SYPNOSIS. After a disastrous forced partnership in ethics class and a brutal reality check in the library, Bakugou realizes that breaking down your walls isn't just about winning Kaminari's stupid bet anymore. It's about proving you wrong. But to do that, he has to stop chasing, back off, and wait for a real opening. The clock is ticking.
TROPES: College AU, 10 Things I Hate About You inspired, Bet Trope, Enemies to Lovers, OC has a backbone
TAGS: kirishima is the only one with a working moral compass right now as usual, kaminari instigating in the group chat as usual, you are so immune to his loud boy nonsense, he is literally taking notes on her like the nerd he is, he finally realizes he needs to back off and respect her boundaries, he's down so bad and she hates him lol, angst with a capital A, literally listened to “Therefore I Am” by Billie Ellish while writing this, the song is so reader coded.
WC: 5.2K words
The Ethics of Intervention
Monday morning came too fast and not fast enough.
Bakugou had spent most of Sunday night lying awake, staring at his ceiling, mentally running through every possible approach.
He could just walk up to you. Direct. Honest. No games.
Hi. We got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over?
No. Too soft. You'd see right through it.
He could try the group project angle. Find a class you shared, engineer a situation where you had to work together.
Except you'd already said you worked alone. And knowing you, you'd just do the entire project yourself and put his name on it out of spite.
He could—
His phone buzzed.
Kirishima: please tell me you're not actually going through with this
Bakugou: go to sleep
Kirishima: it's a bad idea
Kirishima: she's going to eat you alive
Bakugou: noted
Kirishima: I'm serious man. just let it go
Bakugou didn't respond.
Just turned his phone face-down and went back to staring at the ceiling.
By the time his alarm went off at 5:30, he'd made a decision.
No more recon. No more lurking. No more "accidentally" being where you were and hoping you'd notice.
If he was going to do this—actually do this—he needed to make contact.
Real contact.
The kind you couldn't ignore.
Hero Ethics Seminar. Monday, 3:00 PM.
Bakugou had checked your schedule—again, not stalking, just strategic planning—and found exactly one class you shared: Professor Yamada's Hero Ethics and Public Responsibility seminar.
It met once a week. Mondays. Three hours of discussing moral philosophy and the responsibilities that came with being a licensed hero.
Bakugou usually sat in the back. You, according to the seating chart he'd memorized, sat in the middle-left section. Alone.
Today, that was going to change.
He showed up early. Ten minutes before class started, which was unusual for him but necessary.
The lecture hall was already half-full. Students scattered across the tiered seating, most of them on their phones or laptops, killing time before class officially began.
He scanned the room.
There.
Middle-left section. Third row from the front.
You were already there, of course. Laptop open, headphones on, typing something with the kind of focused intensity that suggested you were either working ahead on the assignment or deliberately tuning out the world.
Probably both.
Bakugou's jaw tightened.
This was it.
No backing out now.
He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and started down the stairs.
A few people glanced up as he passed. Recognition. Curiosity. The usual.
He ignored them.
His focus was on you.
On the empty seat directly next to you.
He reached your row. Stopped.
You didn't look up.
Of course you didn't.
He stood there for a solid five seconds, waiting to see if you'd notice him on your own.
You didn't.
Fine.
He dropped into the seat next to you—not gently, not trying to be subtle. His bag hit the desk with a solid thunk, loud enough that the girl in front of you glanced back.
You still didn't look up.
Your fingers kept moving across the keyboard. Your expression remained neutral. Focused.
Like he wasn't there.
Bakugou pulled out his own laptop. Opened it. Pretended to be doing something productive while his entire awareness was locked on you.
You were wearing the same oversized hoodie from the gym. Your hair was pulled back in a messy bun. No makeup. The shadows under your eyes were darker than they'd been last week.
You looked tired.
And completely unaware that Bakugou Katsuki—the guy you'd verbally destroyed at a party ten days ago—was sitting less than a foot away from you.
Class started.
Professor Yamada walked in with his usual manic energy, immediately launching into a discussion about the ethics of collateral damage in hero work.
