Normal: Talking
Italics: Thinking
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-2nd person pov-
December 25th, Thursday - 12:28 am
The familiar click of your apartment doorhoed into the quiet as you stepped inside, the winter air following behind you before the door swung shut.
Michi was already there waiting like a silent guardian of the entryway, her tail flicking as she meowed up at you.
"Hey, Mich," you greeted with a tired smile, adjusting the bags and wrapped gifts in your arms as you tried to nudge the door shut with your foot.
"I'd give you cuddles but—" you glanced down at the load in your hands, "—kinda got my arms full right now."
Michi meowed again, this time louder, tail curling in impatience.
"I know, I know," you said as you padded inside and gently dropped everything on the couch. "There. Happy now?"
She immediately jumped onto the armrest, staring at you like she was deeply offended you didn't drop to your knees and worship her first.
You laughed under your breath and crouched beside her, reaching up to scratch behind her ears. "You're so dramatic, it's unreal. You missed me that bad, huh?"
She purred instantly, melting into your touch.
"Yeah, yeah," you cooed, your voice dropping into soft baby-talk. "I missed you too, princess. Even though you'd sell me out for a bag of tuna."
You scooped her up for a second, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head before letting her wriggle free.
The apartment was dim, quiet—only the faint hum of the heater and Michi's distant purring filling the space.
You stood up again and stretched with a long sigh.
And there it was.
That thought.
That presence.
Him.
No matter how loud the room or how quiet the space, Katsuki Bakugo always found a way to occupy the corners of your mind.
Like a shadow stitched into your consciousness.
A constant, quiet hum underneath it all.
You shook the feeling off as best you could, heading to your room and kicking off your shoes on the way.
A bath. You needed a bath. A slow, late-night one.
The kind that unraveled every thread of tension in your shoulders and pulled it down the drain with the water.
You moved around your bathroom with a lazy sort of purpose, flicking on the small counter lamp to cast a soft glow.
You lit some candles—one by one—setting them along the sink, tub corners, and the little shelf by the window.
The scent of lavender and warm vanilla slowly filled the space.
Then you put on some soft lo-fi guitar music.
The tub filled slowly, steam curling around your ankles as you undressed.
You tied your hair up into a messy bun and slid your reading glasses onto your face before reaching for the book on your nightstand.
You stepped into the tub carefully, the warmth wrapping around your legs like a welcoming embrace.
The moment you settled in, a breath left your lips without you meaning to.
Your back relaxed into the curve of the tub as bubbles gathered around your arms and shoulders, the candlelight flickering across your skin.
You opened your book.
And tried to read.
Keyword: tried.
But your eyes skimmed the page once. Then again. You didn't register a single word.
Your mind, traitorous and stubborn, was elsewhere.
It kept drifting to small things.
Like the way Bakugo looked when he stood across from you during training, sweat clinging to his neck, brows furrowed, but something gentle behind his eyes.
Or the way he made sure you had water before he ever took a sip himself.
Or how he always walked a bit behind you when it was dark out, like a silent barrier against the world.
You blinked down at the words in your book.
Nothing.
You sighed and set it aside, letting your head tilt back slightly against the tub.
The music played on. The candles danced. The steam curled upward toward the ceiling.
And still... he lingered.
Bakugo Katsuki.
In the quiet.
In the warmth.
In the places you didn't mean to let him stay.
But there he was.
Again.
• ✖ • ✖ • ✖ • ✖ • ✖ • ✖ •
You stepped out of the bathroom, skin warm and flushed from the bath, your towel secured around your body as you padded barefoot into your dimly lit bedroom.
The faint scent of candles still lingered on your skin as you sighed contentedly as your muscles finally felt like they could melt.
On your bed, Michi had already claimed her spot, sprawled across your pillow like she paid rent.
She blinked slowly at you, tail flicking like she was annoyed you had the audacity to leave her alone for forty minutes.
"So dramatic," you muttered fondly as you walked over to your dresser and opened the top drawer.
You grabbed a simple pair of loose shorts and one of your older t-shirts.
Perfect.
Once dressed, you made your way to the bed and flopped down beside Michi. She meowed, stretching out a paw lazily toward your face.
