the handprints. 

The names. 

The hope.

Bakugo exhaled.

Yeah. He could still be a hero like this, too.

When yn woke up, the first thing she noticed was the dim lighting. It was night outside, the curtains pulled but still faintly glowing at the edges. The overhead light cast a soft halo around the room—just enough to see by.

The second thing she noticed was the dry taste in her mouth and the dull ache in her back, which meant she’d been out for a while.

The third thing she noticed was the very broad figure slouched in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed and chin tucked low against his chest.

Bakugo.

He was fast asleep. His hearing aids were out and tucked into a little case on the table beside her water cup. His hair was messy, a smear of green paint still streaking one forearm like a leftover memory of the day.

Yn blinked at him, a slow warmth blooming in her chest.

“You could’ve gone home, dummy,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. Of course not.

She pushed herself up slowly, limbs stiff but cooperative.

The motion must’ve stirred him, because Bakugo’s eyes cracked open a second later. Red, sleep-heavy, a little bleary.

He blinked, squinted at her. Then straightened with a quiet grunt, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re up.”

“Was I out long?” she rasped, reaching for the water.

He grabbed his hearing aids and slid them in. “Five hours.”

“Mm. That’s not bad.”

He gave her a flat look. “You missed dinner.”

She smiled, unbothered. “Worried I wouldn’t get my pudding cup?”

“I ate your pudding cup.”

She laughed. “You thief.”

“It was melting,” he said, smug.

She looked at him for a long moment.

The curve of his shoulders. The stupidly hot smirk. The stubborn warmth in the way he always stayed, even when it wasn’t convenient.

Then, she held her arms out with all the drama she could summon. “Pity hug. Now, you monster.”

He gave her a look—half amused, half exasperated—but stood up anyway and leaned down to hug her, arms looping around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands found the back of his neck, fingers toying lightly with the tips of his hair.

He didn’t pull away. Just rested his forehead against hers, eyes half-lidded and soft.

“Did I miss anything?” she murmured.

“Mm. Something pretty major,” he murmured back. “Life-changing, even.”

She chuckled. “Can I still experience it? Or was it a one-time thing?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a lifetime thing.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect. There was too much grinning, too many half-laughs between presses of lips. But it was good. Warm. A tiny pocket of peace carved out of everything else.

And then, it changed. Just a little. He leaned in again, his hand sliding lower, and lips parting with unsubtle intent.

Yn made a sound of protest, half chuckle, half warning, and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Hey,” she said, breathless. “We are in a hospital.”

“No one’s watching,” he muttered, cocky. “I’ll be quick.”

“Bakugo,” she warned, trying to look stern.

His grin went lopsided. “Be glad I waited ‘til you were awake. I was tempted earlier.”

She groaned. “Oh my god.”

But she was still tangled in him, still laughing, and he looked unbearably pleased with himself.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment—gentle, polite, and clearly a nurse’s way of saying wrap it up, Romeo.

Bakugo sighed dramatically. “There goes our chance…”

“Text me when you get home, all right?” she said, hand still on his chest, ignoring his whining.

He leaned in, kissing her forehead. “I can smuggle you out, you know.”

She flicked his arm. “Out. Go. Before they revoke your visitation rights.”

He laughed and headed toward the door, pausing just before he stepped through.

“Oh,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder. “By the way. You’re my girlfriend now. Just letting you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. That’s it? No asking?”

He shrugged. “I figured the kissing made it pretty clear.”

She tried not to smile, but failed. “Fine. But you’re buying me pudding next time.”

“Noted.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Yn lay back against the pillows and let the silence settle.

Officially dating a half-deaf, overly-confident exasperating pro hero with a pudding problem.

Not exactly how she thought the day would end.

But it felt good. Solid. Like something she could lean into without fear of breaking it.

Her voice was warm, surprised, still so easy to recognize.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses to buy a second. “Huh. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same to you,” she laughed, digging into her pocket before handing him a handkerchief. “Here. You look like a drowned cat.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, blinking at the tiny cartoon bunnies printed across the fabric, finding the childish pattern to be so typically her.

He hadn’t expected that chance encounter to lead to anything, but somehow, over shared desserts and a slow afternoon, the conversation kept going. 

She stirred her coffee absently, a small frown tugging at her lips. “I’ve been thinking about quitting my job.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

She nodded, propping her chin on her hand. “Endless work, overtime with no extra pay, coworkers who act like ‘teamwork’ means dumping their tasks on me… I don’t even remember the last time I slept properly.”

Tsukishima snorted. “Sounds like hell.”

“Exactly.” She paused, hesitating a little, then leaned in. “I was thinking of opening up a bakery.”

He looked up. “A bakery?”

“I know. It’s crazy.” Her voice softened, almost shy. “But I’ve always loved baking. It never feels like work. When I’m up at 3AM frosting cupcakes, I actually don’t hate my life.”

He watched her—the way she fiddled with her cup, the hopeful look she tried to hide—before shrugging, casual as ever. “Then do it.”

“Just like that?” She laughed nervously. “What if I’m terrible at it?”

He reached for the last forkful of his cake, chewing thoughtfully before responding. “Then practice. I’ll tell you if it tastes like garbage.”

It was meant to be a throwaway comment, but she had perked up at that, eyes bright and earnest.

“Wait, really? You’d do that for me?”

He fought the urge to look away, instead smirking slightly. “If it means free food, sure.”

She grinned, nudging his arm. “You’re terrible. But… thanks.”

And maybe it was the contact. Or her smile. But for that second, he felt a faint heat creeping up his neck. 

Maybe some of those high school butterflies had survived after all these years.

After that, they exchanged numbers. And that’s how Tsukishima became her regular taste-tester.

The next week, they met at the same cafe.

Yn slid a small box of chocolate chip cookies across the table, fingers tapping nervously against the lid before she let go.

“Here,” she said with a sheepish smile. “They’re a little flat and the edges got too crispy… but they should still taste okay?”

Tsukishima eyed the uneven rows, each one slightly different in shape. He picked one up, inspecting it briefly before taking a bite.

“So?” she asked, leaning in, practically holding your breath. “How is it?”

She looks way too serious than she needed to.

He chewed slowly on purpose, dragging out the moment just to mess with her, before swallowing. “They’re tough. A little greasy. And too many chocolate chips. It throws off the balance.”

She nodded, pulling out her phone to type his comment. “Mm. Got it.”

Before she could finish, he grabbed another cookie and popped it into his mouth.

“Wait—!” she yelped, lunging to close the lid.

“Mmf?” Tsukishima blinked, still mid-chew.

“You just said they weren’t good,” she accused, holding the box away.

He swallowed, lazily reaching for it again. “I said they’re not that good. Big difference.”

She squinted at him. “And you still want more?”

“It’s edible,” he said with a shrug, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now, gimme more.”

“You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t you?” yn mused, placing a box of black sesame muffins in the space between them.

Tsukishima took one without hesitation, peeling back the wrapper before biting into it. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Just unexpected. You seem more like a… vegetable kind of guy.”

“Brilliant deduction.” He brushed a few crumbs off his jeans, leaning back against the park bench with an easy slouch. “Next you’ll say I only drink water.”

She laughed, warm and easy, and Tsukishima pretended not to notice how it made him want to say something stupid again, just to keep her laughing.

“I would’ve if I hadn’t seen you downing coffee the other day,” she said with a teasing lilt. Pulling out her phone, she relaxed into the bench. “So? Tell me what you think?”

He turned the muffin in his hand, inspecting it. “The crust’s kind of dark. Bitter, too.”

“It’s toasty,” she corrected, but her fingers were already typing his comment into her phone. “That’s how black sesame’s supposed to taste.”

“Not really my thing then,” he said.

Still, he smirked a little.

“But are you sure you didn’t just burn it?”

“I didn’t!” she insisted.

“These are good,” Tsukishima murmured, taking another bite of the melonpan. He licked the custard from his lips with barely a pause.

“Yeah,” she said, brushing crumbs from her fingers. “I’ve kind of mastered them. My dad’s picky. He won’t touch the convenience store ones. So my mom and I used to bake them on the weekends.”

He nodded. “Makes sense. Fresh ones hit differently.” A pause. “But the chocolate chip ones from Sakanoshita’s? Those are really good.”

Yn’s eyes lit up. “You know those? My dad gives me the stink eye everytime I bring one home, like I’ve betrayed the family or something.”

He huffed a laugh. “You haven’t had one in a while?”

“In forever,” she groaned. “My place is too far. None of the nearby shops carry it.”

He didn’t look at her when he said, “I’ll bring you some.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

He shrugged, casual. “I stop by sometimes. I’ll grab a few.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Thanks, Tsukishima.”

He took another bite, eyes fixed on the table. “It’s nothing.”

But he was already planning which day he'd make the detour.

Tsukishima popped the last bite of castella into his mouth, folded the parchment, and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “You really figured this one out.”

“It took forever,” yn said, grinning down at the remaining slices. “The trick was cooling the flour mixture. If it’s too warm, it sinks.”

He nodded, grabbing another piece without comment.

Across the park, two boys were practicing volleyball. They were clumsy, missing more than they landed. Tsukishima watched them, chewing slowly.

Yn must’ve noticed him watching. “Yachi told me you still play,” she said.

“Sometimes,” he replied, eyes narrowing when one of the kids flubbed a receive. “When I’ve got time.”

“Yeah, because playing pro on the Sendai Frogs is just a casual hobby,” she said, too lightly to be anything but teasing.

He turned to her, caught off guard. “Yachi told you that too?”

“Nope,” she said, leaning back with a small smile. “I looked it up.”

He scoffed, looking away, mostly to hide the way his ears were heating. “So you stalked me.”

“I searched Hinata and the others too, idiot,” she huffed, giving his shoulder a gentle shove.

He laughed, short and quiet. Still, something about her taking the time to look him up made his chest feel annoyingly… nice.

“She was happy for you,” she added, voice softer now. “Yachi, I mean. Said you guys really loved it. That it’s kind of amazing you still get to do it.”

Her gaze drifted to the boys in the distance. She didn’t say much else, but he could see it in the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the bench. That distant look when they first met again. Something tired and wistful beneath it.

Regret.

The ball rolled toward them—another failed receive. It bumped his foot.

He bent down and picked it up.

“You didn’t quit either, you know,” he said without looking at her.

And before she could answer, he jogged off, sleeves rolled up, calling out to the kids—ready to demonstrate, and to distract himself from the way his own heartbeat wouldn’t settle.

They bumped into each other in the produce section.

“Woah,” she said, grinning. “Are you stalking me this time?”

Tsukishima didn’t miss a beat. “I wish. Then I could’ve avoided this.”

She laughed. “Harsh, as always.”

They ended up walking through the aisles together, trading off commentary on ridiculous prices and silently judging people who blocked the middle of the lane. It wasn’t planned, but neither of them minded. It was fun, even.

He peeked into her basket. “Cheesecake?”

“Cheese tarts,” she corrected, plucking a carton of eggs off the shelf. “I’ll make them this Friday. I’ll text you.”

He nodded, already storing the date without thinking.

She glanced into his basket next. “Oyakodon?”

“For the weekend.”

She lit up, already on the move. “Add butter when you sauté the garlic. And—hold on—this.” She grabbed a tiny jar of sansho pepper and dropped it in his basket without waiting for permission.

Tsukishima frowned at it, eyeing the addition skeptically. “... That’s not in the recipe.”

“That’s because your recipe’s boring,” she said with a grin. “Trust me. Once you try it, you’ll never go back. I’ll even pay for it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if it’s terrible, I’m blaming you.”

It wasn’t. Tsukishima made it again three days later, then again after that.

But he didn’t tell her knowing she’d gloat.

“Ah, come in. Watch the corner.”

“I am,” Tsukishima grunted, shifting the heavy box in his arms as he stepped inside. “Where do I put this?”

“By the door’s fine,” yn said, already slipping off her soaked shoes. She propped the umbrella in the corner, droplets pattering against the tile, then glanced back at him. “Wait here. I’ll get towels.”

She turned left down the hallway, disappearing from view. 

Left standing in the genkan, Tsukishima glanced around—first to the row of shoes neatly lined up, then to the absurd pair of shark slippers tucked beside them. The left one was slightly crooked, as if kicked off in a hurry. 

His lips twitched. Of course.

She returned a moment later, arms full with towels and… were those papers?

He raised an eyebrow, taking one of the towels. “You planning to quiz me or dry me off?”

She snorted and crouched down. “It’s for the shoes, genius,” she said, stuffing the paper gently into her own. “It helps soak the water out. Now yours.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

Wordlessly, he toed his shoes off and handed them over. She took them without hesitation, still crouched like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He watched her, towel hanging forgotten in one hand. The way she tucked her damp hair behind her ear, the quiet focus in her hands. It was weirdly... attractive.

Then, there was a movement out of the corner of his eye.

A cat—small, mostly white with a patch of grey on its head—peeked out from behind the hallway wall.

“Ah, Chobi!” Yn’s voice brightened instantly. “C’mere, girl.”

The cat stared at her, then gave Tsukishima a wary glance before skittering out of sight.

“She’s not good with strangers,” she chuckled, rising to her feet. “Especially tall ones with bad posture.”

Tsukishima scoffed, rubbing the towel over his hair. “She’s got a type then—people who rope their friends into free labor.”

“Right. Thank you, by the way,” she said, sheepishly brushing her fingers through her own wet bangs. “I completely forgot my relatives were delivering that today.”

“What even is in it?”

“Fruits and veggies. They have a farm. I think it’s a lot of citrus this time.”

He hummed, casting a brief glance at the box. “You were gonna haul that up by yourself?”

“Well…” She looked off to the side. “I was gonna try.”

He gave her a deadpan look.

She only smiled innocently and turned toward the kitchen, voice floating over her shoulder. “Anyway, since you’re here already, we might as well do the tasting. To repay you for your noble sacrifice.”

He sighed, trailing after her. “What is it this time?”

“Cinnamon rolls,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder with a small smile. “Still warm, too.”

“She’s really taken a liking to you,” yn said, stirring brownie batter, the spoon clinking softly against the glass bowl.

Across the room, Tsukishima sat cross-legged on the floor, dangling a feather wand loosely from his fingers.

Chobi pounced on the toy, paws wrapped around it like a trophy. She let out a triumphant meow before plopping down to gnaw at it.

“She only likes me because you make me feed her every time I’m here,” he muttered, scratching the top of her head. Chobi didn’t flinch. That was new.