"When does the cost of saving people outweigh the benefit?" he asked the class, pacing at the front of the room. "How do we measure acceptable loss? Who gets to make that call?"
A few hands went up. The usual overachievers who always had opinions.
Bakugou wasn't listening.
He was watching you.
You'd closed whatever you were working on and opened the class notes document. Your headphones were off now, hanging around your neck. You were taking notes—actual notes, not just typing mindlessly—and your expression had shifted into something that might've been interest.
You cared about this.
About the ethics. About the philosophy.
He filed that information away.
Twenty minutes into class, Professor Yamada announced a partner discussion.
"Pair up with the person next to you," he said, already moving between the rows. "I want you to debate the scenario I just outlined. One of you argues for intervention, the other argues for restraint. Ten minutes. Go."
The room erupted into noise as students turned to their neighbors.
Bakugou turned to you.
You were staring at your laptop screen like it held the secrets of the universe.
"We're partners," Bakugou said.
You didn't move.
"For the discussion," he added, when you still didn't respond.
Your fingers stopped typing.
For a moment, you didn't move. Didn't look at him. Just sat there, frozen, like you were deciding whether acknowledging him was worth the energy.
Then, slowly—so slowly it felt deliberate—you turned your head.
Your eyes met his.
And there it was.
Recognition.
Not surprise. Not shock.
Just... recognition. Like you'd known he was there the whole time and had been hoping he'd go away on his own.
"No," you said.
Bakugou blinked. "What?"
"We're not partners."
"Yamada just said—"
"I'll do the discussion solo." You turned back to your laptop. "You can work with someone else."
"There is no one else." He gestured to the empty seats around you. "Everyone's already paired up."
"Then work alone."
"That defeats the purpose of a partner discussion."
"Not my problem."
Your voice was flat. Bored. Like this conversation was already over.
Bakugou felt his jaw clench.
This wasn't how this was supposed to go.
He'd sat next to you. Initiated conversation. Followed the normal social protocol that dictated when a professor said "pair up with the person next to you," you paired up with the person next to you.
But you weren't following protocol.
You were just... shutting him down.
Again.
"Look," he said, keeping his voice level. "I know you don't like me—"
"I don't think about you enough to dislike you."
The words landed like a punch.
Not angry. Not cruel.
Just honest.
And somehow that was worse.
"Great," Bakugou said, his voice tighter now. "Then it should be easy to work with me for ten minutes."
"I don't want to."
"Why?"
You finally looked at him again, and your expression was so neutral it was almost unsettling. "Because I don't."
"That's not a reason."
"It's the only reason you're getting."
Professor Yamada was circulating now, checking in on pairs. He'd reach them in less than a minute.
Bakugou made a split-second decision.
"Fine," he said. "Don't work with me. Just sit there. I'll do both sides of the discussion myself. But when Yamada comes over here and asks why we're not talking, I'm telling him you refused to participate."
Your eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
For a long moment, you just stared at him.
Calculating. Weighing options.
He could see it in your face—the internal debate. You didn't want to work with him. But you also didn't want to get called out by the professor for not participating.
Your grade mattered more than your pride.
Finally, you sighed. "Fine. But after this, you leave me alone."
"Deal."
It was a lie.
But you didn't need to know that yet.
You pulled your chair slightly closer—not close, just close enough that it looked like you were actually engaging—and pulled up the discussion prompt on your screen.
"You argue for intervention," you said, your voice clipped. "I'll argue for restraint."
"Why do I have to argue for intervention?"
"Because you're the kind of person who thinks force solves everything."
"That's not—"
"Am I wrong?"
Bakugou opened his mouth. Closed it.
Because you weren't wrong.
Not entirely.
"Fine," he said. "I'll argue for intervention."
You pulled up a document and started typing. Not notes for the discussion. Just... something else. Like you were already done with this conversation before it started.
Bakugou leaned forward slightly, trying to see what you were working on.
You angled your screen away. Didn't even look at him.
