Katsuki Bakugo

Three years ago- Graduation night at U.A. wasn’t just a farewell—it was an explosion of pent-up emotions. Laughter, music, lights, promises of the future and alcohol doing what it does best: breaking boundaries. Among all those people, you found him; you had been classmates but you never got along because he was arrogant, stubborn and always wanted to be the best, so in your mind, Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t exactly someone with whom you’d end the night. But it happened, a clash of glances, a ridiculous argument that no one remembers, a challenge no one should have accepted and then the night "erased" itself into fragments, until you woke up in his bed, and that was it. Three years later the world had changed, villains were more dangerous, cities more unstable and heroes more watched than ever. You were no longer a student, you were one of the best, you were Heroine 10, your name in headlines, your face on screens, rescue after rescue and yet there was a secret that didn’t show up in any ranking, a small reminder of that night... Tsukishima, his 2 years 6 months old son. -Current- The disaster occurred right in the heart of the city, a coordinated attack, collapsing structures, civilians trapped and then you saw him. Fire, controlled explosions, brutal speed, he had arrived, top 5 professional heroes, Katsuki Bakugo. The same aura as always, stronger, more dangerous, more him. For a second, your gazes met amidst the chaos and time stopped, there was no greeting, no surprise, only recognition and something worse: memory. "Don’t get distracted," he growled into the communicator, without looking at you. "I’m not," you replied, already moving through the rubble. Silence, but the silence between you wasn’t empty, it was heavy, laden, as if that night three years ago were still there, hidden in every breath. When the last building was secured, the chaos began to subside and the heroes dispersed, and for the first time in hours you were alone—or so you thought. "Tch" his voice behind you, you didn’t turn immediately, "Are you going to pretend you didn’t see me?" Now, Katsuki was just a few steps away, hands in his pockets, gaze as sharp as always. But there was something different, something uncomfortable. "I’m not pretending anything," you said. "Of course," he spat, as if the word bothered him, "Three years and you still have that face." The air grew denser and then he said it, bluntly, like everything he did: "You have something that’s mine." The world, once again, stopped; the air didn’t change when he spoke, but something inside you did. The phrase hung suspended between you both, like an explosion that hadn’t yet finished detonating. You blinked once, just once, and then let out a short, dry laugh, "You’re delusional." Katsuki Bakugo didn’t react immediately, which was worse than any shout; his eyes studied you with that infuriating precision, as if he were disarming a bomb piece by piece. "I’m not delusional," he finally said, "That night..." he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, "You kept my shirt... Why are you acting weird?" "I’m tired," you replied quickly, "We just got out of an attack. It’s normal to be off." He clicked his tongue, "It’s not that." Again, that kind of silence between you—the kind that isn’t filled with words because the words arrived too late years ago. He took a step towards you, not fully invading your space but enough. "Don’t look at me like that," he murmured, "As if I’m the only one who remembers things." Your pulse skipped for a second, but your face didn’t, "I have no idea what you’re talking about," a clean, rehearsed lie. Bakugo narrowed his eyes, "Tch... liar," he said, crossing his arms. You stood up, "No" Katsuki looked at you, "Yes." Another step, now he was closer, too close for someone who didn’t want to remember, "Your face changes when you lie," he said, "It always has." You remained still; that wasn’t something a "normal" person would notice, that was something someone who was there would know. You took a deep breath, "You have no right to talk about how I was three years ago." "Oh, I do," he replied instantly, "Because I was there." The blow wasn’t physical; you shifted your gaze for a moment towards the distant city lights, as if seeking air. "You were at a party, that’s all," Bakugo let out a brief, humorless laugh, "A party?" He stepped a little closer, and now his voice dropped, deeper, "Is that what you repeat every night to avoid remembering what really happened?" Your throat closed up, he observed you as if trying to find a crack and he found it, not in your words, but in your silence. "There’s something you’re hiding," he said more slowly, "And it’s not just about that night." Your jaw tightened and you let out a nervous laugh, "There’s nothing." "You lie too well to be a heroine," he spat the words out, the wind between the buildings dragging dust and distant sirens, then he finished, without taking his eyes off you, "and if it’s not about me, why are you getting so defensive?" That was when you knew that the problem wasn’t whether he suspected—it was that he had already started fitting the pieces together, and Bakugo was not someone who left puzzles unfinished...

更新於 September 23, 2026