You gently poked her nose and smiled, then grabbed a cotton pad and started wiping off your makeup in the small mirror on your bedside table.
Halfway through wiping your left cheek, it hit you.
Bakugo.
Again.
Why?
You blinked at your reflection, then glanced at Michi like she had something to do with it. "Seriously?"
You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand.
Foundation. Gone.
Eyeliner. Off.
Lip balm. Smudged and smeared into oblivion.
Focus.
Except—nope.
There he was again.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, cotton pad frozen halfway to your chin.
"Are you serious right now?"
You groaned, finishing up, tossing the pad into the small trash bin beside the bed before grabbing your new phone off the nightstand.
Maybe setting it up would distract me.
The screen lit up.
You started setting everything up—Wi-Fi password, screen preferences, thumbprint.
Then the photo transfer began.
You sat cross-legged on the bed, Michi curling up near your thigh. Your phone lit up again, showing progress bars and file counts.
Tons of photos found. And the moment the photos began migrating from your cloud?
Katsuki Bakugo.
Your camera roll had more accidental pictures of him than you cared to admit.
From training sessions, half-eaten food he'd made you try, blurry shots he didn't know you took while he scowled at traffic, a short video of him yelling at you because you fell asleep mid-rep, and—
You groaned, dragging your hand down your face.
GET OUT MY DAMN HEAD.
Michi gave a loud mrrp? in response like she was deeply concerned for your mental health.
You reached down, scooping her up into your lap and petting her fur with a sigh.
"There. You're soft. You're cute. You don't make me feel weird things."
Michi blinked, very much unconvinced.
You cradled her in your arms, using your baby voice again. "You're my favorite little girl, aren't you? Yes you—"
But mid-sentence, a memory ambushed you.
Clear as day.
The first time Bakugo came over.
You had invited him over since your place was close after meeting him randomly at your favorite cafe.
You and him spent hours together that day and as he sat on your living room couch, Michi—traitor—casually waltzed over to him like she'd known him for years and leapt onto his lap.
Just plop.
And when you made a comment about her being picky and how she usually never liked anyone?
He smirked.
"Guess she's got taste."
You stared blankly at Michi in your lap now.
She blinked.
Gently, you picked her up and placed her beside you on the bed. "Get off."
She meowed indignantly, offended beyond reason.
"I can't even trust my own cat," you muttered, standing up.
You began pacing around your room like someone who had just been told they lost a staring contest with their fridge.
"It's always Bakugo this, Bakugo that—oh, what's that? Let me hallucinate his voice every time I hear a deep sound in the hallway—NO BIG DEAL."
You gestured wildly at your empty bookshelf like it had opinions. "Like, seriously, go away! Leave me alone! I just wanted to take a bath and maybe read a spicy fantasy book in peace, not host the Katsuki Bakugo Variety Hour in my HEAD."
You stopped abruptly.
From the corner of your eye, something familiar sat on your desk.
A book.
A specific book.
Wedged between two old paperbacks and a small potted plant.
You squinted, heart stuttering just slightly.
My old sketch book.
You froze.
Michi purred from the bed like she knew the drama had escalated.
You stared.
And your breath caught just slightly in your throat.
You hadn't touched that thing in ages.
Your feet moved toward it before you could even think twice as you reached for it slowly and gently slid it out from between the paperbacks.
The cover was worn and slightly bent at the corners, the pages inside filled with familiar weight. You turned it over in your hands, running your fingertips along the edge like greeting an old friend.
You used to love this.
Drawing. Sketching. Getting completely lost in the lines.
It started back in middle school—hell, maybe even earlier.
You'd always had a thing for creating faces, for trying to capture real emotion on paper.
You'd fill up pages with all kinds of expressions, profiles, character designs—people you knew, people you made up, and sometimes people you wished you were brave enough to talk to.
Your art style had evolved into a kind of semi-realism. You liked the challenge.
The little details in the eyes. The subtle tilt of a mouth. The way certain emotions could live in a jawline or an eyebrow crease.
It had always been fun.
You really thought you'd end up doing something with it, too.
When people asked what you wanted to be back then, "an artist" had been high on the list.
Art felt real. Achievable. Something you'd work hard at.