"The scenario," you said, still not looking at him, "is a hostage situation. Twenty civilians. Three villains. The building is unstable. Intervention risks collapse. Restraint risks the villains escaping with hostages. Argue for intervention."
Your voice was mechanical. Like you were reading from a script.
Bakugou forced himself to focus.
"Intervention is necessary," he started, "because waiting gives the villains more time to fortify their position or harm the hostages. The risk of structural collapse is secondary to the immediate threat to civilian lives."
"Restraint is necessary," you countered immediately, still not looking at him, "because intervention without a clear plan increases the risk of mass casualties. Twenty civilians die if the building collapses. Better to secure the perimeter and negotiate until you have actionable intel."
"Negotiation takes time. Time the hostages don't have."
"Rushing in without a plan is how you get people killed."
"Doing nothing is how you let villains win."
You finally looked at him. "Doing nothing isn't the same as waiting for the right moment."
"And how do you know when the right moment is? How many civilians die while you're waiting to figure it out?"
"Fewer than would die if you went in guns blazing and brought the whole building down."
Your voice was still flat, but there was an edge to it now. Not anger. Just... conviction.
You believed what you were saying.
This wasn't just a class exercise for you.
"You can't save everyone by playing it safe," Bakugou said, leaning forward slightly. "Sometimes you have to take risks."
"And sometimes," you said, your eyes locked on his now, "you have to accept that the risk isn't worth it. That the best thing you can do is minimize damage instead of trying to be the hero."
The words hung between you.
Professor Yamada appeared at the end of your row. "How's it going over here?"
"Fine," you said immediately, not breaking eye contact with Bakugou. "We're done."
"Already? It's only been six minutes."
"We covered the key points."
Yamada raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. "Alright. Good initiative. Keep that energy for the rest of the semester."
He moved on to the next pair.
The moment he was gone, you turned back to your laptop and closed the discussion prompt.
"We're done," you said.
"That wasn't ten minutes."
"I don't care."
You put your headphones back on. Pulled up whatever you'd been working on before class. Tuned him out.
Just like that.
Like the conversation had never happened.
Bakugou sat there, staring at the side of your face.
You weren't even pretending to acknowledge him anymore.
Just completely checked out.
His hands clenched into fists under the desk.
This was going exactly as badly as Kirishima had predicted.
Worse, actually.
Because at least at the party, you'd looked at him when you insulted him.
Now you couldn't even be bothered to do that.
For the rest of class, Bakugou tried to focus on the lecture.
Failed.
His entire awareness was locked on you.
On the way you typed. The way you occasionally shifted in your seat, adjusting your posture. The way you chewed on your bottom lip when you were thinking.
You never once looked at him.
Not even a glance.
When class finally ended, you packed up faster than anyone else in the room.
Laptop closed. Bag zipped. Headphones already on.
You were out of your seat and halfway up the stairs before Bakugou could even process that you were leaving.
He grabbed his bag and followed.
Not obviously. Just... happened to leave at the same time. Happened to take the same exit.
You were walking fast. Not running. Just moving with purpose.
Like you had somewhere to be.
Or like you were trying to get away from him.
Probably the second one.
"Hey," he called.
You didn't stop.
Didn't even slow down.
"Hey!" Louder this time.
You turned a corner. Disappeared down a hallway.
Bakugou followed, his irritation mounting.
This was ridiculous.
He wasn't asking for much. Just a conversation. Five minutes. Hell, he'd settle for two.
But you were treating him like he was toxic waste.
He rounded the corner and—
You were gone.
The hallway was empty.
Completely empty.
Bakugou stopped, looking around.
There were three doors along this hallway. Two classrooms. One supply closet.
You'd either ducked into one of them or—
The stairwell door at the end of the hall clicked shut.
Of course.
Bakugou stood there, alone in the empty hallway, his bag slung over one shoulder and his pride somewhere in the gutter.
His phone buzzed.
Kirishima: how'd it go?
Bakugou stared at the message.
Then at the empty hallway.
Then at the stairwell door that you'd disappeared through.
Bakugou: great
It was the most dishonest text he'd ever sent.