“She associates you with her survival now,” she called over her shoulder, amused. “That’s a powerful bond.”

He cracked a smile, rising to his feet. That was new too—him being here after work, tasting whatever pastry she decided to whip up.

He wandered into the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside her.

“You should be careful,” he teased. “At this rate, your cat might start following me home.”

“She’d never,” she snorted. “She’s clingy. I can’t even wake up without her climbing onto my face.”

He actually laughed at that, picturing the image in his head.

She set the bowl aside and stepped toward the cabinets. One hand steadied her against the counter as she rose onto her tiptoes, the other reaching for a box on the top shelf, fingers just barely brushing.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, moving in behind her and grabbed it in one easy motion. “Here.”

Her hand dropped as she turned—eyes wide as she realized how close he was.

“Oh… thanks,” she said, taking a step back, only to bump lightly into the counter. She blinked up at him.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

For a second, the kitchen felt way too small. 

She ducked her head, a faint pink rising to her cheeks.

And his mind became quiet. Then unbearably loud.

Without thinking, he raised the box and gently tapped it against the top of her head.

“Next time,” he said, voice a little lower, “maybe ask someone taller first.”

A breathy laugh escaped her, soft with a hint of nervousness. “S-Sorry,” she said, taking the box from his hand, fingers brushing against his for just a second too long.

Chobi meowed loudly from the living room, breaking the moment. Barely.

Things hadn’t changed, exactly. But Tsukishima started noticing the little things now.

Like how yn stared a second too long when he talked, then quickly looked away like she hadn’t been caught. How she’d fuss with her hair when he walked up to her, tucking strands that weren’t even out of place. How she’d suddenly ask him about historical facts or volleyball games—topics she’d never cared about before.

And the calls.

Always with some excuse: “My hands are covered in flour” or “I’m chopping onions,” like she couldn’t just pause for two seconds to type.

But the most obvious thing?

She’d started dressing nicer. Still her, still casual, but… cuter. Stud earrings when they went out. Soft knits instead of shapeless hoodies. And today, a fitted t-shirt instead of the usual graphic tees she used to lounge in.

And then there was this—her fingers, tugging his jacket sleeve to get his attention instead of just saying his name.

“Earth to the nerd,” she said, giving it a light pull. “You good?”

He blinked. “Just wondering how much longer I have to stand here before you actually feed me.”

She rolled her eyes. “ I heard patience is a virtue.”

“So is basic competence.”

She elbowed him, laughing, and for a second, it felt normal again. 

But when she turned back to the stove—and there it was. The way she smiled to herself. The slight flush on her neck. How she stirred the saucepan a little too fast.

Tsukishima exhaled slowly.

He wasn’t stupid. He’d dated before. He knew the signs.

And yet.

Maybe she’s just like this with everyone.

Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

Maybe—

Maybe he just needed to be sure.

“That what you’re dipping it in?” he asked.

“Mm-hm.” Still not looking at him.

“Smells sweet,” he said, leaning in a little.

Her hand faltered.

“Can you hand me the cream puffs?” she asked.

He nodded, pulling back. He grabbed the tray and brought it over.

She turned off the stove, grabbed one, and dipped it in the caramel. Then—almost absently—she held it up to him.

He paused, caught off guard.

She seemed to realize it a second later. Her eyes widened, and the puff wobbled slightly in her fingers.

Tsukishima’s gaze softened before he leaned down and took a bite, careful not to touch her fingers.

Just to avoid embarrassing her, he told himself.

“Not bad,” he said, licking a bit of caramel off the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t burn it this time.”

She made a strangled sound. “It was one time—and it was like, months ago—”

“Sure,” he said, watching the way she suddenly wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah. Just—it’s hot.”

“The caramel?”

She nodded fast. “Yeah. That.”

Sure it was.

He turned away to hide a smile.

Maybe he wasn’t imagining it.

“Ah, this is so cute!” 

“Right! It suits your idea for the interior!”

“Oi.” Tsukishima lightly karate-chopped yn’s head before setting a tray down on the table. “Volume, please. We’re in public.”

Behind him, Yamaguchi offered an apologetic smile to the nearby patrons while Yachi ducked her head sheepishly. Yn rubbed the spot he'd tapped, shooting him a mock glare.

They were supposed to be helping her prep for her bakery launch. So far, it had mostly devolved into their usual chaos.

“What’s got you two so worked up anyway?” Yamaguchi asked as he sat beside Yachi, helping pass out plates.

“Yachi drafted a logo for me!” yn said proudly, sliding the paper to the center of the table.

"Whoa, this is amazing," Yamaguchi said, leaning in for a closer look.

Tsukishima set yn's plate in front of her. "You sure you don't wanna slap her face on it? I've got some truly cursed ones if you need material."

“You said you deleted those!” she hissed.

“And you actually believed me?” he said, adjusting his glasses with zero remorse.

Yachi blinked. “Wait... you have pictures of yn?”

Yamaguchi coughed into his hand, poorly hiding his grin.

"It's not a big deal," Tsukishima said flatly. "I have photos of all of you."

"Oh, but he has a special collection of Chobi," yn cut in, eyes glinting. "Did you know he bought her a sparkly collar for her birthday last month? And a tiny tiara—"

“Shut up,” he muttered, nudging her ankle under the table.

Laughter erupted from the other side of the booth.

“That’s… kind of unexpected,” Yamaguchi mused, eyeing them.

“Right?” yn said through giggles. “He spoils her more than I do.”

“Oh, I meant you two,” Yamaguchi added, a little smug now.

Tsukishima shot him a glare. Yamaguchi merely smiled back, unfazed.

“I agree,” Yachi chimed in, her tone gentle but her smile teasing. “You’ve gotten really close. It’s… nice. You barely talked in high school.”

“Blame Mr. Antisocial over here,” yn muttered, cheeks pink as he gestured at Tsukishima. “He’d only say two words to me back then.”

Tsukishima gently pushed her hand away, his voice dry but not unkind. “And yet you never shut up. Funny how that works.”

She hid her smile behind her drink.

Then he turned to the other two, the picture of innocence—except for the ruthless gleam in his eyes.

“Speaking of close,” he said casually, “cute matching watches. Ginza, right? During that... What was it? ‘Coincidental’ business trip?”

Yachi choked on her tea. Yamaguchi stared hard at the ceiling.

Tsukishima sipped from his drink, perfectly smug.

Tsukishima tapped his foot, checking his phone for the third time in a minute.

Yn was quitting her job today—finally. She’d saved enough for renovations and a few months’ expenses, but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking. She’d been texting him about it all morning.

So he’d decided to wait for her outside her office.

When she finally stepped out, she looked pale but composed, a file folder in one hand and her bag slung over her shoulder. No signs of crying. That seemed good.

“… Bad?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.

“Terrible,” she murmured, letting out a shaky breath. But she offered him a wobbly smile. “But at least it’s over.”

He nodded. Silence settled between them, not awkward, just… weighty. He wasn’t great at this kind of thing. The whole comforting-people deal. But he could try.

After a brief hesitation, his hand came up and landed on her shoulder.

“It’s not a mistake,” he said.

“How do you know?” she asked, looking up at him.

He pursed his lips, thinking.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “No one does. Only time will tell.”

Her shoulders dipped slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

“Wow,” she muttered. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m not done,” he said, chuckling faintly. “The one thing I do know is that you left something behind that was never going to get better, no matter how much time you gave it.”

Her eyes widened a little, the tension in her face softening. Slowly, she stepped closer. Her hands hovered at his sides, like she was asking permission.

A faint blush crept up Tsukishima’s neck. He looked away, but his hand tugged her just a little closer.

She stared at him for another moment, then let her arms fall back. Instead, she leaned in carefully, resting her head against his chest, leaving the smallest sliver of space between them.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He swallowed. His instinct was to pull her fully in—but they were still in public. And he didn’t want to crowd her.

So instead, he brought a hand up and gently ruffled her hair.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll treat you to yakiniku and beer.”

She huffed a laugh and leaned back. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” he lied terribly. “I’m in the mood to drink. Plus, I want gossip. And I fully intend to talk shit about your co-workers now that you’re free.”

Tsukishima jolted when he felt a sudden pinch at his side.

“What the hell—?”

“You never gain weight no matter how much I feed you,” yn grumbled, eyeing his waist like it had personally offended her. “You eat half a cake and still look exactly the same. How is that possible?”

He scowled, swatting her hand away. “Don’t just go around poking people like that.”

She just laughed, clearly unrepentant.

“I play volleyball,” he added, brushing his shirt back down. “And I don’t sit around all day.”

“Still,” she huffed, fingers twitching like she was tempted again, “you can’t burn it off that fast.”

This time, he caught her wrist before she could make another move. His hand closed gently around hers.

“I walk to work. I’m on my feet during exhibit tours. I walk to your place, and then back to mine,” he said. “Probably genetics too. Everyone in my family’s like this.”

“Well, that’s unfair,” she muttered, pulling her hands back with a pout. “Some of us bloat just from inhaling sugar.”

He gave a smug shrug and pushed his hair back. “What can I say? I’m blessed. And you’re… you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah. So that’s where all that weight went—your ego.”

Tsukishima’s lips twitched. Without warning, he reached out and pinched both her cheeks between his fingers.

“Ah—Tsukki! Stop!” she squawked, smacking at his hands. “Let go! I’m sorry! I surrender!”

“You started it,” he said, satisfied as he finally let go.

She rubbed at her face, glaring half-heartedly, but there was warmth behind it.

A beat passed. Then they went back to sorting through labels and notes for her bakery.

Then, she bumped her shoulder lightly against his. “Hey.”

He glanced over.

“You really walk all the way back after visiting?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

She shook her head with a soft smile. “Just didn’t think you’d go that far out of your way. For cake.”

He gave her a long look, before his gaze returned to the papers, moving one to the side.

“It’s not just the cake,” he said quietly, without a hint of sarcasm.

He didn’t need to look up to know that she was blushing. And yeah, his face was a little warm too.

“This area gets decent foot traffic,” Tsukishima said, nodding toward the street. “Close to the station too.”

Yn leaned closer to the window of the vacant space, hands cupped around her face. “It’s just the right size—around 45 square meters. Enough for the kitchen, counter, and display case.”

He nodded, watching her instead of the storefront. 

“You think this is the one?” he asked after a moment. “Or want to keep looking?”

She took one last look inside before straightening with a small sigh. “I really like it. But we should check a few more, just in case. Also… can we sit somewhere for a bit? My feet are killing me.”

“Weakling” he muttered, smirking as he reached out and steered her forward by the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s check out the competition and get something sweet while we’re at it.”

She pulled out her phone, thumbing through her map app. “There was a pastry place a few blocks back, remember? We passed it earlier.”

Tsukishima nodded, eyes scanning ahead. “Yeah. That one looked decent.”

“Think you can make it without whining?” she teased, tilting her head up at him.

“I was about to ask you that,” he shot back. Then, slipping his hand from her shoulder, he added dryly, “Want me to carry you?”

She scoffed. “As if you could.”

His eyes glinted. “You’re right. You probably weigh a ton.”

She gasped and swung at him—he easily sidestepped, a low laugh slipping out.

They fell into step again, their bickering fading into comfortable silence. When she veers slightly toward the sunlit side of the street, he subtly moves to block the harsher glare from hitting her eyes.

“I forgot my couch is buried under all this chaos,” yn muttered, eyeing the explosion of color swatches, menu sketches, pastry boxes, and scattered notes across the living room.

Tsukishima barely glanced at the mess before dropping onto the floor. “This works.”

They ended up sitting cross-legged on a mess of pillows and throw blankets, backs leaned against the couch. The low table in front of them held a few leftover pastries and mismatched mugs of steaming tea. On the TV, a documentary he’d picked played softly, its narration a dry murmur under the quiet.

It wasn’t a date. Not really.

But it felt like one.

“Is this the one where they find teeth in that sediment thingy?” she asked, squinting at the screen.

Tsukishima side-eyed her. “‘Sediment thingy’? Real eloquent.”

“My bad,” she said, grinning.

Still, she kept watching.

Onscreen, grainy footage of rock beds and excavation sites rolled past, narrated by a monotone voice that only excited people like him.

“That layer there,” Tsukishima pointed at the screen with his mug, “Cretaceous. Most of the stuff they find there is marine life. Ammonites, mostly. Sometimes mosasaurs if they get lucky.”

“Ammonites,” she repeated, brow furrowed. “Those swirly guys?”

“Very technical description,” he deadpanned. “But yes.”

He expected her to zone out—most people did when he started—but she didn’t. She tilted her head toward the screen, eyes narrowed like she was actually trying to see it the way he did.

“They’re kinda pretty,” she murmured. “In a prehistoric, probably-deadly sort of way.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “You’d hate the real thing. They’re massive.”

“Really? I thought they were just ancient snails or something.”

That made him laugh again, shaking his head at her ridiculous descriptions. 

Somewhere between fossils and snails, his arm had found its way up, draped lazily along the couch behind them. Not touching her. Just close. She shifted slightly, leaning into the pillows. The back of her head brushed the inside of his forearm.

He didn’t move it.

Neither did she.

She laughed again at something he said and her knee nudged his. Her hand rested between them, fingers twitching like they might drift closer.

He turned his head toward her then, about to make some remark—but stopped.

She was already looking at him.

And she didn’t look away.

The light from the TV reflected in her eyes. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

He wasn’t sure who leaned in first.

But it didn’t matter.

They were close enough for their noses to touch. Her fingers came up, curling into the side seam of his shirt. His arm tensed behind her, ready to close the gap. Their heads tilted ever so slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut.

If he moved just a little more—

Thump.

A blur of fur launched into his lap with a mrow that sounded far too proud.

Tsukishima blinked.

Yn drew back just enough to breathe in surprise.

Chobi, in perfect loaf formation, nestled across his thighs like she’d claimed them on purpose.

The moment shattered instantly.

“Are you serious…” Tsukishima muttered under his breath.

Chobi blinked up at him and purred.

Yn reached for the cat, but she rolled onto her back, paws batting playfully. “Chobi. You are the worst.”

“She’s evolving,” Tsukishima sighed, already giving in. He scratched Chobi’s head without thinking. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Chobi flopped dramatically, clearly agreeing.

Yn settled back with a soft laugh, picking up her mug. They stayed close, and the air was still warm, but the balance tipped off. Her knee bumped his again, but this time it felt like a reset.

