The sharp cry of a baby cut through the quiet of the apartment, followed by Katsuki's frustrated groan as he paced the small living room, Eri squirming in his arms. He bounced her lightly, muttering under his breath, "What's your problem now, huh? Hungry? Tired? Just feel like being a pain in the ass today?"

Eri's face scrunched up in response, and she let out another wail, her tiny hands shoving against his chest. Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, trying not to let the sound grate on his already frayed nerves. The thought of knocking on the door across the hall flickered in the back of his mind, but he shoved it aside just as quickly.

"Nope. Not happening," he muttered. "I don't need him for this."

Avoiding Izuku entirely was the plan, anyway. That stupid blind date was today, and the last thing Katsuki needed was to be reminded of it. Eri let out another sharp cry, her little fist managing to smack him in the jaw, and he grimaced. "Alright, fine. Let's get you dressed, gremlin."

Balancing Eri on his hip, Katsuki grabbed the phone off the counter and dialed his mom. It rang twice before her too-cheerful voice answered. "Katsuki! Calling before noon? Must be important."

"Can you take Eri earlier today?" he asked, already struggling to keep the phone pinned between his shoulder and ear as Eri squirmed like a particularly determined octopus. He grabbed the onesie off the bed, squinting at the tiny buttons and ridiculous snaps. "I've got… school stuff to do."

"Sure, bring her over," Mitsuki replied, clearly amused. "She being a handful today?"

Katsuki grunted as he tried to thread Eri's arm through the impossibly small sleeve. She jerked it back with surprising force, her little hand swiping at his face. "She's being impossible. And who the hell designs these things? What's the point of this stupid button?"

"Babies can smell fear," Mitsuki teased, her laughter bubbling through the phone. "Maybe she knows you're stressed."

"I'm calm!" Katsuki snapped, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. "She's just… stubborn."

Eri flailed again, letting out a high-pitched squeal as Katsuki tried to guide her other arm into the outfit. He gritted his teeth, shifting tactics. Laying the onesie flat on the bed, he set Eri on top of it and tried to coax her arms and legs into the holes. She squirmed, rolling halfway off the bed before he caught her.

"Stop moving!" Katsuki growled, earning a defiant raspberry from Eri. The spray of spit hit his cheek, and he froze, blinking in stunned silence.

Mitsuki's laughter crackled through the phone. "Oh, this is too good. You're getting a taste of what you were like as a baby."

"Laugh it up, old hag," Katsuki muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve.

He managed to wrestle Eri into the onesie, snapping the last button with a triumphant huff. "There. See? Not so hard." Eri, clearly unimpressed, grabbed a handful of his hair and gave it a sharp tug. Katsuki winced, prying her tiny fingers loose with a sigh. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Aw, you're such a good dad," Mitsuki cooed mockingly, earning an eye roll he knew she couldn't see.

"Whatever. I'll drop her off in an hour," Katsuki said, shoving the phone into his pocket as Mitsuki started in on another teasing remark.

Katsuki stuffed the last of Eri's essentials into her bag, glancing over at her where she sat perched on the edge of the bed. She was still sniffling, her cheeks blotchy from all the crying, but the wailing had finally subsided into quiet hiccups. Katsuki exhaled in relief, wiping a hand across his face.

"Alright, gremlin," he muttered, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here while you're not screaming my head off for once."

Eri's gaze tracked him as he approached, her expression skeptical but mercifully quiet. Katsuki scooped her up, tensing slightly as she squirmed in his arms. For a moment, he braced himself for the inevitable eruption, but she simply let out a tired whine and rested her head against his shoulder. He froze, staring at her in disbelief.

"Don't you dare be messing with me," he said softly, adjusting his grip. Eri's small fingers clung to his shirt, her breathing steadying as her weight slumped against him. She was exhausted.

Katsuki allowed himself a tiny spark of hope. Maybe she was finally getting used to him. He glanced toward the door, her silence like a fragile truce he was terrified of breaking.

"Alright," he whispered. "Let's move before you change your mind."

Carefully, Katsuki grabbed his keys and headed for the door. He stepped into the hallway, moving with uncharacteristic caution as he navigated toward the stairs. Eri shifted slightly, but she didn't fuss, and Katsuki let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The last thing he wanted was to run into Izuku. Not with Eri like this—half-asleep and unusually quiet in his arms. He quickened his pace, as if sheer speed could keep fate from intervening, and made it down the stairs without incident.

Sliding into the driver's seat with Eri safely secured in her car seat, Katsuki allowed himself a small moment of relief.