Later that night, back in his dorm room, Bakugou sat on his bed with his laptop open, staring at nothing.
The first real interaction.
And it had been a disaster.
You'd barely tolerated him. Had made it abundantly clear that you wanted nothing to do with him. Had literally fled the moment class ended.
He should give up.
Should accept that this was a lost cause.
Should text Kaminari right now and admit defeat before he wasted any more time.
But he couldn't.
Because there'd been a moment.
During the discussion.
When you'd looked at him and said, "Sometimes you have to accept that the risk isn't worth it."
There'd been something in your voice.
Not just conviction.
Something deeper.
Like you were talking about more than a hypothetical hostage situation.
Like you were talking about yourself.
And Bakugou wanted to know what that meant.
Wanted to know what made you so determined to keep everyone at a distance.
Wanted to understand why someone as smart and capable as you would rather be alone than risk letting anyone in.
His phone buzzed again.
Kaminari: day 1 update?
Kaminari: did you sweep her off her feet yet?
Kaminari: or did she destroy you again? 👀
Bakugou ignored the messages.
Opened a new note on his laptop.
Typed:
What I Know:
She values ethics/philosophy
She argues for restraint over action
She works alone by choice
She avoids social situations
She's tired (not sleeping well?)
She'll cooperate if it affects her grade
She runs when directly confronted
He stared at the list.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
More than he'd had this morning.
He added one more line:
Next Steps:
Don't chase. It makes her run.
Don't corner. She'll shut down.
Find a reason she has to engage.
He closed the laptop.
Eight weeks.
Seven weeks and six days now, technically.
He could do this.
He just needed to be smarter about it.
Less obvious.
More strategic.
He pulled up your student profile one more time.
Looked at your photo.
The eyes.
The neutral expression.
"You're not gonna make this easy, are you?" he muttered to the screen.
Your photo didn't answer.
Obviously.
But if it had, he was pretty sure it would've said no.
He closed the app and turned off his phone.
Tomorrow.
He'd try again tomorrow.
Different approach.
Smarter.
Because Bakugou Katsuki didn't give up.
Even when he probably should.
The library was becoming familiar territory.
Not because Bakugou wanted it to be. But because you were here. Always here. Third floor, back corner, same table by the window.
Like clockwork.
It had been three days since the ethics seminar disaster. Three days of Bakugou trying to figure out his next move while simultaneously pretending he wasn't thinking about you every five minutes.
He'd gone back to observation mode. Not stalking. Observing.
There was a difference.
Probably.
He'd learned a few things:
You showed up to the library every day around 2 PM. Stayed until at least 6, sometimes later. You took breaks every hour—not long ones, just enough to stretch, refill your water bottle, stare out the window like you were trying to remember why you were doing any of this.
You always sat alone.
Always had headphones on.
Always looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and refusing to let anyone help.
Today was Thursday. 3:47 PM.
Bakugou had been on the third floor for twenty minutes, pretending to study at a table three rows away from yours.
He wasn't studying.
He was planning.
Because the direct approach hadn't worked. The forced partnership hadn't worked. The sitting-next-to-you-and-hoping-you'd-acknowledge-his-existence approach definitely hadn't worked.
So he needed something different.
Something that would make you actually talk to him.
Not because you had to. Not because a professor was watching.
Because you wanted to.
Or at least because you were curious enough to engage.
His phone buzzed.
Kirishima: dude where are you? we're supposed to be training
Bakugou: library
Kirishima: ...why
Bakugou: studying
Kirishima: you finished that assignment two days ago
Bakugou: other assignment
Kirishima: you're doing the thing again aren't you
Bakugou: what thing
Kirishima: the creepy lurking thing
Bakugou: I'm not lurking
Kirishima: you're absolutely lurking
Kirishima: this is sad man. just talk to her
Bakugou: I tried that
Kirishima: try again
Kirishima: or better yet, give up and come train with me
Bakugou muted the conversation.
He wasn't giving up.
He was strategizing.
And if that meant spending another afternoon in the library, pretending to read a textbook he'd already finished, then that's what he'd do.
He glanced over at you.