Then heroism happened.
That pull had been just as strong—if not stronger. The desire to help. To matter. To protect.
And once you started down that road, it was like a current swept you up and carried you away.
Shiketsu happened. Training. Classes. Internships. Hero work. Public appearances.
Pressure. Pressure. Pressure.
Your sketchbooks became fewer and farther between.
The pencil was picked up less. The lines got messier. Sloppier.
You started using sketching only when you needed to breathe.
When your head was too full, when your body was exhausted but sleep wouldn't come, when something gnawed at your ribs and made it hard to sit still, you'd sit down and draw.
And it always helped. It always gave you a way out of your own brain.
So why had I stopped again?
You stared at the sketchbook for a second longer.
Then, without much else to consider, you walked over to your desk, pulled out the chair with a soft scrape of the legs against the floor, and sat down.
You opened the sketchbook flat on the desk, fingers ghosting over a few old half-doodles on the first pages before flipping to a fresh one.
You grabbed your phone and tapped into your music app, searching for something calm. Eventually, you settled on a quiet piano playlist.
A pencil. You spotted one inside your desk drawer and snatched it up, holding it between your fingers like muscle memory had never left.
You glanced at the page again and exhaled.
"Alright," you muttered under your breath, stretching your neck out before leaning over. "If this doesn't keep my mind off Bakugo, then I don't know what will."
Michi meowed softly from the bed like she doubted it too.
You ignored her and pressed the pencil to paper.
You started with a circle, some light construction lines, nothing too serious.
Just a face. A person. Someone random.
Someone with sharp features and a strong jawline—not that strong, calm down—but enough to challenge your sketching muscle.
You added eyes, then a nose. Hair. A few messy strands curling down a forehead. Your hand was a little rusty, sure.
A bit stiff. But the motion started to come back as the minutes ticked by.
You relaxed your grip. Added depth. A little shading. It wasn't perfect, but it was decent.
And more importantly?
It was working.
You didn't even realize it until your pencil stopped for a moment and you blinked, genuinely surprised at how quiet your thoughts had become.
For once, Bakugo wasn't dominating every inch of your mental space.
And for the first time that day, you actually felt like yourself again.
So then, you kept going.
The pencil never left your hand, its movements gradually more fluid, more natural.
The music in the background shifted from one soft melody to the next, like your own personal soundtrack guiding each stroke.
You shaded under the eyes. Added weight to the eyelids.
The shape of the brow was strong, slightly furrowed—expressive. The nose you added was sharp but not too pointed.
The cheekbones pronounced. And the jawline—well, you always did like drawing strong jawlines.
You spent an extra minute adding depth to the shadows there, then swept your pencil down to trace the neck and collarbones, tossing in some simple, realistic shading that brought it all together.
You tried not to think too hard about it. This was a random person. A random face.
Not Bakugo.
Not his stupid spiky hair.
Not his annoyingly attractive eyes or his—
You stopped, staring at the outline of the hair you'd already started sketching.
You blinked.
Your pencil moved again before you could even argue with yourself. Adding in details.
Some sharpness to the outer strands. A bit of texture. Light sketchy lines suggesting unruly tufts that never sat quite right.
You paused. Bit your lip.
...No.
You ignored it. Moved back to the eyes.
They were intense. Focused. Almost scowling.
You always liked adding that little detail of light in the iris—it made drawings feel alive. You gave this one the same treatment.
Then the mouth. You started loosely sketching the shape of lips, but for some reason they curved into the subtlest frown.
Or maybe not a frown.
A straight, unreadable line. Tension held in the face like the subject was trying not to show too much.
Your pencil lingered there a little longer than necessary, adding small curves and smudging a shadow to the lower lip.
The more you drew, the less "random" this became.
You didn't realize how long you'd been working until you finally leaned back in your chair with a satisfied exhale and set the pencil down beside the sketchbook.
You tilted your head.
The sketch looked... good. Even a little beautiful.
You backed away slightly to get a better look, letting your arms drop to your lap, observing it as a whole.
Then your expression dropped.
Your mouth twitched.
Your jaw ticked.
...
"Random features my ass," you said flatly.
Because right now, right in front of you, staring up from the page with his signature death glare and crooked hairline—
Was Bakugo.