“Well,” she said after a moment, gaze flicking to the screen. “Your ancient snail documentary’s actually kind of decent.”

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t yet. “Told you it wouldn’t be boring.”

That earned him a soft smile, but the charged air was gone now, tucked into the silence that neither of them dared to acknowledge.

Chobi purred louder.

And Tsukishima tried not to think about what would’ve happened if that damn cat had waited just ten more seconds.

The bell above the door chimed softly and Tsukishima stepped inside.

Yn looked up from where she was stacking menus at the counter, surprise flickering across her face. “Hey. What’re you doing here? It’s late.”

He held up a potted orchid—white with a blush of pink at the center. “I figured you’d get plenty of gifts tomorrow. Thought I’d beat the crowd.”

She smiled, walking over to take the plant from his hands, admiring it. “Wow. You actually got these? For me?”

“I can be thoughtful, you know,” he muttered.

“Must be exhausting.”

He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually… there’s another reason I dropped by.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Okay...”

“I’m not gonna make it to the opening.” His tone dropped a bit. “My co-worker bailed on the Fukui trip last minute, so I’m getting sent instead. I leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She took that in slowly, her smile dimming. “That’s… okay. I mean, it’s not your fault.”

He nodded, though the silence that followed sat heavier than he liked.

“Wait here,” she said after a moment, pivoting back toward the kitchen. “I made something for you. Figured you’d drop by for breakfast before going to work.”

She returned with a small plate—strawberry shortcake, pristine layers of sponge and cream, with a single slice of berry on top.

Tsukishima looked at it longer than necessary. “You made it.”

“You wouldn’t shut up about it,” she teased.

He chuckled and took the fork from her. “Guess I’m spoiled.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder behind the counter as he took a bite. And she watched him, like always.

He licked a bit of cream from his thumb. “This is delicious.”

Yn beamed. “That good?”

He nodded. “Good enough that I’m mad I won’t be here tomorrow to have more.”

“I’ll make it again when you come back then.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. He kept eating in comfortable silence, the hum between them growing thicker.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“Very.”

“You’ll be fine. Everyone’s coming. Even those two morons.”

“Hinata and Kageyama?”

“Yeah. The tall one asked if he needed to dress formal.”

“Oh god,” she groaned, laughing.

The tension broke into warmth, then softened again.

“Want anything from Fukui?” he asked.

“Habutae Kurumi, please,” she said, perking up.

“Of course you’d want the one thing with walnuts.”

“Hey! You asked.”

She leaned in a little then, arms crossed on the counter. Her face tilted slightly, amused but fond.

“Thanks, Tsukishima. For everything,” she said. “If I hadn’t met you again, if you didn’t give me the push I needed, I wouldn’t be here.”

Her words sank in slowly and his heart warmed.

He leaned close too, putting the fork down. “I barely did anything. You did all the work. I just got free food.”

“Oh, shut up.” Her hand slid over his—light, hesitant. “You did more than you think.”

He stared at their hands for a moment, then gripped hers. “And I can do more if you want.”

Neither of them moved, not at first.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and when they flicked back up again, the answer was already there.

He leaned in, just a little. Her breath hitched.

Their noses brushed. Breaths mingling. The softest graze of lips—

Then his phone rang.

Loud and jarring.

“Shit.” He pulled back an inch, jaw tight. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

She stepped back just as quickly. “Right. Go ahead.”

The moment slipped through the cracks. Gone again.

Moments passed, and he was by the door.

“Thanks for the cake,” he said, quieter now.

“Thanks for the orchids,” she replied with a small smile.

“Sorry I can’t stay.” He reached up, pausing near her cheek before moving up to ruffle her hair instead.

“It’s fine. Really.” She leaned into his touch. A beat passed before she grabbed his shoulders, turning him around the door. “Now go. It’s late and you have to pack.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He gave a nod, then left.

It should’ve ended there.

But as Tsukishima walked a few paces down the quiet street, something gnawed at him.

He’d be back. In a week, everything would slide back into place. They’d share dessert. Bicker. Sit too close in her apartment and pretend the silence between them wasn’t filled with everything they didn’t want to say.

Nothing would change.

And that’s what got to him.

Because maybe that was the problem.

This itch in his chest—it wasn’t panic. Nothing bad was going to happen. She wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t moving across the world. There would be a thousand other moments to say something.

But even knowing that, he couldn’t shake the thought.

He just really, really wanted this to be the one.

He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the look she gave him when she said thank you. Maybe it was how warm the place felt when it was just the two of them. Or maybe he was just tired of pretending he didn’t know what this was.

It didn’t make sense. But the feeling wouldn’t let go.

So he stopped walking.

Then he turned around.

The bell chimed again.

Yn blinked, “Tsukki? Did you forget something?”

He stood in the doorway, breath caught between resolve and hesitation. “Yeah. I did.”

She glanced around. “What? Your phone?”

“No.”

In a few strides, he was in front of her.

He used to think his high school crush on her was just a phase. One of those dumb, passing things you look back on and laugh about when you’re older and know better. He never said anything then. Just stayed in the background, convinced she’d never see someone like him.

And for a while, he believed he’d outgrown it. Got older. Dated other people. Learned how to care, let go, to move on and try again.

But then they met again and she had rearranged the way his life moved. Morning texts became habit. Stopping by after work turned into instinct. Even the smallest things—a song he heard her hum before, a cat on the street—automatically led back to her. She’d become his first thought, then his favorite one.

What he felt now wasn’t the same as back then, but it wasn’t lesser either.

He never believed in fate. Never bought into the idea of “the one.”

But standing here now, with his palms sweating like he was seventeen again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just this once—the cliché was right.

Maybe she was it.

So, he didn’t hesitate this time. He reached for her hand, steady despite his pulse hammering in his ears.

“I forgot to tell you,” he started, voice a little too low, like he hoped saying it quietly would make it feel less embarrassing. “That I… I want to be there. For you. Not just with the bakery. But… everything.”

He cleared his throat, gaze flicking down to where their hands were joined. “I mean—I don’t know. Life stuff. Whatever that means.”

God.

He shut his eyes for a second and exhaled through his nose, like maybe this would reset his brain. It didn’t.

“From now on. For a long time. If you’ll let me. Or tolerate me. Either works.”

There. He said it.

And it sounded exactly as awkward as he’d feared. Not charming. Not smooth like earlier or all the other times it almost spilled from his lips. Just him, rambling and way too warm in the face.

Yn didn’t answer right away.

She just stared at him, lips parted slightly—then let out a breath. Almost a laugh. Soft and fond.

“The way you—I mean,” she said, cheeks tinting pink as her gaze dropped to their hands, “that was… barely coherent.”

He opened his mouth, about to defend himself, but she squeezed his hand before he could.

“But I liked it,” she added, glancing up again. “Life stuff with you sounds great.”

That made him smile—relieved, crooked, a little breathless.

His hands found her cheeks, thumbs grazing the soft curves under her eyes. And when she leaned into the touch, something in his chest went loose. 

“I love you,” he murmured.

She blinked up at him, eyes shining. Slowly, her hands came up, pressing to his chest, sliding up until they curled around his neck. Her fingers brushed the back of his nape, gentle and a little unsure, like she was mapping him for the first time.

“I love you too.”

He shivered under her touch, from the weight of her words, from everything.

God, he was so far gone for her.

Then she tilted her head, lips quirking up. “So… is this the part where we kiss? Because I’m kind of dying over here.”

He laughed, half-choked, and tugged her in. “Yeah.”

But right before their lips could meet, he pulled back slightly and fumbled into his pocket.

Her brows lifted. “You’re kidding.”

He held up his phone, switched it to silent, and shot her a look. “I’m not getting interrupted twice in one night.”

She laughed, her forehead brushing his.

Tucking the phone away, he leaned in, wrapping an arm around her waist, the other still cradling her cheek. “I’m not going to hold back, okay?” he whispered.

“Tsukishima! Just go for it already.”

He grinned and, finally, leaned in. 

It tasted like strawberries. 

Your breath hitched, and in an instant, you shot upright, all exhaustion gone in a blink.

You scrambled for your hoodie, yanking it on with fumbling fingers, then shoved on socks and shoes, moving more on instinct than thought.

Your heart pounded—part nerves, part excitement—as you cracked open the door and peeked into the dark hallway.

Silence.

Slipping out, you carefully closed the door behind you and crept through the dorm corridors. You paused just long enough to check the hallway, ears straining for any sign of Aizawa’s dreaded patrols, or worse, your classmates late-night snack raids.

But the coast was clear.

Once outside, the cool night air kissed your cheeks. The sky stretched wide above, a deep navy canvas dotted with stars. The moon hung high and full, casting a gentle silver glow over the campus. Your breath came out in small puffs, visible for just a second before dissolving into the dark.

And then, there he was.

Bakugo stood just beyond the path, leaning against a tree with his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. His hood was up, but it couldn’t hide the messy tufts of blond hair sticking out, or the way his head snapped up the moment your footsteps crunched on the gravel.

“Katsuki,” you called softly, chuckling as you jogged toward him.

He scoffed and pushed off the tree. “Took you long enough.”

You gave him a look. “Hey, sneaking past three floors and avoiding Aizawa-sensei’s patrol isn’t exactly a walk in the park. You’re lucky I made it at all.”

“Tch. You wouldn’t have gotten caught,” he grumbled, stepping closer to zip your hoodie all the way up. “I made sure everything was clear. You’d have to be a total idiot to screw it up.”

You blushed at the quiet gesture, but you didn’t back down. “Oh yeah?” you teased, a spark in your eye. “Big words coming from the guy who almost blew stealth training last week.”

“Oi, that was Dunce Face’s fault” he muttered, pinching your cheek. “Dumbass tripped the sensors.”

“Sure, blame Kaminari,” you said, swatting his hand away. “Ow—okay, okay, I surrender!”

Bakugo huffed, but his touch gentled as his hand trailed down your arm. His fingers brushed yours before curling around them. “Come on. We should get going.”

You raised an eyebrow, falling into step beside him. “Where exactly are we going? And shouldn’t you be tucked in by now, Grandpa?”

“The hell did you just call me?” he snapped, shooting you a glare. “I’ll tuck you in—six feet under.”

You grinned, fully aware you were poking the bear. “See? This is what happens when you stay up past your bedtime. You get super cranky.”

“I’ll show you cranky when I duct-tape your ass to a tree and leave you for the birds.”

“Alright, alright,” you relented with a laugh. “So what’s got you skipping your sacred nine o’clock shut-eye, huh? Don’t tell me it’s me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered. “Just… had something planned.”

You swung your joined hands, voice syrupy with mischief. “Aww. Is this a secret late-night date?”

“Yeah.”

You blinked, glancing up at him. 

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t take it back. He just kept walking, eyes fixed forward. His grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

Your mind stuttered, gears catching on that single word.

Bakugo wasn’t a flowers-and-chocolate kind of guy. He didn’t write love notes or plan romantic gestures. Hell, he could barely say “You look nice” without sounding like he was choking on it.

But you knew he cared in his own way.

He always handed you your water bottle during training, already opened because he’d noticed how the stubborn cap made you struggle. He’d scoff and call you “weak” for not twisting it hard enough, but his fingers were already working it loose before you even asked.

Once, when you were sick, he shoved a wad of tissues at you with a scowl, muttering about “germy idiots who don’t know how to take care of themselves.”Later, you’d find cough drops tucked into your bag (the exact kind you liked) and when you thanked him, he’d just snap, “Shut up. I just had extra.”

He trained with you longer than anyone else, even when he was exhausted. When you stumbled, he’d bark at you to “get the hell up,” but his hand was already outstretched, pulling you to your feet before you could fall. 

He let you vent when you were frustrated, listening in silence while you ranted, never interrupting. When you cried, he didn’t panic or awkwardly pat your back. He just sat beside you until you were ready to talk. He let you be messy, let you be you, in a way no one else did.

And sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch the way his gaze lingered on you—not with irritation, but something softer. Something he’d never put into words.

Because Bakugo didn’t say he loved you.

He just showed it. In every rough gesture, every muttered insult that hid concern, every small, stubborn act of care he’d deny if you ever called him out on it.

But this was entirely different.

He didn’t hide behind the usual bluster or threats. No sarcastic deflection or even a half-hearted “Don’t get the wrong idea” to cushion it.

He planned a date. For you two. On your birthday.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact between you—the warmth of his palm, the calluses of his fingers, the way he stood just slightly closer, as if shielding you from the evening chill.

You bit back a smile, voice softer now. “You should’ve told me,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks warming up. “I would've dressed nicer.”

He huffed, tugging you forward. “Shut up. You’re fine. It’s nothin’ fancy.”

But when the trees finally parted and the soft glow of lights spilled over the clearing, you knew that wasn’t true.

A blanket was spread neatly across the grass, with two pillows nestled on either side. A thermos sat in the center, next to a small box of snacks—your favorites, you realized. A few paper lanterns hung from low branches above, casting a warm, cozy glow over everything, carefully spaced to avoid catching the attention of any teachers on patrol.

“You…” You turned to him, eyes wide. “You did all this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“But—”

“Tch. You like this sappy crap, right?” he muttered, already stepping past you toward the blanket. “All that ‘romantic picnic’ shit or whatever. Pinky wouldn’t shut up about it when I asked.”

You blinked. “You… asked Mina for advice?”

“I didn’t ask,” he huffed. “She was being nosy. Sticking her damn face in my business like always, and—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale. “Point is, it’s your damn birthday. So. Here.”

You stepped closer, taking in all the little details. “You planned this. Like, really planned it.”

“The hell’s so surprising about that?” he snapped, but there was no real heat behind it. “I don’t half-ass shit.”

“No,” you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, jaw tight like he was chewing on words he’d never say aloud. Then he jerked his chin at the blanket. “You sittin’ or what? I didn’t haul all this crap out here for you to stand around gawking.”

You laughed and finally sank down beside him. “Right. Wouldn’t want your master plan to go to waste.”

You settled onto the blanket, your shoulders brushing against his. Bakugo poured you a drink from the thermos and opened a snack without a word, nudging it toward you.

You two talked for a while. About nothing and everything. Class, training, the party earlier, the ridiculous effort it took to sneak all this past Aizawa. The kinds of small moments you always held onto a little tighter, treasuring them as something precious.

Then, just when you thought the night had reached its quiet peak, he reached behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, suddenly tense, “before I forget.”