You were in the same position as always. Hunched over your laptop, one hand holding your head up, the other typing. Your coffee cup was empty—had been for at least an hour—but you hadn't gone to refill it.
You looked exhausted.
More than usual.
The shadows under your eyes were darker. Your shoulders were tense. And every few minutes, you'd stop typing and just... stare at the screen. Like you'd forgotten what you were doing. Or like you were too tired to care.
Something twisted in Bakugou's chest.
An unfamiliar feeling.
Concern.
Which was stupid.
He didn't know you. Didn't owe you anything. And you'd made it abundantly clear you wanted nothing to do with him.
But still.
He found himself standing up.
Grabbing his bag.
Walking toward your table.
His brain was screaming at him to stop. That this was a bad idea. That you'd just shut him down again and he'd look like an idiot.
But his feet kept moving.
He stopped at the edge of your table.
You didn't look up.
Of course you didn't.
He stood there for a solid ten seconds, waiting.
Nothing.
"Hey," he said finally.
Your fingers stopped typing.
For a moment, you didn't move. Didn't acknowledge him.
Then, slowly, you pulled off one headphone.
"What," you said.
Not a question. A statement.
Flat. Tired. Already done with whatever this was.
"You've been here for four hours," Bakugou said.
"And?"
"And you look like shit."
Your eyes finally flicked up to meet his.
There it was again. That neutral expression. The wall.
"Thanks for the observation," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Really needed that today."
"I'm just saying—"
"I don't care what you're saying." You put your headphone back on. "Go away."
Bakugou's jaw clenched.
He should go away.
Should take the hint and leave you alone.
But he didn't.
Instead, he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down.
Your eyes narrowed.
You pulled off both headphones now, setting them on the table with deliberate slowness.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" you asked.
Your voice was still flat, but there was an edge to it now. Sharper.
"Sitting," Bakugou said.
"I can see that. Why?"
"Because we need to talk."
"No, we don't."
"Yeah, we do."
"About what?" You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. "About how you've been lurking around campus for the past two weeks like some kind of stalker? About how you sat next to me in ethics and then chased me down the hallway? About how you're sitting at my table right now even though I explicitly told you to go away?"
Bakugou felt heat crawl up the back of his neck.
Because you'd noticed.
All of it.
The library visits. The gym. The coffee shop.
You'd known he was there the whole time.
And you'd ignored him anyway.
"I wasn't stalking you," he said.
"Then what would you call it?"
"Trying to talk to you."
"By following me around and hoping I'd eventually acknowledge your existence?" You shook your head. "That's not talking. That's harassment."
The word landed like a slap.
"I wasn't—" Bakugou stopped. Took a breath. "Look. I know we got off on the wrong foot—"
"We didn't get off on the wrong foot," you interrupted. "You were an asshole at a party. I called you out. End of story."
"It doesn't have to be end of story."
"Yes, it does." You started packing up your laptop. "Because I'm not interested in whatever redemption arc you think you're entitled to. I don't owe you a second chance. I don't owe you my time. And I sure as hell don't owe you a conversation just because you can't handle the fact that someone doesn't like you."
"You don't even know me," Bakugou said, his voice harder now.
"I know enough."
"From one conversation where I made a shitty joke?"
"It wasn't a joke." You zipped your bag with more force than necessary. "And it wasn't one conversation. I've seen you around. I've heard you talk. I know exactly who you are."
"No, you don't."
"Really?" You leaned forward, and for the first time, there was actual emotion in your voice. Not anger, exactly. Just... exhaustion. "You're the guy who thinks being loud makes him right. Who treats cruelty like it's honesty. Who needs an audience for every opinion because without one, you're just noise. You're the guy who gets away with being an asshole because you're good at things, and people are willing to overlook the asshole part if it means staying in your orbit."
Each word was precise. Surgical.
Like you'd been thinking about this. Really thinking about it.
"That's not—" Bakugou started.
"I've met a hundred guys like you," you continued, your voice still flat but somehow more cutting because of it. "Guys who think they're special. Who think the rules don't apply to them because they're talented or ambitious or whatever bullshit they tell themselves. Guys who take up all the space in a room and expect everyone else to just... deal with it."