You froze.
Your eyes darted over every detail, searching for evidence that maybe it was someone else, but there was no denying it.
It was him.
You drew Bakugo.
Sketch by: @eilover123 on Tiktok
Not intentionally. Not consciously. But clearly, your hand had a mind of its own.
You snatched the sketchbook off the desk, staring down at it with a kind of slow-building horror.
The pencil lines weren't harsh or jagged.
You'd drawn him softly. With care.
The shading under his eyes gave him this strange tenderness—like he was human or something.
"What the hell," you whispered, baffled. "What the actual hell."
Your grip loosened. Your mouth hung slightly open.
You placed the sketchbook down gently, carefully, as if it might explode.
Then you backed away like it had insulted you.
"Shit," you muttered. "Shit."
Your hand rose to your mouth—your left hand, knuckles barely brushing your lips—as if to keep your thoughts from falling out.
But it was too late.
The heat was already rushing in, crawling up from your chest to your throat, blooming into your cheeks and flushing all the way to your forehead.
You could feel it.
You stepped back. And back.
And then—thump—you hit the bare wall behind you which queued your knees to buckle making you slide down.
You sat there on the floor, shirt hanging loosely off your shoulder, hair still slightly damp, blinking at the ceiling like the universe had just revealed something devastating.
Your heart was pounding.
Michi meowed from the bed in a tone that could only be described as "judgmental."
You swallowed.
And then, very softly, the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them:
"...Holy shit."
You blinked again, wide-eyed and dazed.
"I like Bakugo."
• ✖ • ✖ • ✖ • ✖ • ✖ • ✖ •
Time had passed, but the chaos inside your brain hadn't.
You now sat on the edge of your bed, hunched over with your elbows digging into your thighs, both hands covering the lower half of your face like they were trying to physically hold your emotions in.
Your fingers pressed against your lips, your eyes wide and glassy, staring off into absolutely nothing.
You'd calmed down, sure.
No more accidental drawings or sliding down walls like you were in some melodramatic film.
But the realization still hit like a freight train.
You liked Bakugo.
Not just a little.
Not just the kind of liking that made you smile when he texted or laugh when he deadpanned some comment under his breath.
No, this was real.
You actually liked him.
You groaned behind your hands, letting your fingers drop as you pushed up from the bed.
"Okay. No. Nope. I need to walk this off," you muttered to yourself, already pacing from one side of the room to the other like the floor had just turned into a treadmill powered by denial.
"Am I ready?" you asked the air like it would respond. "Is this even real?" You held out your arms like you were demanding someone explain it to you.
"Is this my mind thinking or—" you spun around, waving your hands in the air, "—or is this my heart talking?"
You were dramatic. You could admit that.
But this? This was uncharted territory.
"What about our friendship?" you asked as if Bakugo was in the room listening. "What if this ruins everything?"
You kept pacing. "And what about hero work? I'm still figuring everything out, still trying to get my life back on track. I don't even know what I want yet and this is happening? Now?"
You stopped and grabbed the sides of your head. "What's gonna happen?"
You closed your eyes. Took a breath.
"Am I even sure?"
A quiet mrrp sound interrupted your storm of spiraling thoughts.
You turned your head.
And there she was.
Michi.
Sitting on the bed looking at you like you were an unhinged soap opera character.
You squinted. "What?"
She blinked slowly.
Your hands dropped to your sides with a dramatic sigh as you trudged back to the bed. "You have no right to judge me right now. I'm in the middle of a mental crisis."
Michi tilted her head slightly.
"Don't look at me like that."
She inched back a bit as if startled by your emotional instability, but not before letting out another soft chirp.
You collapsed onto the bed beside her, sighing from the center of your soul. She crept forward a second later, cautiously stepping into your lap.
You smiled a little despite yourself, one hand automatically coming up to stroke between her ears. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not mad at you. Just... losing my entire mind."
Michi settled into your lap, warm and light, grounding you in a way you didn't know you needed.
You exhaled slowly. Your voice softened. "Okay, okay..."
"I like Bakugo..." you murmured, as if saying it aloud again would make it less shocking. "More than just friendship. And it's super clear..."