"See? We can do this," he muttered, glancing back at Eri. She gave a small hiccup but stayed calm, her eyelids drooping. Katsuki smirked faintly, starting the car. "Don't get used to it, though. One good morning doesn't mean you're off the hook."

Katsuki parked outside his parents' house and killed the engine, glancing over at Eri in the car seat. She was already fussing, her face scrunched up in frustration as she wriggled against the straps.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he muttered, stepping out and opening her door. As soon as he unbuckled her, she let out a loud wail, her little fists flailing. Katsuki grimaced and scooped her up, holding her as carefully as possible while trying not to jostle her too much. "Calm down, gremlin. You're going to grandma's. You love her, remember?"

Eri's cries only grew louder, her tiny body squirming in his arms as though determined to escape. Katsuki adjusted his grip, muttering under his breath, "Of course you're fine with her, but I hold you for two seconds, and it's the end of the damn world."

By the time he reached the door, Eri's wails had reached full volume. He barely had time to knock before Mitsuki opened it, her eyebrows raising as she took in the scene. "Rough morning, huh?"

"Take her," Katsuki said bluntly, holding Eri out.

Mitsuki smirked, clearly amused, and took the crying baby with practiced ease. "Come here, sweetheart. It's okay, grandma's got you."

Eri's cries quieted almost immediately, though she hiccuped against Mitsuki's shoulder. Katsuki scowled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Figures," he muttered.

Mitsuki gave him a knowing look as she bounced Eri gently. "She just likes me better."

"Whatever," Katsuki grumbled, brushing past her to set Eri's bag on the couch.

"So," Mitsuki said casually, following him into the room, "how's it going with that neighbor of yours? Izuku, right? Still helping with Eri?"

Katsuki hesitated, glaring at the bag as though it might answer for him. "It's fine. He's been… helpful."

"Helpful enough to bring to dinner?"

Katsuki's head snapped up, his scowl deepening. "What? No. Why the hell would I do that?"

"Your dad's been asking about him," Mitsuki replied, the teasing edge in her voice unmistakable. "He thinks it's nice you've got someone helping out. Wants to meet him."

"Well, tell him it's not happening," Katsuki snapped, crossing his arms. The thought of Izuku sitting at the dinner table with his parents sent a strange, uncomfortable twist through his stomach.

Mitsuki shrugged, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Think about it, Katsuki. He's been good to you. And it wouldn't kill you to let someone else in once in a while."

Katsuki turned away, muttering something about having work to do. The image of Izuku sitting with his parents refused to leave his mind, though, and it irritated him more than he cared to admit.

As he double-checked the bag, Mitsuki's voice softened. "You sure you're doing okay, Katsuki? Money holding up?"

"I'm fine," he replied automatically, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "I've got enough to get through the semester, as long as nothing crazy happens. If I need more, I'll pick up a part-time job over the break."

Mitsuki's worried look lingered, though she didn't say anything else. Katsuki glanced at her, almost daring her to press further, but she just sighed. "Alright. You know we're here if you need anything."

"Yeah, I know," Katsuki muttered, heading for the door.

As he stepped outside, Mitsuki called after him. "Don't forget to invite Izuku!"

Katsuki paused at the threshold, throwing her a glare over his shoulder. "Forget it, old hag!"

Mitsuki's laughter followed him as he stomped to the car, her voice too damn smug for his liking. He climbed into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

The thought of Izuku meeting his parents, sitting at their table like some… family friend, made his skin crawl. He shook his head sharply, forcing the idea out of his mind as he started the car.

"Ridiculous," he muttered to himself, pulling out of the driveway.

The hallway buzzed with the low hum of students hurrying to their classes, the shuffle of feet mingling with snippets of conversation and the occasional clatter of lockers. Katsuki shouldered his bag, his mind already on the assignment he'd planned to tackle before his morning lecture. If he could knock out the bulk of it today, maybe he'd have enough time to study later without falling even further behind.

He turned the corner, heading toward the quiet reprieve of the library, when a familiar voice called out behind him. "Bakugo! A word?"

Katsuki stiffened, glancing over his shoulder to see Professor Hino striding toward him. The man's stern expression made Katsuki's stomach clench. His professor rarely sought him out unless something was wrong.

"What now?" Katsuki muttered, planting his feet as Hino stopped in front of him.

"The financial aid office wants to speak with you," Hino said, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. "They've been trying to get in touch."

Katsuki's jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist around the strap of his bag. "Yeah? About what?"

"You'll have to ask them yourself," Hino replied, adjusting the glasses perched on his nose. "It's probably about your scholarship. They'll explain."