He pulled out a box and shoved it toward you. It was wrapped in cute, glossy paper with a red ribbon tied tight across the top. Not something you’d ever expect from him.

You blinked, carefully taking it. “What’s this?”

“It’s a present. What else would it be?” he grumbled, fingers tapping the blanket like he was fighting the urge to snatch it back.

“But you already gave me one at the party,” you said softly, brushing your hand along the ribbon. A laugh escaped you, soft and disbelieving. “You cooked my favorite food.”

“That was for the party,” he said, looking away a little. “This is just from me.”

You smiled, your chest feeling warm. “You already did all this…” The words came out barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” The sharpness in his tone left no room for protest. He shifted before nodding at the box. “Just open it already.” You chuckled and tugged at the ribbon, opening the lid.

Inside was a sleek, compact camera—unlike any you'd ever seen before. It didn't look store-bought. The matte gray casing had your initials engraved in small, precise letters along the side. Next to it lay a thick leather-bound journal, a smooth pen tucked into its spine.

You stared, breath catching. “Katsuki…”

“I worked with the Support Course to get it right,” he said quickly, like he’d rehearsed it. “It’s got secure digital storage. Special encryption. Only you and I can access it through our phones. You take a photo and it auto-saves to a private server. Even if you lose your phone or break the damn thing, the photos stay.”

Your finger traced over the engravings, your throat tightening.

“And the journal…” he added, voice quieter, “it’s for everything else you don’t capture.”

You flipped open the cover. On the very first page, in sharp, neat handwriting was a single message.

If you’re gonna keep forgetting, you better start writing. I’ll fill in the blanks if you screw it up. — K.

Your hands trembled, then the tears came, hot and sudden, blurring your vision before you even realized they’d fallen.

“Shit—hey, don’t—” Bakugo was in front of you instantly, his hands twitching like he was torn between wiping your tears or grabbing your shoulders. “Don’t cry over this, damn it—”

You laughed, choked and wet, pressing your palms to your eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just—Katsuki… you thought about all this.”

He scowled, but his voice dropped, soft and low. “I’m not an idiot, yn. I know what your quirk does.” A shaky breath escaped him. “You lose your memories every damn day. You keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not, and it pisses me off.”

You froze.

The memory loss had always been known. But the fear… it was supposed to be yours alone.

You never told him how terrified you were of forgetting the first time he smiled at you like you were his whole world. The first time his hand brushed yours and didn’t let go. The way he whispered your name the night he confessed, like it was something sacred.

Every midnight, your quirk allowed you to see 24 hours into the future. But it came at a cost: your earliest memory faded.

You remembered up to four years ago. No further. You dreaded the day you’d wake up not knowing when he started to mean everything to you, how all the firsts would be lost forever.

But you never said any of that. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to burden him with that kind of weight.

And yet, somehow… he already carried it.

“I didn’t want to make you deal with it,” you whispered. “It’s not fair. Letting you love me when I know I’ll forget stuff about us someday.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

“You think I’m doing this out of pity?” he murmured. “I’m here because I chose to be. I’ll keep choosing you, yn. Every damn day. And if the worst happens, if you forget—then fine. I’ll remind you.”

You let out a shaky breath, your voice breaking. “Even if I forget our first kiss? Your confession? The moment I realized I loved you?”

He nodded, gathering you close, his chin resting atop your head. “Yeah. We’ll remake all of ‘em—first kiss, confession, all of it. And we’ll keep making new ones. Better ones.” He breathed a quiet laugh. “I don’t care how many times I have to make you fall in love with me. I’ll do it again and again.”

Your heart cracked wide open. And this time, you didn’t hold anything back.

You buried your face in his shoulder, clinging to his warmth, to the steady beat of his heart under your palm.

And for the first time, you didn’t grip the moment out of fear.

You trusted it to stay.

Because maybe now… you didn’t have to be so afraid.

You stayed like that for a while, pressed against him, his arms around you like he could hold your memories in place if he just held tight enough.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, and the tears dried in your lashes. You didn’t pull away, not entirely, just shifted back enough to look at him.

Bakugo was already watching you, his expression caught somewhere between worry and something softer. You’d never quite had the words for that look, but it always made your chest feel full.

“You really meant all of that?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Every damn word.”

A wobbly smile tugged at your lips. “You’re kind of a sap, you know that?”

He scoffed, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Shut up. You’re the one crying all over me.”

You lightly smacked his chest. “You made me cry, jerk.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, smug now. “That’s called romance.”

A real laugh bubbled up, this one much lighter and freer. It felt like you could finally breathe again.

Then your eyes landed on the camera.

You reached for it, turning it over in your hands before squinting at the controls. “So… is this thing idiot-proof?”

"Had to be," he said, snatching it from you. "Since you're using it." With a few button presses, the screen flared to life. “There. It’s got a built-in stabilizer, facial recognition, auto-capture, all that shit. The Support Course nerds went overboard.”

You grinned, swiping the camera back. “You definitely bullied them into this.”

“They volunteered,” he said flatly.

“Uh-huh.” You raised the camera, aiming it at his unimpressed face. “Smile, sweetheart.”

“Eat shit.”

The flash went off, catching him mid-glare—sharp, scowling, and somehow still stupidly handsome.

You laughed, checking the preview. “Aww, you look so cute. Like a homicidal pomeranian.”

“Give me that,” he growled, lunging for it.

You twisted away, laughing, snapping another picture as you dodged. This one caught his exasperated half-smirk and your own mid-wheeze, both half off-frame.

You both paused to look at it, then burst out laughing.

"Okay, okay. Serious one," you said, holding the camera out. “We need at least one decent photo.”

“Wow. I wonder why the other two were bad.” He sighed but leaned in anyway. “Fine. Hurry up.”

“Three... two…”

On “one,” you turned and kissed his cheek, fast and firm.

Click.

The camera snapped right as his eyes went wide and his entire face flushed pink.

“Hey—!”

You were already ducking away, setting the camera down gently on the blanket as you shot to your feet, laughing.

“Why you little—get back here!”

He scrambled up after you, and you shrieked, dodging behind a tree as he chased, voice full of mock outrage and very real amusement.

“Oh, you’re dead,” he called, but the grin in his tone ruined the threat.

You peeked out, grinning. “What? Gonna blow me up?”

“Tempting,” he admitted, cracking his knuckles with exaggerated menace. “But nah. I’ve got better ideas.”

You blinked. “... Better?”

Bakugo stalked toward you, slow and confident, no longer joking. His gaze pinned you in place, suddenly sharp and heated, like he’d just decided something and there was no getting out of it.

Your pulse spiked. “Wait. Wait, I was kidding—”

He caught your wrist and spun you into him, and suddenly, you were chest to chest, his breath warm on your lips.

“I wasn’t.”

His mouth crashed against yours, hot and insistent, his hands sliding further down. Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging as he tilted your head back, swallowing your gasp.

On the blanket, the camera blinked quietly.

The red light flashed once.

Then again.

Then—

Click.

“Kei! Yn-chan should stay for dinner!” his mom called from below.

“She hears you,” Tsukishima replied over his shoulder, too tired to make it sound anything but clipped.

Yn answered sweetly anyway, her voice echoing back downstairs as Tsukishima opened his bedroom door. He let go of her to dump his bag beside the desk, kicked off his shoes, and dropped face-first onto the bed with a soft grunt.

Everything hurt. Legs, back, brain. Volleyball matches this deep into the season were nothing short of brutal. But even now, he could feel the tug in his chest more than anywhere else—because yn was still by the door, and he wasn’t spending time with her.

It had been nearly two months since they’d last properly hung out. They’d both been swallowed up by their clubs and the looming pressure of college entrance exams, barely managing hallway greetings and late-night texts. That’s why, when she called him last week to say she was coming to his game, he wasted no time asking her out for a movie date afterward.

He cracked an eye open, the sound of her voice still lingering as she spoke to his mother. The golden light from the setting sun caught in her hair, painting her skin in this warm, glowing filter that made his already-tired heart squeeze.

She looked right at home standing in his doorway. And she was still kind enough to reply properly, to make his mom smile. He couldn’t stand how much he liked that.

“Close the door,” he mumbled into the sheets. “She’ll start asking about the game and I’ll lose you for an hour.”

Yn chuckled, finally closing the door before padding over to his bed. “It’s because you never fill her in.” The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat beside him and lightly poked his cheek. “You should be careful, you know. Soon, I’ll be the favorite child.”

“Pretty sure she already likes you more than me and Nii-chan,” Tsukishima sighed. His hand caught hers—intending to push it away, maybe—but instead, he pulled it gently to his cheek.

“Ooh, imagine if she adopts me,” yn teased, eyes sparkling. “I’d be your sister.”

Tsukishima jolted upright, pinching her waist with a scowl. “Don’t even joke about that. It’s gross.”

She shrieked with laughter, swatting at him as his hand chased her across the bed, his exhaustion forgotten for just a moment. She was always infuriating with her dumb jokes.

But it was nice to hear them again instead of just reading them through texts.

Eventually, they both collapsed into the mattress, the energy slowly draining out of their laughter, leaving behind a comfortable silence. Yn laid beside him, their shoulders just barely touching, her hand still in his.

A lazy feeling settled in, blending nicely with the soft hum of life downstairs and the distant clatter of kitchenware. Tsukishima let his eyes fall shut again.

They should be watching something right now.

“Give me five minutes,” he muttered, voice muffled by the pillow. “I’ll set up my laptop.”

He felt her shift beside him. “Are you sure?” she asked softly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not,” he replied flatly, eyes still closed.

“Kei.”

There was a different note in her voice this time. Not teasing. Concerned.

He opened one eye just enough to see her watching him. Her brows creased, lips pressed together in a way that made him look away almost instantly.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“You don’t have to push yourself, you know,” she said gently. “I came to see you. We can just hang out. Or nap if you want.”

He hated how his heart fluttered at that.

Tsukishima rolled onto his back with a groan, one arm flopping over his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to come all the way here so I could nap.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she pressed on. “I’d just... rather you rest if you need to.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, very quietly, he mumbled, “I missed you.”

He felt her fingers twitch against his, a tiny, startled reflex.

Tsukishima kept his arm over his eyes, his voice low and gruff. “So, no. I’m not gonna fall asleep. I want to spend time with you.”

The honesty hung between them, vulnerable and heavy in the sinking golden light. She leaned over and gently tugged his arm down until he was looking at her.

“I missed you too.”

Her eyes softened, full of quiet affection. She withdrew her hand from his and reached up, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead, fingertips featherlight.

“But I still don’t want you pushing yourself. There’s always next time, you know? You don’t have to cram all your energy into one night just for me.”

Tsukishima blinked down at her, her touch loosening the knot in his shoulders. But even that comfort turned on him, stirring the fears he’d worked so hard to keep quiet.

“That’s the thing,” he muttered, voice low. “I’m not so sure there is always a next time.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, then sat up slowly, not looking at her right away. His hands were folded in his lap, fingers fidgeting like they were trying to twist themselves.

“I know we said we’d make time, but we’re going to different colleges. You’ll have your own schedule. New people. New routines. And so will I.” His jaw tightened. “But even before that’s started, it already feels like I barely see you.”

Yn listened quietly, not interrupting, her eyes steady on him.

“And it’s not like I think we’ll fall apart or something,” he added quickly. “It’s just…” He trailed off again, searching for the right word to shape the fear he didn’t usually let himself acknowledge. “It’s stupid. I just—I don’t want to look back and realize I wasted the time we do have.”

There was a long pause. Then, he muttered under his breath, “Sorry. I’m not good at saying this crap.”

When he finally met her gaze again, yn’s face lit up with a tender, knowing smile.

“It’s not stupid,” she said, pushing herself to sit upright. “And it’s not crap.”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything, but she didn’t seem to expect him to. She went on, her voice dropping a little.

“I think about it too,” she admitted. “The distance. The changes. How fast everything is moving. There’ll be days when we’re too busy or too tired to call. Maybe even weeks.”

She leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “But Kei… I know us. I know that no matter how much time passes, when we do talk again, it’ll still be…”

Her hand found his again, fingers sliding between his, squeezing them. She paused, a small laugh slipping out.

“... you. Probably still messing up my hair instead of saying hi. Fixing the strap of my bag without saying anything. Pinching me when I make jokes, like earlier—ow, by the way.”

That earned a snort from Tsukishima.

“And me? Still making bad jokes on purpose. ‘Accidentally’ stepping on your shoes when you call me short. Pulling your hoodie strings just to annoy you. Trying to act all cute just to hear you say I am.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but she didn’t let him deflect.

“That’s what I mean. It’s never ‘Oh, how have you been?’ with us. We don’t have to start over every time. We just… click back into place. Time doesn’t erase that. Distance doesn’t either.”

When Tsukishima finally spoke, his voice was smaller than usual. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Not confident,” she corrected. “I just know what we have. I trust it.”

He was quiet, his fingers tightening slightly around hers.

“You trust it?” he repeated, like he was trying to taste the weight of that.

“I trust you,” she said, pulling back to look at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You care more than you let on. And I know that if something matters to you, you don’t let go easily. And neither do I.”

That stopped him.

Because for the first time, all those uneasy thoughts didn’t sound like warnings. They just sounded like noise. And maybe this was the answer that he had been missing.

They didn’t have to see each other all the time to still matter to the other. It was never about being together. It was always about what they were to each other.

“… You're really annoying when you’re right,” he muttered, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Yn grinned, pretending to grab her phone. “Wait! Say that again. I need to record this.”

He huffed a laugh, finally leaning back into the pillows again. The fatigue crept in quicker this time now that the tight coil in his chest had finally loosened.

He looked over at her, eyes half-lidded. “I don’t think I can stay awake for a movie.”

She chuckled. “I know.” 

Her fingers brushed against his cheeks as she took off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand.

He yawned before he could reply, the last of his resistance unraveling. As he closed his eyes, he tugged her closer, wordlessly urging her to stay beside him.

“I’ll probably be out for a while,” he murmured.

“Mhm.”

“Wake me up… when it’s time for you to go. Okay?”

“Sure,” she whispered, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

And she would. But not until long after he drifted off, his breathing even, the golden light of evening slipping quietly into dusk.

Yn padded down the stairs quietly, the soft creak of the steps barely registering beneath the distant clatter of pans and the gentle bubbling of something simmering in the kitchen. The house smelled like miso and something savory being stir-fried, and her stomach gave a quiet, traitorous growl.