You scratched the side of Michi's chin. "But what now?"
She blinked up at you like she expected you to figure it out yourself.
"Do I tell him how I feel?" You paused. "No. No, not yet. My hero stuff... I still have to focus on that first."
You leaned back, letting your head fall against the wall behind your bed, staring up at the ceiling. "So then when?" you whispered. "What do I even do?"
You didn't expect an answer.
Just sat there with Michi curled up in your lap, your breath steadying while your brain tried to sort through every possible scenario involving Bakugo, rejection, confession, and romantic doom.
Then—buzz-buzz.
You flinched. Michi's ears perked up.
Your eyes drifted toward your old phone, still lying facedown on your nightstand.
You hesitated.
Then reached out and picked it up, flipping it over to check the notification.
An email.
You unlocked the screen and saw the subject line:
"FINAL DESIGN CONFIRMATION – HERO SUPPORT REQUEST - Client ID: Allure"
It was from Hatsume's tech development lab.
You opened it, skimming through the bold fonts and colorful highlight markers and messy, enthusiastic writing from her assistant.
Something about "polish and calibrations" and "final adjustments on fabric" and a note at the bottom that read: "Come in this week to finalize!! Hatsume's been tinkering for days. YOU'RE GONNA LOVE IT!"
You blinked in surprise. "...Well. That was fast."
You smiled a little. Something warm flickered in your chest.
Just as you started to set the phone down—buzz-buzz.
Another notification.
You glanced down.
And your stomach dropped.
Bakugo.
Your brain short-circuited. Your soul probably short-circuited.
You shrieked and threw the phone beside you like it had caught fire.
Michi jumped, yowling as she scrambled off your lap and darted across the bed.
You clutched your chest like an old woman in a drama.
"Nope!" you gasped. "Not right now. Absolutely not."
The phone buzzed again, screen lighting up with his name.
You grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.
Bakugo Katsuki: ruining your sanity even when he wasn't in the damn room.
●●●
You let out a breath once your phone finally went quiet. The screen dimmed again.
No more buzzes. No more flashing Bakugo Katsuki. Just blessed, blessed silence.
Your hands were still half-buried in your hair as Michi glared at you from the corner of the bed like you were the one disturbing her peace.
You stared ahead for a few seconds, chest still rising and falling at a less-than-normal pace, before slowly peeling the pillow away from your face and setting it to the side.
"...Okay," you whispered. "I'm okay. It's just a text. It's just Bakugo." You swallowed, then immediately corrected yourself: "Okay, no, it's not just Bakugo. But still. Deep breaths."
You took one more inhale and exhale before reaching toward your phone like it was a wild animal you were trying not to spook.
Your fingers hovered for a moment before gently picking it up.
You stared down at it.
The screen blinked on.
Your lock screen greeted you—an old picture of you and Michi, taken in the middle of your living room.
Your thumb hesitated just a second longer before swiping to unlock and clicking into your messages.
You could feel your heart thudding now.
Your brain was doing backflips. Screaming. Running around like a house set on fire by pure nerves.
You hovered over his contact.
Your thumb clicked it before your brain could talk you out of it.
And there they were.
The messages.
「 ✦ Bakugo💥 ✦ 」
Bakugo: hey airhead
Bakugo: i know you're awake
Your eyes widened slightly.
You leaned back instinctively, like the phone had insulted you. "Rude," you muttered. "How the hell would he know that?"
You covered your mouth, trying not to smile.
But your cheeks were already glowing.
You hesitated at the text bar. Typed a response. Deleted it. Typed another. Backspaced again.
You stared blankly, thumb hovering.
Okay, just be casual.
You: You caught me 😮💨
You: What's up?
●●●
Simple. Chill. Totally normal.
Not at all laced with the panic of a girl who had a sketch of his face open on her desk fifteen minutes ago.
You barely had time to blink before the little dots popped up. He was already typing.
Bakugo: just got an email from tech girl about my support gear needing some updates
Bakugo: i figured you got one too since she's fast as shit with her stuff
You let out a soft gasp, eyes darting around your room suspiciously.
"...Does he have cameras in here?" you muttered.
You looked down at Michi. She blinked.
"No seriously, this is getting weird."