The words landed like a punch to the gut. Katsuki nodded stiffly, muttering a quick, "Thanks," before heading in the direction of the financial aid office.

As he walked, his thoughts churned. He'd been working his ass off to bring his grades up—balancing late-night study sessions with Eri's unpredictable schedule—but he knew it might not be enough. The scholarship committee didn't care about his excuses; they cared about results. And while he'd made progress, he wasn't there yet.

He flexed his hand, trying to shake off the tension building in his chest. "Just talk to them," he muttered under his breath. "Figure out what they want and handle it. You've got this."

By the time he reached the office, his stomach felt like a tangled knot. He pushed the door open and approached the desk, forcing his voice to remain steady. "I'm here to see Ms. Smith. She wanted to talk about my scholarship."

The receptionist gestured toward a nearby office. "She's waiting for you."

Katsuki knocked lightly on the open door, and Ms. Smith looked up from her desk with a warm smile. "Ah, Mr. Bakugo. Come in, have a seat."

He stepped inside, his shoulders tense as he sank into the chair across from her.

"I'll get straight to the point," Ms. Smith began, folding her hands neatly on the desk. "Your grades have been improving, and I want to commend you for that. It's clear you've been working hard."

Katsuki's grip on the chair's armrests eased slightly, though the knot in his stomach remained.

"However," she continued, her tone softening, "your overall GPA is still below the scholarship's required threshold. I've had to report your progress to the scholarship committee, and they'll likely reach out to you soon to discuss your status."

Katsuki nodded, his jaw tightening. "I've got a plan. I've been getting them back up. I just need more time."

Ms. Smith's gaze was kind but firm. "I believe you, and I know you've been juggling a lot. That's why I'd encourage you to contact the scholarship office directly. Explain your situation and outline your strategy for improvement. They might be willing to work with you if they see how dedicated you are."

"Yeah, okay," Katsuki muttered, his voice low. He hated this—having to defend himself, to prove he was worth the investment. But what choice did he have?

Ms. Smith offered him a reassuring smile. "You're doing well, Katsuki. Don't give up now."

He nodded again, standing abruptly. "Thanks."

As he left the office, the weight of the conversation pressed down on him. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though—not with class starting soon. He headed toward the lecture hall, keeping his head down as the other students milled around him.

After class, Katsuki gathered his things quickly, eager to avoid lingering in the crowd. But as he stepped into the hallway, a burst of laughter caught his attention.

A group of students stood near the entrance, their voices loud and carefree as they made plans for the evening. Katsuki recognized them instantly—people he used to hang out with before Eri came into his life. Back when late-night bar crawls and lazy weekends were normal.

They didn't even glance his way as he passed.

Katsuki's steps faltered for a moment, his chest tightening with something he couldn't name. It wasn't like he missed those days—not really. But seeing how easily they'd moved on without him, how little space he now occupied in their lives, hit harder than he expected.

Shaking his head, Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking. He didn't have time for distractions. Not when everything he had was riding on his ability to keep it together.

Katsuki shifted Eri in his arms as he climbed the stairs, her soft, tired whines filling the quiet stairwell. She wasn't crying, at least—not yet—but the potential was there, hanging in the air like a storm cloud. His focus was on keeping her calm, so he almost missed the sound of footsteps ahead.

"Katsuki?"

The voice was unmistakable, and he froze halfway up the last flight of stairs. Izuku stood at the landing, Ochako beside him, both looking down at him. Izuku was dressed sharply—black button-up, slacks, and just enough polish to look like he belonged in a catalog. Katsuki's stomach tightened at the sight.

Ochako smiled brightly and waved. "Hey, Katsuki. Long day?"

Katsuki glanced away from Izuku, focusing on Ochako instead. "Something like that."

Eri squirmed, letting out a soft cry, and Katsuki adjusted her quickly, his voice low as he muttered, "Come on, kid, not now."

Izuku stepped forward instinctively, his concern evident. "Is she okay? Do you need—"

"She's fine," Katsuki said quickly, cutting him off. He shifted Eri again, her weight pressing against his chest as he avoided Izuku's gaze. "You've got somewhere to be, don't you?"

Izuku hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. "Yeah, but if you need—"

"I said we're fine," Katsuki interrupted, his tone blunt but lacking his usual edge.

Eri fussed louder, her tiny arms stretching toward Izuku as if trying to escape Katsuki's hold. Katsuki shifted her back toward him, bouncing her lightly in an attempt to calm her down. "Just go," he said, his voice quieter this time, the words coming out more like a command to himself than to Izuku. "Don't ruin your chance or whatever."