She rubbed her eyes and wandered in, still barefoot and slightly dazed from the warmth of Tsukishima’s room.

“Ah, yn-chan,” his mother greeted with a smile, glancing over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove. “Kei knocked out?”

Yn smiled softly, stepping into the kitchen. “Like a light. He didn’t even fight it this time.”

His mom chuckled and waved her over. “I’m making yasai itame for dinner. Want a taste?”

“Maybe later. I’m just thirsty.” Yn went to grab herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter.

They stood like that for a moment. Just two women in soft silence, bound by mutual affection for the tall, tired boy sleeping upstairs.

Then his mother gave her a knowing look. “You’re still looking at places?”

Yn paused with the glass halfway to her lips, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. A few more popped up this week, actually.”

His mom hummed thoughtfully, gently stirring the pot in front of her. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“I am.” Yn’s voice was firm, determined. “I know it’s not a perfect solution, and there’s no guarantee everything will go the way we want it to. But…” She bit her lip. “If I can find a place somewhere in between our schools—close enough for the both of us without losing half a day commuting—I think it’ll help.”

His mom smiled without turning. “You know, I thought you were just being polite the first time you brought it up. But then you started asking about train lines and furniture stores.”

Yn laughed quietly. “I just… I don’t want us to drift apart.”

The honesty of it made her chest tighten. She hadn’t said it out loud before. Not like this.

“Kei worries about it too,” yn continued. “But I didn’t want to tell him just yet. Not until we’re both past our entrance exams. He’s already stressed. If I add more to his plate now…”

“You’re protecting him,” his mom said simply, finally turning to face her.

“I guess I am.”

There was a pause, and then the woman’s expression softened into something fond and just a little proud.

“He’s lucky, you know,” she said. “He doesn’t say it much—not in words—but Kei… he’s never brought a girl home like this. Never looked at someone the way he looks at you.”

Yn ducked her head, flustered. “I’m lucky too,” she murmured. “It’s hard sometimes, but… he’s worth it.”

“Mhm. Just remember—love’s important, but life’s more complicated than that,” his mom said. “You’re both young, and… well, I won’t embarrass you with the talk—”

Yn nearly dropped the glass, coughing as she choked on her own saliva.

“—but just promise me you’ll be smart. About everything.” Her gaze was firm, but not unkind. “College is hard enough without extra surprises. And if there’s ever a question you’re too shy to ask him, or your parents or even me… just remember, there’re clinics near campus that have discreet pamphlets.” A pause. “And condoms.”

Yn turned away, a furious blush rising to her cheeks. “Oh my god…”

“Motherly duty fulfilled,” she said dryly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Now, I’ll just have to give Kei my version of the talk when you finally tell him.” 

Then she reached over, patting yn’s hand. “But if you ever need help figuring out the other stuff—laundry, cooking, cleaning—my door’s always open, yn. And if Kei ever slacks off, text me. I’ll guilt trip him for you.”

Yn laughed, the tension dissolving into something lighter. She gave her hand a squeeze in return.

“Thanks, Tsukishima-san.”

“Just call me Mom already,” she said, grinning.

Yn flushed. “That still feels too… early.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing gently in the small kitchen.

As yn finished her water and rinsed out the glass, she glanced back toward the stairs. She already missed being next to him, even if he was fast asleep.

She wasn’t sure what the future would look like, not exactly. But knowing that Kei would be in it, and that he cared enough to worry about it just like she did, made it feel a lot less daunting.

Their usual late-night talks had veered there, and after a series of flushed, roundabout conversations (and approximately seven false starts), they’d agreed to take one small step forward.

A kiss. With tongue.

Simple in theory. Less so in practice.

“WAIT! WAIT! WAIT!”

Maki grunted as yn’s palm smacked straight into her face. She’d been hovering over her on the bed, close but not touching, when yn panicked.

“What? What’s wrong?” Maki caught yn’s wrists, gently pulling them down. Her brows furrowed as she scanned her face—was she hurt? Scared? “Hey. Talk to me.”

“Yeah—sorry! Just—just give me a second!” Yn sat up way too fast, colliding headfirst with Maki’s forehead.

Maki let out a groan, recoiling as she clutched her head. “Ow…”

“OH MY GOD, MAKI!!” yn shrieked, scrambling toward her. “I’m so sorry! Does it hurt? Crap. I can go get ice—wait, stay here—”

Before she could dart out of the dorm room, Maki’s fingers hooked around her wrist, yanking her back. “Don’t,” she said, still wincing a little. “It’s fine.”

Yn bit her lip, guilt written all over her face. She flicked on the bedside lamp, then cradled Maki’s cheeks, tilting her head to inspect the damage. “It’s not swelling,” she murmured, thumb brushing lightly over the spot. “Just… a little red.”

Maki huffed a laugh, leaning into her touch. “Told you. I’ll live.”

Yn let out a shaky exhale, her shoulders finally dropping. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay...”

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Maki reached out and took yn’s hands in hers, giving them a small squeeze. Her expression softened as she leaned in, resting her still-throbbing forehead against yn’s shoulder.

“You good?” she murmured, her lips brushing softly against yn’s skin, making her shiver. “You kind of lost it there. Did I… do something?”

“What? No!” Yn pulled back just enough to Maki’s gaze, her own eyes wide with insistence. “Of course not. You were amazing, Maki! It’s just… me.” She turned away, cheeks flushing.

That only made Maki worry more. The last thing she ever wanted was for yn to feel uncomfortable around her. But she didn’t push.

She shifted back, just enough to give her space. “If you ever want to talk about it… I’m here,” she said, voice softer than she meant it to be.

Yn pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, hesitant. “It’s just silly.”

“Still listening.” She smiled faintly and leaned back, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. “Besides, it’s not like this would be the first time you’ve gone off about something. You literally spent twenty minutes earlier explaining how mudskippers are the only fish that can breathe on land, babe. Did I tell you to shut up? No.”

That got a laugh out of yn. She looked at her again. “Hey! That was important information,” she protested, her usual playful lilt returning.

“And so’s whatever’s bothering you.”

Yn paused, taken aback. Then, she shook her head with a quiet, amused sigh. “I can never win against you, can I?”

Maki’s grin widened. “Don’t take it personally. Nobody can.”

Yn rolled her eyes and gave Maki’s shoulder a playful shove. “Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“That depends,” Maki said immediately. When yn shot her a glare, she raised her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll try my best.”

She shifted, pulling her legs up onto the bed and crossing them, her full attention now on yn.

Yn hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I freaked out because… well, you’re like… really hot.”

A pause.

Then, Maki blinked. “That’s it?”

“It’s not just ‘it’!” Yn sat up with a scowl, her ears already red. “It’s the way you looked at me! With your stupid sharp jawline and your stupid perfect eyes and your voice doing that thing—and then you leaned in and I just—my brain stopped working, okay?!”

Maki raised an eyebrow, half amused, half flattered. “My… voice?”

“You know what you sound like,” yn accused, pointing at her. “It was all low and soft and kind of bossy but in a sexy kind of way. And your hands! You have really nice hands, Maki. Like, offensively attractive. You could strangle me and I’d say thank you.”

Maki burst out laughing, nearly tipping over. “Wow. Someone’s got it bad.”

Yn groaned and hid her face again. “This is your fault! You made me say it.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not complaining,” Maki said through her laughter.

But even with her teasing, something tugged gently at her chest.

She had never thought of herself that way. Not once. Words like “pretty” or “gorgeous” had never belonged to her—especially not growing up in the Zenin clan, where power was currency and softness was a flaw. She was all rough edges and hard-earned pride. She knew that. But hearing yn speak about her like this—dramatic, flustered, sincere—it made her feel… beautiful. Remarkable even.

Maki scooted close, wrapping her arms gently around yn and pulling her into a hug. 

“Thanks” she murmured, her voice quiet. A blush crept up her cheeks. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. Ever.”

Yn froze, just for a moment, before slipping her arms around Maki’s waist and holding her tight. She didn’t speak right away, like she was giving Maki space to let it sit.

Then, softly, “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

A small smile tugged at Maki’s lips. She appreciated yn’s gentle approach, her instinct to ask without pushing. She shook her head.

“Not right now,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

Still, knowing yn would worry, Maki pulled back slightly and reached up to cup her cheeks, her thumbs brushing gently over her skin. “What you said… it was enough.”

Yn looked at her for a moment, something thoughtful flickering in her eyes, like she had more to say. But then she just nodded, choosing instead to lean into Maki’s touch.

Maki was quietly grateful for that. She didn’t need pity. Didn’t need to dig up old wounds tonight.

Yn pulled back slightly, her face still pressed with warmth from Maki’s touch. “Well,” she said, voice lighter now, “I feel like we accidentally unlocked your tragic backstory instead of, y’know… making out.”

Maki snorted. “Sorry. Trauma dumping was not on the itinerary.”

“I don’t mind.” Yn grinned. “It was weirdly hot. Like, objectively.”

Maki raised an eyebrow. “That turns you on?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. You’ve hit the deadly combo,” yn said with mock seriousness, then held up her fingers as if counting. “Tall, intimidating, secretly soft, allergic to feelings? My exact type.”

Maki gave her a long, amused look. “Do you need a minute to get this out of your system?”

“No, I’m good.” Then, a beat. “Okay, maybe one more thing—your arms in that tank top. Just… wow.”

Maki laughed, full and unguarded. She leaned in slightly, their knees brushing. “You done?”

An impish grin. “I might require mouth-to-mouth to recover.”

A chuckle. “You sure you won’t smack my face this time? Or headbutt me?”

Yn’s smile faltered, replaced by a full-blown blush. “I already said I was sorry! And you said you’re fine.”

“I did,” Maki said softly. She let her hand fall back to yn’s knee, lingering. “And for the record… I still want to kiss you.”

The room fell quiet again, but this time, it was a different kind of silence. It was warm and… expectant.

Yn’s eyes flicked to her lips. “With tongue?”

Maki smirked. “Obviously.”

The word lingered in the air between them, sparking something electric. But even then, she didn’t rush.

Her gaze moved over yn’s face—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, lips parted just slightly—and she felt her chest tighten, not just with want, but with something gentler.

She leaned in slowly, giving yn time to pull away if she wanted to. 

But she didn’t. 

Her breath hitched, just enough to be noticeable, and Maki took it as a yes.

The first kiss was careful, soft. Her lips brushed against yn’s like a question. And when yn answered by leaning in just the slightest bit more, Maki smiled against her mouth.

It was sweet, familiar. Less of a kiss and more of a greeting.

Maki moved her hand up, cupping yn’s cheek, her thumb sweeping gently over her skin. She could feel how warm she was, how tense her jaw still held. So she didn’t deepen it right away. She just kissed her again, slow and steady, letting her get used to it.

But then… yn whimpered. Quiet and wanting. And that changed everything.

A slow heat coiled in Maki’s stomach. She tilted her head, kissed her again, but this time, her tongue slid forward. Testing. Tasting.

Yn squeaked, the sound soft and surprised. But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she melted.

Her fingers fisted in the front of Maki’s tank top, and Maki exhaled sharply against her lips. The tension in her spine melted away, replaced by a flickering, ticklish charge—like fingertips skimming up, sparking little bursts of heat with every inch.

She kissed her deeper, letting her tongue sweep slow and deliberate, drinking in every soft gasp and needy pull.

And then yn tugged at her—clumsy, eager—and Maki followed, letting herself be pulled down until they tipped back into the bed in a mess of limbs and laughter and flushed skin.

“Ow—your elbow—”

“Sorry, sorry—”

Maki laughed, already breathless. They were tangled, half on top of each other, wide-eyed and utterly dazed.

God, she’s gorgeous.

Not just her lips or her skin or the sweet curve of her hips—though, yeah, those were definitely doing things to her—but it was the way yn looked at her. Like she trusted her completely. Like she’d give her everything, just because it was Maki.

And that turned her on more than anything.

Maki dipped her head again, stealing another kiss from her. This time, hard.

All that careful tenderness from before burned away in an instant, replaced by something hungrier. Her hand slid down to yn’s waist, gripping tight as their mouths crashed together. Their teeth clinked, breaths hitched.

She could feel yn’s fingers digging into her shoulders, could hear the soft, breathy whimper against her mouth, and it only made her want more. She kissed her like she couldn’t get close enough, like maybe if she pressed hard enough, she could melt right into her.

By the time she pulled away, they were both panting.

Maki leaned her forehead against yn’s, trying to catch her breath.

But yn was still looking at her. Her eyes were glazed, lips red and swollen, chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow bursts. Then, barely audible, she whispered, “... Again?”

Maki’s throat tightened. Something about the way she said it—so willing, voice fraying—nearly undid her.

She nodded. “Again.”

And she surged forward.

Her lips found yn’s with a kind of reckless focus, all tongue and heat and dizzy friction. Her fingers slid beneath the hem of yn’s shirt, exploring the warm skin at her waist. A quiet moan slipped out—Maki didn’t even know if it was hers or yn’s.

Probably both.

They tumbled deeper into the bed, hands grasping, hips shifting, lost in the press of mouths and the quickening thrum of want.

It was messy. It was overwhelming.

Mina, never one to back down from a challenge, had been the first to rise to the bait. Now she pointed excitedly at yn, who sat next to Bakugo, nursing a cup of tea, blissfully detached from the brewing storm.

“You’d be perfect,” Mina gushed. “You’re gorgeous, super chill, and you’ve got that ‘mysterious but approachable’ energy that pageant judges would totally eat up.”

“Are you all serious?” Bakugo spoke up. He had been quiet this whole time, clearly uninterested in whatever dumb rivalry Monoma was trying to stir up. “You’re really going to let this extra provoke—”

“Sure,” yn said simply, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “Could be fun.”

Bakugo turned to her. “What?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It’s our last year.”

Monoma’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?” He let out a theatrical laugh. “Well, if that’s your choice, I suppose there’s no harm.”

Bakugo stiffened.

“What’d you say?” he asked, his tone dangerously low.

But Monoma didn’t back down. “Just being realistic. You can’t expect someone like her to keep up with someone like Kendo.”

"MONOMA, YOU IDIOT—!" Kendo launched herself at her classmate, delivering a swift karate chop to his shoulder

But the damage was done. 

Something in Bakugo’s expression changed, a familiar fire igniting in his crimson eyes. He stood up slowly, cracking his knuckles.