"I'm not them," Bakugou said, his hands clenched into fists under the table.
"Prove it," you shot back.
"How? You won't even give me a chance to—"
"I don't want to give you a chance!" Your voice was louder now. Not yelling. But loud enough that a few people at nearby tables looked over. "I don't want to get to know you. I don't want to find out if you're secretly nice under all the bullshit. I don't want any of it."
"Why?"
"Because I don't trust people who need an audience!" You were standing now, bag slung over your shoulder. "Because I don't trust people who think cruelty is honesty. Because I've met a hundred guys like you, and every single one of them was exactly who I thought they were."
The words echoed what you'd said before. At the party. In class.
Like they were a mantra.
A shield.
"I'm not them," Bakugou repeated, his voice low. Intense.
"Then prove it to someone who cares."
You turned to leave.
Bakugou stood, his chair scraping against the floor.
"I do care," he said.
You stopped.
Didn't turn around.
Just stood there, back to him, completely still.
For a moment, Bakugou thought you might actually listen. Might actually give him a chance to explain.
Then you said, without turning around:
"That's your problem, not mine."
And you walked away.
This time, Bakugou didn't follow.
He just stood there, watching you disappear down the stairs, his hands still clenched, his chest tight.
Around him, the library was silent except for the ambient noise of keyboards and pages turning.
A few students were still staring.
He ignored them.
Just slowly sat back down in his chair and stared at the empty seat across from him.
The seat you'd been in thirty seconds ago.
His phone was buzzing. Probably Kirishima. Probably Kaminari asking for an update.
He didn't check it.
Just sat there, replaying the conversation in his head.
"I've met a hundred guys like you, and every single one of them was exactly who I thought they were."
The words stung worse than anything you'd said at the party.
Because they weren't just about him.
They were about everyone who'd come before him.
Everyone who'd disappointed you. Hurt you. Proven your assumptions right.
And now he was just another name on that list.
Another guy who'd tried and failed.
Another person you'd shut out.
His laptop was still open in front of him. The note he'd been keeping. The observations. The strategies.
It all felt stupid now.
Childish.
Like he'd been playing some kind of game and you'd just reminded him that you weren't a prize to be won.
You were a person.
A person who'd been hurt enough times that trust wasn't something you gave freely.
If you gave it at all.
And Bakugou had no idea how to navigate that.
No idea how to prove he was different when you wouldn't even let him try.
His phone buzzed again.
This time he checked it.
Kaminari: week 1 check-in! how's operation win her over going?
Kaminari: please tell me you've made SOME progress
Kaminari: ...bakugou?
Kaminari: dude did she murder you
Kaminari: if you're dead blink twice
Bakugou stared at the messages.
Then typed:
Bakugou: she told me to prove myself to someone who cares
Kaminari: ...ouch
Kaminari: okay so not great then
Kaminari: what are you gonna do?
Bakugou looked at the question.
Looked at his laptop. At the notes he'd been taking. At the empty chair across from him.
What was he going to do?
Give up?
Admit defeat?
Text Kaminari right now and end this stupid bet before it destroyed what was left of his pride?
He should.
He really should.
But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't.
Because you'd looked him in the eye and said you'd met a hundred guys like him.
And something about that—something about being lumped in with everyone who'd ever hurt you—
It pissed him off.
Not at you.
At them.
At whoever had made you build those walls so high.
At whoever had taught you that trust was a weakness.
At whoever had proven, over and over, that people weren't worth the risk.
He wanted to know who they were.
Wanted to know what they'd done.
Wanted to understand why someone as smart and strong and capable as you had decided that being alone was safer than letting anyone in.
And maybe—just maybe—he wanted to be the first person who didn't prove you right.
Bakugou: I'm gonna keep trying
Kaminari: ...seriously?
Kaminari: dude she DESTROYED you. again.
Kaminari: at what point do you accept this is a lost cause?