Izuku hesitated, his brows knitting together as if he wanted to say something. His hand hovered near the railing, his weight shifting between his feet. Ochako touched his arm gently, a silent nudge that seemed to snap him out of whatever thought he'd been lost in.

"Okay," Izuku said finally, his voice soft. His gaze lingered on Katsuki and Eri for a moment longer, unreadable, before he turned and descended the stairs.

"Have fun," Katsuki muttered under his breath, not loud enough for anyone to hear, and stepped toward his apartment door without looking back.

Eri let out another soft whine as the sound of their footsteps faded, and Katsuki's grip on her tightened slightly. "Traitor," he muttered, though the heat behind his words was absent.

He stepped inside, setting her down gently in her playpen before he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him.

He turned to see Ochako standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face.

"Mind if I come in?" she asked.

Katsuki frowned, glancing at Eri, who seemed content for the moment. "Why?"

"Because Izuku asked me to check in on you two," she said simply. "Said he didn't want you to feel like you were on your own."

Katsuki groaned softly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't need him—or you—hovering."

"Uh-huh," Ochako said, stepping inside uninvited. She gestured toward the couch. "Tea sounds nice, though. Got any?"

Katsuki stared at her for a moment, then sighed in defeat. "Fine. Just don't mess up my place."

She grinned, plopping down on the couch and scooping up Eri, who didn't fuss in her arms. Katsuki busied himself in the kitchen, filling the kettle and avoiding her gaze.

"You know," she said suddenly, her voice casual but pointed, "Izuku only agreed to the blind date because I was being nosy at the time, it was before meeting you though."

Katsuki paused, glancing over his shoulder. "What?"

Ochako shrugged, rocking Eri gently as she spoke. "He didn't really want to go anymore, but he felt bad about it. Said it would've been rude to cancel."

Katsuki turned back to the kettle, his grip tightening on the counter's edge. A faint flicker of relief stirred in his chest, but he forced it down, his voice sharp. "That's none of my business. He can do what he wants."

"Sure," Ochako said, but the tone of her voice made him glance back again. Her smile was faint, knowing. "It's not my business either. I just figured you'd want to know."

He set the tea on the table and sat across from her, crossing his arms. "What are you really here for?"

"Just wanted to check in," she said with a shrug. "And maybe help you with that D&D character you were talking about. Izuku mentioned you've been having trouble figuring it out."

Katsuki frowned but didn't argue. "It's harder than it looks."

Ochako grinned. "Good thing you've got me, then. I've got tons of ideas."

Their conversation shifted, the tension easing as they brainstormed. Ochako's suggestions were surprisingly good, and Katsuki found himself engaging more than he expected. She was easy to talk to, her energy infectious without being overbearing.

By the time Eri fell asleep in Ochako's arms, the apartment felt a little quieter, a little lighter. Katsuki stood, stretching as he gestured toward the door.

"You should head out. It's late."

Ochako smiled, handing Eri back to him gently. At the door, she paused, glancing back with a knowing look.

"You know, Izuku's a good guy. Don't let someone else figure that out before you do."

Katsuki stiffened, his jaw tightening as he frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ochako just shrugged, her smile playful. "Think about it, Katsuki. Goodnight."

She left without another word, leaving Katsuki standing in the quiet doorway, Eri's soft breaths warm against his shoulder.

"Tch," he muttered, closing the door behind him. "Stupid round-face."

The apartment was too quiet. Katsuki sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the empty coffee table. Eri was fast asleep in her crib, her soft breaths barely audible over the ticking clock on the wall. The silence left too much room for his thoughts to wander.

He wasn't going to think about it. About Izuku. About that damn date. But his eyes drifted to the window anyway, his chest tightening as he scanned the empty street below. The soft glow of the streetlamp caught on the sidewalk, but there was no sign of Izuku.

Katsuki yanked his gaze away, his hands curling into fists on his knees. "Doesn't matter," he muttered.

But it did. That was the problem.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room as tension coiled in his chest. Every time he tried to shake the thought loose, it clung tighter. The image of Izuku smiling at someone else, his stupid face lighting up in a way that made Katsuki's stomach twist—

"Damn it," he hissed, raking a hand through his hair. His eyes flicked to the door again, hope sparking against his will. Maybe Izuku would stop by. Maybe he'd—

"Get over it," Katsuki growled to himself, his voice harsher this time. He planted his feet, his fists clenching tighter until his nails bit into his palms. The silence pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating, until the words slipped out, soft and bitter.

"It doesn't matter."

But the knot in his chest, the one that wouldn't go away no matter how hard he tried, told him otherwise.