“You’re on,” he said, voice firm. “We’re entering, babe. You’re winning that damn crown.”

Yn merely picked her tea back up, hiding a smile behind the rim of her cup. “Guess we’re doing this then.”

The next morning, Bakugo personally took charge, dragging everyone to the common room and barking orders.

“Alright, extras. Listen up! This ain’t a damn pageant. This is war, and we are not losing to those Class B losers!”

“Ooooh, Bakugo’s invested,” Mina beamed.

Bakugo ignored her comment and started pointing at everyone. “Racoon Eyes, Invisibitch—you’re on make-up! Shitty Hair, Flat Face—props! Ponytail, you’re with me on wardrobe! Dunce Face—you stay far away from anything important!”

“Rude!” Kaminari yelped, clearly offended.

Yn bumped her shoulder lightly against Bakugo’s. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Bakugo shoved her back with equal lightness. “Shut up. And get your ass moving too!”

Bakugo slammed three different fabric swatches onto the common room table, making the coffee cups rattle. “Charmeuse is the only option. Anything else is garbage.”

Momo frowned, holding up a shimmering sequin. “But this would catch the light beautifully—”

“IT LOOKS LIKE A DAMN DISCO BALL. NEXT.”

Yn yawned, resting her head on her arms. “I liked the disco ball idea.”

Bakugo flicked her forehead. “You’re not helping. And go to bed.”

Jiro strummed the final chord on her guitar, nodding as yn sang the chorus flawlessly. “Damn, you’ve got pipes.”

Yn huffed a laugh, reaching for her water bottle. “Only because you’re playing along. I’ve got nothing compared to you.”

Jiro set her guitar aside, uncrossing her legs. “Seriously, why don’t you sing for the live performances?”

A shrug. “I honestly didn’t know I could. Katsuki’s the one who mentioned it.”

Jiro’s eyes widened. “Wait. Bakugo pointed it out?” Then a slow grin spread across her face. “How’d that even come up?”

Yn blinked. “I, uh, hum sometimes. When we’re… napping.”

Jiro’s smirk turned lethal. “Oh my god. You lullaby him.”

“And… I regret telling you,” yn said with a sigh.

Jiro cackled, kicking her legs like an excited kid. “That’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard.” She flipped over and grabbed her phone. “Mina’s gonna lose her mind!”

Yn lunged at her. “Hey, Jiro! No!”

Bakugo watched as yn took one more wobbly step in the strappy heels Momo had made before immediately grabbing him for support.

“Yeah… I don’t think I can do this,” she declared, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

“But they’re perfect!” Mina said. “Look at your legs!”

“Look at my ankles,” yn shot back, gripping Bakugo’s shoulders for dear life. “They’re about to snap.”

Bakugo slowly knelt down, his fingers gently undoing the straps. “Told you. Ditch the death traps.”

“But she looks so pretty in—” Uraraka protested.

“She’s wearing shorter heels. Just make ‘em pointed so she’d look taller,” he announced, tossing the heels aside.

“Hey!” Momo yelped as she caught them.

Monoma, disguised in a terrible wig, peeked into the stage where yn was practicing.

Kaminari spotted him instantly. “Uh, guys? We’ve got a spy.”

Bakugo didn’t even look up. “Flat Face.”

Sero grinned, happily taping Monoma up, while Shoji picked him up, ready to dump him in Class B’s dorm.

Yn waved as they passed her. “Tell Kendo I said good luck!”

Yn pushed open the common room door, blinking at the unexpected sight of Bakugo hunched over the sofa, papers in hand.

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked, sitting in the space beside him.

Bakugo shifted slightly to make room without looking up. “Still rehearsing for the live show.”

“And… you’re not playing the drums?” yn asked, leaning back onto the couch.

“Tch. Already nailed my part,” he muttered, finally tossing the papers onto the coffee table and slumping back. “They’re just screwing around now.”

Yn hummed, letting the silence settle between them. The easy kind that only existed when it was just the two of them.

She inched closer, letting her head drop onto his shoulder. 

Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He leaned into the contact, his cheek brushing against her hair.

“Missed you,” he grumbled.

Yn laughed. “Katsuki, we share classes, a dorm, and now this pageant thing. I see you more than my own reflection.”

“With the extras,” he emphasized, nose wrinkling.

“Aww,” she cooed, playfully poking his side. “You wanted me all to yourself.”

Bakugo huffed, a flush creeping up his neck. “Shut up.”

Grinning, yn removed her slippers and curled up on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she looped an arm around his. “Well…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, heart thudding in her chest. “You’ve got me now.”

Bakugo turned, his gaze flickering from her eyes to her lips. “Yeah?”

Yn nodded, her smile soft. “I missed you too.”

Bakugo’s expression softened. His hand rose to cup her cheek, rough fingers gentle against her skin. When she leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering close for a second, Bakugo looked at her like she was the only thing in his world.

He tilted her chin up, slowly closing the space between them. Their eyes slipped shut, breaths mingling as their lips finally—

“Hey, Bakugo! We’re back!” Kirishima’s voice rang out, the door slamming open.

Bakugo groaned, jerking away. He slumped back against the couch, scowling at the ceiling in silent, dramatic defeat.

The notification buzzed against yn's palm as she lay curled in bed, the glow of her phone painting soft light across her face. She didn't need to look at the sender to know who it was.

Stop scrolling through your damn phone and sleep.

A quiet laugh escaped her as she typed back, How do you know I'm scrolling?

The reply came instantly. Because you replied immediately.

Yn smiled, adjusting against her pillows. Maybe I'm meditating.

Bullshit. You're looking at memes.

She glanced at the image still open on her screen—a cat wearing a tiny, lopsided crown—and sent it without hesitation. Okay, but this one's good.

Her phone lit up with his response, the letters practically vibrating with indignation even through text. THAT'S LITERALLY JUST A CAT.

A royal cat, she corrected.

Go. To. Bed.

Can't. Too busy manifesting my victory.

The next message contained a single image: an alarm clock set for 5 AM with the caption ‘WAKE YN UP.’

Meanie, she sent, already dreading the early hour.

You'll thank me when you're not yawning on stage tomorrow.

Yn sighed, knowing he was right but unwilling to admit it. Fine. But only because you're cute when you're bossy.

The bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared. Finally—

You'll kill it tomorrow. If anyone says anything bad about you, I’ll blow ‘em up.

Her breath caught, thumb hovering over the screen. She smiled and sent her response.

I know I will. But thanks, Katsuki. Love you.

GO TO SLEEP.

Yn chuckled, about to turn her phone face down on the nightstand when Bakugo sent another message.

Love you too.

Yn stepped onto the stage, quiet and composed, mic in hand. Her presence alone was enough to hush the crowd. She paused at the center, took a breath, and closed her eyes.

From the back of the crowd, Bakugo stood with his arms crossed, gaze fixed on her. Her face glowed on the giant screen behind her, casting her features in a soft, angelic glow. 

Then the music began.

She began to sway to the melody, and when the moment came, she opened her eyes. Her voice followed, gentle and warm, filling the space like sunlight. 

The crowd didn’t dare move. To anyone else, it might’ve looked like polite silence. But Bakugo knew better. They were captivated. Hooked.

He smirked, pride swelling in his chest. Atta girl.

The song swelled with sentiment, a delicate ballad that mirrored her soft delivery. But then, without warning, it began to rain.

Gasps echoed. A few umbrellas popped open in the audience. Bakugo’s entire body went tense, instinctively stepping forward, already half-ready to shield her.

But yn didn’t flinch.

Instead, she stepped into it, letting the droplets catch in her hair, cling to her skin, trailing down her cheek like tears.

She turned slightly, just enough to angle her body toward the light, the water shimmering like it was part of the act. Her voice never wavered, staying smooth and steady.

Bakugo blinked. Then, he saw it.

That small tilt of her head. That calculated pause in her breath. The barely-there smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

She was guiding the moment, twisting the sudden downpour to make her performance more dramatic. She pulled their hearts with gentle precision, painting herself as this fragile, ethereal heroine.

And they were eating it up.

Bakugo scoffed, grinning to himself.

He knew better though.

Underneath that calm exterior, yn was competitive as hell.

She just hid it better than most.

Like how she always walked just a little faster whenever Sato brought out fresh cookies, slipping through their rowdy classmates like it was nothing, but always managing to snag the first one.

Or how she’d lean back and smile during game nights, cool as ever, until someone beats her in Mario Kart. Then suddenly, she’d be sitting forward, knees tucked up, focus lazer-sharp.

He’d seen it in training too. She’d nod absently when given instructions, like she was barely paying attention. But the second someone started getting ahead of her, her punches got sharper, her footwork quicker.

And she never backed down.

Not even when Bakugo dared her to eat the spicy noodles he made just to mess with her. She’d just stare at him, eyes watering, and eat the whole damn bowl out of spite.

She just hated to lose.

And that was one of the first things he ever loved about her.

The crowd probably saw an angel.

But all he saw was her.

Then, mid-verse, she looked up.

Right at him.

The connection hit fast. Strong. Like she'd reached straight through the crowd and found him exactly where he stood.

The mic hovered close to her lips.

The next line was supposed to be a tender, heartfelt I love you. A perfect romantic finish, made to be sung.

But she didn’t sing it.

Instead, she spoke. Changing the words, uttering it so softly. Like a secret passed only to him.

“Thank you.”

The word whispered through the speakers, yet somehow it was louder than everything else.

The crowd melted.

But Bakugo didn’t move. He couldn’t.

His heart was pounding, loud and erratic in his ears, drowning out the cheers.

He never believed in soulmates or any of that mushy crap. That wasn’t them.

He and yn weren’t some fairytale couple. They were two stubborn, messy people who’d somehow figured out how to make it work. No sparks or fate—just time, effort, and a whole lot of understanding.

Their relationship wasn’t built on sweet words or perfect moments. It was built on them showing up. On backing each other up. On knowing when to push and when to just be there.

And right now, standing there soaked in rain, watching her express her gratitude so beautifully—Bakugo felt it. All of it.

Up there wasn’t just his girlfriend doing some cutesy stage performance.

That was his person. His partner.

The one person who called him out, kept him in check, pushed him to be better—but never once asked him to be someone he wasn’t.

And he didn’t know what the future looked like after graduation, or what kind of shit they’d face out in the world.

But he knew one thing for sure:

He wasn’t letting her go.

Yn barely had time to adjust her crooked crown before the Bakusquad descended like vultures, hungry for drama.

“OHHHH, LOOK WHO'S EATING HIS WORDS NOW—” Kaminari howled, slinging an arm around Monoma's stiff shoulders.

“Funny,” Sero mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I could've sworn someone said we ‘lacked elegance’—”

Monoma's eye twitched. “I believe I said refinement—”

“YET HERE WE ARE!” Mina spun in front of him with a dramatic flourish, gesturing toward yn’s glittering crown. “This queen just wiped the floor with you. In the rain, no less!”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Yn stepped forward with a sigh, trying—and failing—to hide the amused sparkle in her eyes. “We shouldn’t rub it in…”

She paused.

Then pulled out her phone, the screen already glowing. “...without proper documentation!”

The Bakusquad erupted.

“OHHHHHH!!!”

“SHE’S ARCHIVING THE SHAME!!!”

“SEND THAT TO THE CLASS CHAT!!!”

Bakugo, trailing just behind her, let out a bark of laughter. He leaned over her shoulder, fingers zooming in on Monoma’s scowl. “Hold still, Knockoff.”

Monoma looked ready to combust. “This is harassment!”

Kirishima, barely containing his own laughter, grinned widely. “Yn use the clown filter. For accuracy.”

Kendo, watching the chaos with amused resignation, shook her head. “You're all terrible.”

“We learned from the best,” yn replied sweetly, passing her phone to Kirishima and patting Monoma on the shoulder with mock sympathy. “Thanks for the inspiration. You’ve been great for morale.”

Kendo chuckled and stepped in, offering a hand. “Seriously, though. You were incredible.”

Yn’s smirk softened. She took Kendo’s hand, squeezing it. “Thanks. You were amazing too. Had me sweating for a second. You made the competition tough.”

Kendo grinned and pulled her into a quick, warm hug. “Coming from you? That means a lot.”

They parted with a shared look of respect before Kendo dragged a sputtering Monoma off by the collar, still mid-rant.

Then, finally, yn let the tension drain from her shoulders. She turned and collapsed into Bakugo’s side, face buried in his chest.

“Carry me,” she mumbled into his shirt, her voice muffled and sleepy.

Bakugo let out a low chuckle, wrapping an arm around her. “Yeah, yeah. I got you, princess.”

The stars were out. Quiet, for once.

Yn climbed the stairs slowly, her sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. She found him exactly where she expected—leaning against the railing, arms folded, gaze turned skyward.

“You avoiding the party?” she asked, voice light.

Bakugo didn’t look at her. “Tch. Too loud.”

She joined him at the railing, shoulder brushing his.

“I can’t celebrate my win without my coach, y’know,” she teased, glancing up at him.

That earned a small scoff. “You didn’t win ‘cause of me.”

“I didn’t win without you either,” she said softly.

He didn’t respond at first, just stared ahead, jaw tight. Then—

“You were amazing,” he said, almost grudgingly. “Stupidly amazing.”

Yn smiled. “You’re getting better at compliments.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but his ears were definitely pink.

Silence followed, settling comfortably between them, soft and familiar.

“But I was a bit scared, you know,” yn admitted after a moment.

Bakugo snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Could’ve fooled me.”

She bumped his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious, jerk.” Then, more quietly, her expression softened. “I kept looking for you.”

Something flickered in his eyes. The distance between them diminished.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

This time, when they leaned in, there was no hesitation. Her fingers curled into his hoodie, his fingers hovered near her jaw, and the rooftop felt quieter than it had all night.

Their noses brushed, lips just about to meet—

“Yo! There you guys are!”

Bakugo’s forehead fell to yn’s shoulder with a low, agonized groan.

“Shitty Hair,” he growled, not even turning around. “I swear to god—”

“I just came to tell you there’s cake!” Kirishima grinned from the door, completely unbothered. “But hey, don’t stop on my account—”

“Kirishima.”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving!”

He disappeared back down the stairs, laughing.

Yn pressed a hand to her mouth, giggling into her palm. “Next time then,” she whispered, eyes sparkling.