Bakugou: when she actually gives me a real reason to stop
Kaminari: she literally told you to leave her alone
Bakugou: she told me to prove myself to someone who cares
Bakugou: that's not the same thing
Kaminari: ...i feel like it is tho
[Kirishima has entered the chat]
Kirishima: okay i'm reading back through this and I have CONCERNS
Kirishima: bakugou you need to let this go
Kirishima: she's not interested
Kirishima: she's made that very clear
Kirishima: continuing to pursue her after she's explicitly said no is not okay
Bakugou stared at Kirishima's messages.
He was right.
Kirishima was absolutely right.
You'd said no. Multiple times. In multiple ways.
The ethical thing to do—the right thing to do—was to respect that.
Walk away.
Leave you alone.
Let you have your space and your walls and your carefully constructed isolation.
But something about the way you'd said it...
"I've met a hundred guys like you."
Like you were so sure. So certain. Like you'd already decided who he was before he'd even had a chance to prove otherwise.
And maybe that should've been enough reason to walk away.
But it wasn't.
Bakugou: I'll back off
Kirishima: thank god
Bakugou: for now
Kirishima: BAKUGOU
Bakugou: I'm not gonna harass her
Bakugou: I'm just not giving up
Kirishima: there's a difference between not giving up and not taking no for an answer
Bakugou: I know that
Kirishima: do you?
Bakugou didn't respond.
Just closed the group chat and pulled up his notes again.
What I Know:
She values ethics/philosophy
She argues for restraint over action
She works alone by choice
She avoids social situations
She's tired (not sleeping well?)
She'll cooperate if it affects her grade
She runs when directly confronted
She's been hurt before. Multiple times.
She doesn't trust easily. Or at all.
She thinks I'm like everyone else who hurt her.
He stared at the last line.
Added one more:
Next Steps:
Give her space
Don't chase
Don't force interaction
Wait for an opening
When it comes: be different than what she expects
It wasn't much of a plan.
But it was something.
He closed his laptop.
Packed up his bag.
Left the library without looking back at your empty table.
Outside, the evening air was cold. Sharp. It cleared his head slightly, washing away some of the frustration and confusion and that tight feeling in his chest that he didn't want to examine too closely.
He pulled out his phone.
Looked at your contact information. The student profile photo he'd saved.
Those eyes. That neutral expression.
You'd built walls so high he couldn't see over them.
And maybe that should've been a sign to stop trying.
But Bakugou Katsuki had never walked away from a challenge.
Even when the challenge was proving to someone that not everyone would hurt them.
Even when the someone had explicitly told him to fuck off.
Even when every rational part of his brain was screaming that this was a bad idea and he should just cut his losses and move on.
He pocketed his phone.
Started walking back to the dorms.
Seven weeks and three days left.
He'd give you space.
For now.
But he wasn't done.
Not even close.
Because somewhere underneath all that armor, there was a person who cared about ethics and philosophy and minimizing damage instead of being the hero.
A person who worked alone because it was safer than trusting someone else.
A person who'd been hurt enough times that isolation felt like the only option.
And Bakugou wanted to know her.
The real her.
Not the walls. Not the defense mechanisms.
Her.
Even if she never let him.
Even if this whole thing blew up in his face.
He had to try.
Because the alternative—walking away, proving her right, becoming just another name on the list of people who'd disappointed her—
That was unacceptable.
His phone buzzed one more time.
Kaminari: 7 weeks left btw
Kaminari: tick tock ⏰
Bakugou didn't respond.
Just kept walking.
Seven weeks.
Plenty of time.
Or not nearly enough.
He'd find out which soon enough.
Author's Note: Welcome to Chapter Three, otherwise known as: Bakugou Katsuki Getting Humbled, Part Two. 💀
I had so much fun writing the ethics debate scene because it perfectly mirrors exactly what is happening between them right now. Also, can we get a round of applause for Kirishima being the only person in the Bakusquad with a functioning moral compass? Bakugou is finally starting to realize that his usual approach isn't going to work here, and watching him try to pivot is my favorite thing.
Let me know what you guys thought of the library confrontation!