You: That's crazy cause I actually did just get one
Three seconds passed.
Bakugo: alr well, I'm planning to stop by tomorrow
You blinked. Paused.
Oh. Okay. So he's going.
Cool.
Cool cool cool.
You weren't sweating. You weren't nervous. You weren't short-circuiting. (You were absolutely doing all of those things.)
You began typing:
You: Alright
You: Cool🤘🏼
But almost immediately, his reply came flying in:
Bakugo: wdym cool?
Bakugo: you coming or what?
You froze. Hands hovering.
Heat crawled up your neck. Your face was a goddamn thermometer, and it was climbing to dangerous levels.
Am I coming?
AM I COMING??
You threw your head back in silent scream mode. "I don't think I can go and make it out of there alive," you whispered to the ceiling.
"Not after the realization I had an hour ago. I can't stand next to him knowing I wouldn't mind spending forever with him."
You turned to Michi again.
She sat silently, flicking her tail like she was counting down the minutes until you lost it completely.
You sighed. "It probably won't be that bad," you mumbled. "Just a quick visit. Final updates. In and out. Easy."
Your fingers trembled as you typed:
You: Yeah I'm coming
You: What time?
A short pause.
Bakugo: around 3 pm
You nodded to yourself.
You could do that.
Three p.m. was a totally neutral time.
It was safe. Sun's still up. The air's calm. No chance of doing anything stupid.
You: Okay sounds good 🙂↕️
A few more seconds passed.
You bit your bottom lip, waiting to see if that was the end of the conversation.
Bakugo: alright then
You set the phone down in your lap with a deep, deep exhale.
"Okay. That was fine. That went fine. Totally fine."
You relaxed back against your bed frame, letting your muscles melt just a little, your shoulders unclenching from the state of emergency they'd been in all evening.
Until—ding.
You nearly jumped.
You scrambled to pick up your phone.
New message.
Bakugo: goodnight
Your heart absolutely melted.
Just crumbled like a warm cookie fresh from the oven.
You stared at the screen, blinking a few times, almost like you thought it might disappear. Your stomach twisted in that stupidly giddy way it hadn't in years. Maybe ever.
He said goodnight.
He often texted you goodnight when you both texted late at night but now, it felt different.
You took a breath, recollecting whatever pride you had left, and typed back:
You: goodnight Bakugo :)
You hit send, then tossed your phone gently onto the bed beside you, burying your face in your hands.
I am so screwed.
So, so screwed.
And tomorrow at 3 p.m.? That was just the beginning.
A/n: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed, commented and voted on this chapter and the ones that have come before this.
Unfortunately, this is the end of the posting marathon. Posts will continue at their usual pace from now on.
Before any information is given, I would like to say one last thank you to all of you for always supporting me, voting, enjoying my story, and for encouraging me to keep writing! I thank every single one of y'all for this opportunity from the bottom to the top of my heart.
Also, I SAW I HIT NUMBER 1 ON FANFICTION A WHILE AGO AND NEVER SAID THANK YOU! I'm truly extremely grateful for all the love you show not only for the story but for me as well! I couldn't have done it if y'all weren't so cool and awesome for voting, reading, and interacting with the story.
Also, big thank you to @eilover123 on tiktok for letting me use their Bakugo sketch as a visual for the story! Go follow them on tiktok and show some love!
Anyways, onto more serious topics... I'm going to be taking yet another break! This chapter marathon has honestly drained me in the motivation category. Not only that but I start school soon and I want to get used to the new classes, people and environment before I start worrying about posting :(
I don't know how it's going to take me to do that but it might be longer than 2 weeks. Maybe even a month if I struggle. So please, be patient with me <3
I promise all of you, I haven't given up on this story and most likely never will. I still have some chapters I haven't published yet so there is no way I could discontinue this story.
As I take the break, I'll probably edit the Q&A video and write for fun. The video will be uploaded on my Youtube! @amkyor
Anyways, for those who actually read my authors notes, do me a favor and explain what I just said to the people that don't read them. They always be like "Where'd you go?!" like I didn't just explain it </3
Anywho, thank you all for reading. I will be back!
...
Next week marathon will be at 85k!
Make sure to vote!