Because despite all the love and warmth he gives, Asahi is riddled with insecurities. When he makes a mistake, he doesn’t just acknowledge it—he fixates on it, lets it weigh him down. When people mock him, he takes their words to heart, even when they don’t deserve to be listened to. He hesitates to ask for help, convinced he’s a burden, as if his needs could ever be an inconvenience.

And it breaks your heart.

Because if anyone deserves to feel confident—deserves to see just how wonderful he is—it’s him.

“Yeah,” you say out loud, as if voicing the thought makes it more real.

“Yeah what?” Asahi asks, mid-bite into his lunch, his expression vaguely concerned.

You lean back in your chair, a slow grin spreading across your face as you lazily intertwine your ankles with his under the table.

“I’m going to give you a confidence boost.”

Asahi pauses, chopsticks hovering in his hand. He blinks at you once. Twice. Then cautiously chews the food already in his mouth, as if bracing for impact. “... Why do I feel like this isn’t going to end well?”

“Wow. Rude,” you say, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m very good at boosting confidence.”

“Yn…” He levels you with a wary look, clearly not convinced. “You once told Tanaka he had ‘super manly energy’ just to see how many push-ups he’d do in front of Shimizu.”

You hum, tilting your head. “And? He did fifty. He felt unstoppable.”

Asahi sighs, giving you a deadpan look. “Yeah. Until Noya jumped in. They turned it into a contest and accidentally pushed Daichi to the floor. Face first. He made them run laps for an hour after.”

“Okay, that was objectively hilarious,” you argue, grinning. “But my point still stands! My methods work.” You poke his arm insistently. “C’mon, Asahi. It’ll be fun. You’ll feel amazing.”

Asahi exhales slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. He already knows he’s lost.

“Yn…” he tries one last time, weakly.

“Nope.” You cut him off cheerfully, clapping your hands together. “We’re doing this, Asahi. Get ready to become the most self-assured man ever.”

Asahi groans, slouching back. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

You beam. “That’s just the self-doubt talking! But don’t worry, we’ll fix that soon.”

And with that, your plan was officially in motion.

After classes, you made a beeline for the stationery store, determination fueling your every step. The moment you stepped inside, you knew exactly what you were looking for. Brightly colored sticky notes in every neon shade imaginable, something impossible to ignore. The paper felt smooth under your fingers as you flipped through the pack, already picturing the messages you’d scribble down for Asahi.

That night, seated at your desk with a pen in hand, you got to work. Each note carried a message of affirmation wrapped in warmth:

‘No one does it better than you, Asahi! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧’

‘Look around and appreciate all the things going right in your life (like me •⩊•)’

‘Slow progress is still progress! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و’

You didn’t stop there. Little doodles framed each note—stars, tiny volleyballs, even a goofy cartoon version of him with his signature bun. And when the time was right, you’d slip them into his bag, tuck them into his textbooks, or press them between the pages of his notebook when he wasn’t looking.

The best part was watching his reaction.

His brows would furrow at first, confusion flickering across his face, before his lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. Sometimes he’d turn to look at you, but you’d always turn away just in time, biting your lip to hold back a laugh.

At first, the notes were pure encouragement. But after a while, you decided to get a little playful.

‘When life gives you lemons, SQUEEZE THEM INTO THE EYES OF YOUR ENEMIES!!’

‘Together, we’re an 11/10, but let’s be real, you’re carrying the extra point ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ’

‘You didn’t wake up to be a little bitch. Go slay, babe!’

Asahi would groan, rolling his eyes, but he never threw them away. If anything, he held onto them longer, even smoothing out the corners after they’d been crumpled in his palm. You knew he loved them.

For two weeks, everything was going perfectly. You could feel the change in him—his shoulders weren’t so tense, his voice a little stronger when he spoke. Your little experiment was working.

And then, it happened.

It started like any other day. Another note, another hiding spot. This time it was in his book. But when Asahi opened it in the middle of class, it slipped from the pages, fluttering to the floor.

Your stomach dropped.

The teacher, already mid-stride, noticed the note before Asahi could react. Bending down, he picked it up, adjusting his glasses.

“As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm for written communication, Azumane, there’s no passing notes in my class,” he announced.

You stiffened and Asahi’s entire body went rigid, his hands gripping the edges of his desk.

“If you’re so eager to share, let me read it aloud.”

No. No, no, no.

You barely had time to brace yourself before the words left his mouth.

“You are a sexy little peach and I’d love to take a bite of that juicy booty.”

Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

Your face ignited in flames. Asahi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his entire soul leaving his body in real time.

Yeah… you were pretty sure you had just emotionally traumatized your boyfriend.

“... And that's what happened,” Asahi muttured, putting down his cup of beer, ears and cheeks tinged pink.

The table exploded with laughter. Tanaka and Nishinoya nearly fell out of their seats, wheezing as they slapped him on the back.

“I almost forgot about that,” Daichi chuckled, shaking his head.

“Remember when we used to call him ‘Sexy Peach’ for a whole month?” Sugawara added, grinning.

Asahi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please for the love of God, stop.”

“But it worked out in the end,” Nishinoya pointed out, pouring Asahi another drink. “Ever since that happened, you stopped being such a wuss.”

Asahi blinked, his hand stilling around the cup.

He hadn’t thought of it like that before.

For years, he had carried his insecurities, convinced that no matter how much time passed, the self-doubt would always be there, whispering that he wasn’t enough.

But somewhere along the way, those doubts had let up. 

It wasn’t because he had suddenly stopped making mistakes or because he had magically become more confident overnight.

It was because he had learned—slowly, painfully, and with far too much embarrassment—that mistakes weren’t the end of the world. That being laughed at didn’t mean he wasn’t loved. That messing up didn’t mean he wasn’t enough.

Back then, if someone had told him he would someday be able to sit here and retell that story without wanting to disappear, he wouldn’t have believed them.

Yet here he was.

Still standing, moving forward. He was still surrounded by the same friends who had teased him mercilessly, sure, but who had also always been there, cheering him on.

And yn.

God, yn.

She had been horrified after the whole thing. He could still remember the way she had chased after him once class was over, face red and soaked in tears, words tumbling out between hiccups like a glitching robot.

“Asahi—I didn’t mean—hic—I just—hic—I swear I wasn’t—sniff—”

And then she just sobbed and Asahi went into full panic mode.

“Yn—Yn, breathe,” he had blurted out, hands hovering awkwardly. “You’re going to pass out at this rate!”

But she wasn’t listening, only wailing into his chest while he stood there, frantically rubbing circles into her back.

And thus, instead of disappearing off the face of the earth like he had planned, Asahi spent the next hour reassuring his very remorseful girlfriend that no, he wasn’t mad, and yes, he still loved her.

But that wasn’t enough for her.

For the next week, she had dedicated herself to earning his forgiveness—buying him drinks, giving him shoulder massages, literally hand-feeding him snacks like some kind of king.

She had even offered to write herself a note to publicly embarrass herself in return, because apparently, “equal emotional damage” was the only fair form of justice.

(He had gently declined that one.)

Still, the truth was, he hadn't even been mad. 

Humiliated? Absolutely. 

But mad? Never. 

Not when she had always seen something in him he hadn’t seen in himself, when she spent all that time sneaking those ridiculous, sticky notes into his things, determined to make him believe in himself.

He wasn’t the same person he had been in high school.

The insecurities were still there, lingering at the edges, but they no longer dictated his life. He had learned to push past them, to embrace the imperfections, and if he ever stumbled, he would always get back up.

Asahi exhaled, shaking his head with a small, fond smile.

“Yeah,” he admitted. "I guess it did."

The group cheered, clinking glasses, still teasing him mercilessly, but Asahi didn't mind. For once, the warmth in his chest overpowered the embarrassment.

Later that night, as he fished his wallet out of his bag, something fluttered onto the floor.

A sticky note.

His breath hitched as he picked it up, already recognizing the familiar handwriting. Even after all these years, even after getting married, yn still found ways to sneak love into the most unexpected moments.

He unfolded the note, his lips curving as he read:

‘Get home safe, okay?? I need my sexy little peach in one piece!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡’

Asahi groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. But even as he did, he couldn't stop the grin spreading across his lips.

He carefully folded the note and tucked it into his wallet, right next to a tiny stack of others just like it.

The realization should have unnerved you. After all, your purpose had been clear from the start. You were a tool—handpicked, carefully placed in Sevika’s life under the guise of a gift. A distraction. A temptation.

The councilors had never trusted her, not fully. To them, she was a filthy Zaunite who had clawed her way too close to power, a threat that needed to be eliminated. And so, they sent you. A spy wrapped in silk and charm, meant to dig into her secrets, to expose the cracks they were certain lay beneath her armor. To bring her down before she could rise any higher.

It wasn’t a new role for you. The game was familiar, its rules well-worn, the steps rehearsed.

Push, pull, bait, retreat, and repeat.

You’d lean close, let your touch linger just a little too long, whispered sweet nothings that had unraveled lesser men and women. 

But Sevika wasn’t an easy target. She never fell for the traps, never let herself be anything more than indifferent. A scoff here, a deadpan rejection there.

“If you’re done wasting your time, the door’s over there.”

“You’re not my type.”

“Get off me.”

And yet, her coldness never frustrated you. Truthfully, it intrigued you. The challenge was intoxicating, the pushback a delightful burn under your skin.

Then came the gala.

You had expected the sneers, the hushed whispers from Piltover’s elite. Expected the way they looked at you, painting you as a gold-digging harlot, a pretty thing draped over Sevika’s arm—even your own employers weren’t subtle about it. But you were ready to play along, to smile through the veiled insults like you always did.

Until Sevika spoke.

Not in your defense. Not in some grand display of defiance. Just a single, blunt remark.

“At least she has the guts to do her actual job.”

Simple. Unembellished. And somehow, it rattled you more than any flattering remark ever had.

After that, something shifted. 

You started noticing things you had once overlooked—the exhaustion lining Sevika’s face when she returned late at night, the tension in her shoulders, the absentminded way she rubbed at her mechanical arm. The way her gaze lingered, a faint smile tugging at her lips when she spotted the small doodles on the metal, no doubt left by Undercity children. 

She wasn’t just some power-hungry brute clawing her way up. She worked in the shadows, not for personal gain, but for Zaun.

And before you knew it, you had started to see her as something more.

It showed in the smallest of gestures. Setting a glass of whiskey by her usual spot before she even realized she was thirsty. Picking up a tool she had tossed aside, setting it back within reach. Lowering your voice just slightly when you caught her rubbing her temples, easing the tension without calling attention to it.

Nothing was spoken of it, but you knew Sevika noticed.

And in return, she tested you.

One night, she "misplaced" a document—something critical enough to cost her everything in the council. You scoffed at the drastic measure, but a smile tugged at your lips. You saw it for what it was: a deliberate trap, a silent challenge to test your loyalties. And you hadn’t taken the bait. The moment your eyes skimmed the header, you stopped reading. You hadn’t even considered it.

It had been a turning point.

Over the next few months, Sevika’s distance became less absolute. She still met your advances with unwavering indifference, still dismissed your flirtations without a second thought—but she no longer pushed you away completely.

The door to her room, once always locked, now gave way with an easy turn of the knob. When you settled beside her, she adjusted—just enough to make space, though never enough to acknowledge it. And every now and then, she was the one seeking you out. A casual, offhand “You seen my lighter?” as if you’d always been part of her routine.

Then, a distant door creaked open, breaking your train of thought. Heavy footfalls followed, signalling Sevika’s usual return.

You remained still, listening. The door swung open, then clicked shut with careful intent. Back then, she would’ve slammed it just to piss you off when she caught you sneaking into her room. Now, she lets you stay.

The bed dipped as she sat on the edge, the quiet whir of her metal arm filling the space as she flexed its joints. 

With that, the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding eased. She was back. Safe. The thought settled over you, and sleep finally began to tug at your senses.

Until her voice cut through the dark.

“I know you’re awake.”

Her words were gruff, spoken between the faint sound of her adjusting her prosthetic.

You huffed a quiet laugh, letting your eyes flutter open. Turning onto your side, you propped your head up with one hand, lips curving into a lazy smirk. The moonlight gleamed off the silver edges of her arm, but your attention lingered elsewhere—the sharp lines of her face, the dip of her collarbone, the steady rise and fall of her chest.

“Aww, you caught me. What gave it away?” you drawled, your gaze dragging over her like a slow caress. You didn’t even bother hiding the appreciation in your eyes, not when she was sitting there looking like that.

But Sevika barely spared you a glance. “You weren’t starfished across the bed, and the blankets aren’t on the floor.”

Your smirk faltered for just a second. “I do not sleep like that!” you scoffed.

Sevika arched a brow. “And you just know how you sleep?”

“And you do?” you shot back, leaning in slightly. “Looks like someone’s been watching me.”

Sevika snorted. “I can’t exactly miss it when you kick me in your sleep.”

That one got you, and you gasped in mock offense. “Lies and slander!”

“Uh-huh. Go to sleep.”

But you weren’t done yet. Shifting just enough, you let the silk of your nightwear slip off one shoulder, baring warm skin to the cool air. You stretched, slow and deliberate, letting your voice take on a more sultry lilt.

“But I was hoping you’d join me,” you murmured, “and tire me out properly.”

Sevika didn’t even look up. “Goodnight.”

You pouted. “That’s not a no.”

Sevika’s only response was an unimpressed grunt as she continued working on her arm.

You expected as much. Always so damn difficult and serious. It was amusing, endearing even.

For once, you didn’t push further. 

The air was easy, thick with a silence that didn’t need to be filled. Sevika’s rough presence had a way of soothing things—your thoughts, your breathing, the restless energy you carried everywhere else. Lately, you found yourself craving these moments the most. The ones where neither of you had to say anything, where the world felt far away, and all that was left was this quiet, steady thing between you.

In moments like this, it was easy to forget the game you were playing, the lines you were meant to toe. Easy to pretend she was yours to keep.

And then she shattered it.

“You’re slipping,” Sevika murmured, voice deceptively casual.

Something in your chest tightened, a sharp instinct telling you to fix your mask. You have always been careful. Always calculating. But lately… you’d been reckless.

“Am I?”

Sevika’s gaze flickered toward you, sharp and assessing. But beneath the scrutiny, there was something else.

“Nobody stood in my way today.” A pause. “You didn’t report my whereabouts.”

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

“Whoops,” you said smoothly, stretching again before rolling onto your stomach, hugging a pillow beneath you. “Must’ve slipped my mind. Long week.”

Sevika didn’t buy it. Of course she didn’t. The woman was too perceptive for that.

“You haven’t been doin’ your job for four months.” Her tone was flat, but there was an edge to it, something closer to certainty than suspicion. “No reports. No sudden bullshit. The council used to be up my ass every time I made a move, but now? Nothin’.”

Silence stretched between you two. Heavy, charged. You felt yourself standing at the edge of something—a line you’d already crossed but still refused to acknowledge.

Your fingers curled slightly against the pillow. Then, tilting your head, you offered a slow, measured shrug. “What, I can’t let them sweat a little? It’s fun watching them panic.” You glanced away, busying yourself with the ceiling. “Plus they were getting annoying.”

At the corner of your eye, you caught the slight narrowing of Sevika’s gaze. Her stare felt different tonight. Heavier. It made your skin prickle.

A beat.

Then—

“Figures.”

Another pause. Then, quieter, like she hadn’t meant to say it at all.

“Thanks.”

You almost missed it, but you didn’t. And god, if it didn’t send your heart into a shameless, fluttering mess.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, creeping up your neck—a dangerous, traitorous thing you weren’t ready to name.

You shifted, biting back a smile, desperate to smother the feeling before it showed. “You could thank me in a different way, you know,” you teased, voice light, playful, and maybe just a little too hopeful.

You expected the usual reaction. The exasperation. The dismissal.

But this time, Sevika moved. 

The mattress gave beneath you, and before you could process it, something cold pressed around your shoulder. Her metallic hand pushed and your world tilted—your back meeting the sheets, trapping you beneath her.

Then, heat.

A rough palm slid up your thigh, quick and purposeful, parting your legs like she owned the space between them. Your breath hitched, but before you could find your voice, her fingers were already moving—skimming higher, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, never quite reaching where you needed her.

Sevika loomed over you, broad shoulders casting shadows in the dim light, her gaze dragging over your face with unhurried interest.

Her lips quirked upward, amused. “That what you want?”

You swallowed, pulse jumping. “Just an idea,” you murmured, feigning confidence.

Sevika hummed, low and indulgent. “Mm. And what exactly are you hoping for?”

“Use your imagination.”

She laughed. “I don’t think you’d survive my imagination.”

“Try me,” you said, too quick, too desperate. The words tumbled out like a plea instead of a challenge.

Sevika grinned. That was all the invitation she needed.

She leaned in, her breath teasing against your mouth. “Sure.”

Barely a whisper. Barely a touch. Just the ghost of her lips over yours—enough to set you alight, to make you chase after something she hadn’t even given yet. Anticipation coiled hot and heavy in your stomach, unbearable and unrelenting.

Holy shi—

To strip you down to nothing. To hollow your mind, your will, your soul, until only their perfect creation remained.

You curled your fingers, stiff with dried blood that wasn’t yours.

The elders had raised you. Shaped you, gave you immortality and power. Told you you were humanity’s savior, a divine force meant to protect the good and destroy the evil. And yet, when you had started thinking for yourself, they decided you had to go.

And the sorcerers—your comrades, allies—who claimed to fight for justice had known all along.

You should have seen it. The signs had been there, whispering at the edges of your mind for years. The way they never let you question orders. The way they spoke of you as if you were something godly, untouchable—an object. The way they get angry when you falter, when your humanity slipped through the cracks. The way they spoke of Sukuna’s carnage with horror, yet smiled at the thought of your own destruction.

And Sukuna had told you a million times that they were only using you.

Yet still, you had trusted them, even defended them.

God, you had been so blind.

You’ve been angry before but this… was something else.

Your thoughts were cut off when one of the elders stumbled towards you. Eyes wide with terror, robes burnt and tattered, voice raw from screaming.

Pathetic.

His arms reached out, trembling, desperate—but just as his fingers nearly brushed against you, he froze. A sickening squelch split the air.

Blood sprayed across your face, warm and sticky. You flinched, eyes shutting instinctively. When you opened them again, his body was already falling apart, neatly cleaved in two. His insides spilled onto the ground, unveiling the one who had carved him open like a piece of fruit.

Sukuna.

Your beloved stood there amidst the carnage, red eyes finding yours with a softness that contradicted the brutality around him. A smirk curled at his lips.

“Whoops,” he drawled, voice smooth, almost teasing. “Sorry about that, love. Let me just—”

He nudged the corpse aside with the ease of someone flicking away a speck of dust, stepping forward until he was right in front of you. His fingers reached for your face, thumbs swiping the blood from your eyelids before he brought them to his mouth, licking them off without care.

His eyes roamed over you, head tilting slightly before he murmured, "You look good in red."

But you didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just stood there, staring at nothing. Mind blank. Heart sunken.

Sukuna clicked his tongue, feigning annoyance, but instead of stepping away, he moved to your side—not forcing closeness, but ensuring his presence remained.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke again.

“Regretting it already?”

“No.”

The word left your lips before you even processed it. It was quick, firm, without hesitation. Yet, it felt foreign. 

Not because it wasn’t true. But because it was.

You should’ve felt something. Guilt. Horror. At least a sliver of unease. But as you stared at the blood staining your dress, the bodies littering the ground, you felt… nothing.

No, that wasn’t right.

You felt lighter.

And that realization sent a chill down your spine.

Because you remembered how you used to look at Sukuna with disgust for this very thing. For the ease with which he slaughtered, the way his hands carved through flesh like it was second nature, the utter indifference in his crimson eyes as life after life fell before him.

You remembered asking him how he does it so easily, but he only smirked, amused by your naïve desperation to make him care. 

“Because the weak were never meant to survive,” he had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

You had hated that answer.

Hated the way he spoke of life like it was something disposable. Hated how he could stand atop piles of corpses without a single shadow of doubt, how he never flinched, never hesitated, never felt.

But now… standing here, you finally understood what he had meant.

It wasn’t just about strength. It wasn’t about who could fight, who could kill, who could stand at the top while others were crushed beneath them.

No, it was about something far crueler.

It was about control.

The elde—no, those mortals called you their goddess. Their hope. But the moment you stopped being obedient, they turned on you without hesitation, never seeing you as human. 

You were not one of them and you never had been.

You were a puppet for them to control.

And those who couldn’t be controlled? They were discarded.

Not because they lacked strength, but because they lacked the freedom to choose.

And if you had never met Sukuna—if you had never questioned, never seen—you would have died believing you were fighting for something real. 

You would have died for them.

For people who had never truly wanted you to live.

And the fact that you’re accepting this terrified you.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look at him. He was watching you carefully, that familiar, knowing smirk playing at his lips. 

As if he had been waiting for this moment.

The moment you would finally see.

A shuddering breath slipped past your lips. When did it happen? When had the battles stopped being about winning against him and started being about understanding him? When had your hatred—fierce, unshakable—slowly unraveled into something far more dangerous?

Sukuna had always known what you refused to admit. You weren’t some shining hero the elders blinded you into believing. You were an experiment.

He was the only one who had ever looked at you, the only one who had ever spoken to you like you were real.

In the end, it wasn’t his words that had made you fall.

It was the way he listened when no one else did. The way he challenged you, pushed you, made you question everything you thought you knew.

It was the way that, despite his cruelty, despite the blood in his hands, he never caged you.

He never forced you. He just waited.

And when the world you thought you were protecting finally turned against you—when those mortals revealed what you truly were, what they had always intended for you to become—

He was the only one left standing beside you.

The irony of it settled deep, heavier than the fire-choked air.

They had told you Sukuna was the epitome of destruction. That he was a monster incapable of love, incapable of anything but carnage.

But when you whispered his name earlier into the darkness, choking on the truth of your own existence, he had come.

He hadn’t gloated. Hadn’t mocked you.

He had simply pulled you into his chest, running his clawed hand oh-so gently through your hair, smiling, slow and satisfied.

“Want me to ‘take care’ of it, love?”

He had offered salvation. Given you the choice.

And you had taken it.

Now, standing in the wreckage of that choice, you felt untethered.

Sukuna stepped closer, fingers brushing against your cheek, sharp yet familiar, sending a slow hum through your veins.

“You wanted this,” he murmured, his hand tilting your chin, forcing you to look back at the massacre you had started. “So don’t look away.”

Your breath hitched. 

You had wanted this, needed it.

“I know,” you said, and you didn’t look away.

Sukuna hummed in approval, stepping behind you, his palm dragging up your back. 

“Then don’t mourn them.”

And you didn’t.

Because there was nothing left to mourn.

The people who had claimed to love you had tried to erase you.

And the man who had been deemed a monster had saved you.

Your lips parted. "I won’t."

You didn’t need to turn around to know a grin had spread across his face—wide and victorious. 

“Good.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek there, arms wrapping around you, grip unyielding.

Curling around you like a cage.

But for the first time—

It didn’t feel like a prison.

Not just casual, oh-this-is-cute levels of obsession. No, yn was the type to pause mid-conversation just to gasp at two guys standing within five feet of each other. The kind to turn a simple, innocent interaction into a star-crossed love story before he even had time to blink.

And somehow, he’d been roped into the madness, officially serving as her dealer, slipping her BL intel on the volleyball team while she, a hopeless addict, kept coming back for more.

He honestly didn’t get it. What was so special about imagining people who weren’t dating… dating? But then she would just light up at the smallest details, gasping dramatically like she had just uncovered a hidden treasure.

Yeah. That was probably the reason he went along with it.

Which is why, even though this was objectively ridiculous, he still let her in when she came over, already knowing what she was about to ask.

The door to his room slammed open.

Kenma barely flinched. Without looking up from his Switch, he deadpanned, “You’re late.”

Yn practically bounced at the sight of him, her eyes already gleaming with barely-contained excitement. “Were there any important developments?!”

Kenma sighed, saving his game before setting the console aside. “Close the door first.”

She kicked it shut behind her and hurried over, plopping down cross-legged on the floor. Elbows propped on his bed, hands clasped under her chin, she leaned in expectantly. “Report.”

“Lev got hit in the face with a volleyball today.”

Yn nodded sagely. “Classic.”

“Yaku patched him up while cursing him out. Lev said, ‘Wow, you’re so gentle, Senpai.’” Kenma kept his voice as flat as ever, knowing full well she was already eating this up. “Yaku kicked him.”

She squealed, grabbing his arm and shaking him. “That’s so cute!”

Kenma gave her a pointed look. “It’s assault.”

“But it’s their love language.”

He propped his elbow on his knee, using his hand to hide the smirk twitching at his lips. “Right.”

Yn’s eyes sparkled, no doubt already conjuring up an entire romantic subplot in her head. She clutched his sleeve, gaze full of manic determination. “Did he say anything else?”

Kenma pretended to think, dragging it out for maximum effect.

After a long pause, he finally said, “Lev thanked him. Then Yaku just grunted and told him to shut up.”

Yn gasped, eyes widening before slamming her hands onto the bed. “They’re definitely in love!”

Kenma snorted, shaking his head. “That’s normal, yn.”

“No, no, no.” She scooted closer, eyes alight with conspiracy as she went full lecture mode. “Kenma, it’s the classic ‘grumpy pretends they don’t care but totally does’ dynamic. You know, the grumpy one does something nice, the soft one gets all flustered, grumpy brushes it off like it’s no big deal. But then it keeps happening, over and over, until grumpy finally snaps and is like—” She dropped her voice to a dramatic growl. “‘Why do you make me feel things?!’”

Then she flung her hands up for emphasis. “And boom—accidental love confession, the soft one melts, they kiss, and then they finally fu—”

“PG-13, Yn.”

She waved him off. “Right, right. My point is, it’s only a matter of time.”

Kenma rolled his eyes, watching as she practically glowed, completely lost in her own world. “You’re so delusional.”

Yn grinned, completely undeterred. “Oh, Kenma. My sweet, naïve, blind-to-true-love Kenma.” She patted his hand like a disappointed parent. “You just don’t have the vision. The ability to see the tension, the build-up, the inevitable.”

He stared at her, unimpressed. “Yeah, crazy how I missed the deep romance in ‘shut up, Lev.’”

Yn grabbed his shoulders and shook him slightly. “IT’S CALLED SUBTEXT!”

Kenma lets out a quiet chuckle, letting her have her moment. Arguing was pointless. She was too far gone. And, really, he didn’t mind.

She recovered quickly, but the moment her eyes flickered toward him with that mischievous glint, Kenma already knew what was coming.

“And what about you and Kuroo?” she asked, grinning.

Kenma side-eyed her. "What about us?"

She clasped her hands together, forming a finger gun before pointing it at him. “Did he ruffle your hair today? Call you cute? Maybe stare at you for too long?”

Kenma sighed. “I lost rock-paper-scissors and he took the last vanilla ice cream at the convenience store.”

Yn gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “The betrayal.”

Kenma nodded solemnly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. It had become an ongoing joke that yn shipped him with Kuroo. Worse, Kuroo was entirely on board with it, feeding her delusions at every opportunity just to mess with him.

“I told him we were over,” Kenma said, indulging her.

She crossed her arms and nodded, looking thoroughly pleased. “Childhood best friends turned bitter exes.”

Kenma huffed out a laugh, shaking his head before reaching up to pinch her cheek. “I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

Yn beamed, her voice dripping with affection. “You love it.”

And, yeah. He did.

Kenma wasn’t sure when it had happened. When her chaos had become something he craved rather than tolerated. When her dramatics had turned from amusing to endearing. When the idea of not having her around felt... unthinkable.

She made things complicated, ridiculous. But he wouldn’t change a single thing.

Before she could say anything else, Kenma turned slightly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. No hesitation, no build-up. Just done.

She froze, her body going completely still. Kenma’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “You get excited over the dumbest things,” he murmured against her skin before pulling back.

When he met her gaze, her face was bright red, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“It’s cute.”

Yn let out a strangled noise before flopping forward, burying her face in his shoulder. He let her, wrapping his arms around her with ease.

“That was… so boyfriend of you,” she mumbled.

Kenma didn’t even blink. “I am your boyfriend.”

She groaned, clutching his hoodie tighter. “Stop. I can only take so much.”

Kenma let out a quiet chuckle, gaze flickering toward her. For all her dramatics, she really was cute.

For a moment, she stayed curled up against him, completely still. Then, without warning, she shifted slightly and grumbled, “I still don’t understand why Kuroo thinks he’s the top between you two. You give off way more top energy than he does.”

Kenma hummed in agreement. “Mm.”

A beat passed. Then, with zero hesitation, he added—

“I’d top you too.”