The warm yellow lights of Heights Alliance flickered on as the sun dipped below the horizon. Inside the dorm's common area, the students of Class 1-A were gathered on couches, beanbags, and floor cushions—still buzzing with leftover energy from the day's exam.

Some were laughing. Others were exhausted. But all of them turned silent the moment Aizawa entered the room.

His eyes, tired but sharp as ever, swept across the room. "Sit up and listen."

They straightened immediately.

"You all performed decently today. Some of you, better than expected. Others… still have work to do."

His gaze moved slowly across the room before he pulled a small tablet from his pocket.

"I'll be giving general feedback tonight. Detailed notes will be sent to you individually tomorrow."

Aizawa didn't sugarcoat things—he never did.

"Iida, Yaoyorozu, and Uraraka—strong leadership and quick thinking. Midoriya, you're improving your control. Keep refining your rescue instincts."

He looked toward Kirishima and Kaminari, who were both lounging side by side.

"Kirishima, solid defense and shielding tactics. Kaminari, you didn't fry your brain this time. Progress."

"Hey, I'll take it!" Kaminari grinned.

Mina raised her hand with a grin. "What about me, Sensei?"

"You kept civilians entertained and calm. That counts more than you think."

She pumped a fist victoriously.

Then Aizawa's gaze shifted.

"Moshizuki."

Emi looked up, posture instinctively straightening.

"You demonstrated outstanding rescue technique. Your windstreamers gave you strong area control, and your support of injured civilians was timely and effective. You've clearly adapted well after your injury."

There was a beat of silence. The class all glanced toward her—some with proud smiles, others with quiet awe. Emi dipped her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Thank you, Sensei."

Aizawa continued. "All of you passed the first phase, which is no small feat. As for the second… teamwork, communication, and emotional presence were evaluated."

Then his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, landing on two specific students.

"Todoroki. Bakugo."

The air in the room shifted.

Todoroki sat quietly, back straight, calm despite the disappointment.

Bakugo sat on the couch's armrest, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched.

"You both failed."

No sugarcoating. Just fact.

"You're powerful, but this exam wasn't just about power. The licensing body deemed both of you lacking in areas critical to hero work—public interaction, emotional intelligence, and civilian response. You'll both be enrolled in a remedial course and must retake a supplemental exam."

Todoroki nodded. "Understood."

Bakugo didn't say a word.

Kirishima leaned closer to him and whispered, "We'll help you train. You've got this, man."

Bakugo didn't look at him, but the muscle in his jaw relaxed just slightly.

Aizawa continued, "You'll get another chance soon. Use it wisely."

He glanced across the class one final time.

"You're improving. But the real work starts now. Heroes don't get breaks. And villains don't wait."

With that, he left the room, heading back to his quarters.

There was a beat of silence before the room erupted in conversation.

"I still can't believe we passed!" Kaminari said, throwing a pillow at Sero.

"I thought I'd throw up before they showed the list," Jirou muttered.

Emi stood and moved toward the back of the room, where Bakugo had remained mostly silent. She stepped beside him, gently nudging his arm with her elbow.

"You good?"

He exhaled through his nose. "Whatever. I don't need a damn gold star to prove what I can do."

"No," Emi said softly, "but you still want it. And you'll get it."

Bakugo glanced at her sideways. "You sound sure."

"I am. You're Katsuki Bakugo," she said with a small smirk. "You don't quit."

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close.

"I'm gonna crush that remedial course," he muttered.

"Damn right, you are," Kirishima said from the other side, grinning as he joined them. "And we'll help you train for it."

Bakugo let out a low grunt, but didn't push them away. The class continued to laugh, talk, and plan the night ahead. Despite the exhaustion, the uncertainty, and the missed licenses—it still felt like a win.

⸻

The dorm was quiet now.

The rest of Class 1-A had retreated to their rooms, some still riding the high of passing, others worn out from the long day. The laughter and chatter that had filled the common area just hours ago had given way to silence—except for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint rustle of the night breeze outside the window.

Emi stood in the kitchen, her back to the counter, a mug of warm tea in her hands. Her hero costume was gone, replaced by her usual sleepwear: loose black shorts and a soft dark pink sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. Her windstreamers lay folded beside her.

She didn't jump when she heard the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

She knew it was him.

Bakugo entered the common area still in his black tank top and sweats, his hair a little messier than usual. He looked like he'd tried to sleep and failed. His eyes landed on her, sharp and unreadable.

"You're still up," he muttered, walking past her to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

"You too," she said, setting her mug down. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Tch. Obviously."

He leaned against the fridge, unscrewing the bottle but not drinking from it.

They stood there in the low light, silence stretching between them like a familiar comfort. Emi looked at him—really looked. He was tense, his jaw tight, shoulders stiff.

She stepped closer.

"Katsuki."

He didn't look at her right away. When he did, she saw the fire behind his eyes. The anger. The shame.

"You're pissed," she said softly.

He scoffed. "Of course I'm pissed. I failed."

"It wasn't because you weren't strong enough," she said, voice steady. "It's never about that."

"That's not the point," he snapped, then looked away. "I wanted to prove I could do this—everything. That I'm not just some bomb waiting to go off."

His hands were clenched tight around the bottle now.

Emi reached out and touched his wrist.

"You will prove it. But Katsuki…" She stepped closer until their bodies almost touched. "You don't have to prove anything to me. I know what kind of hero you are."

His eyes finally met hers. Dark red locking with soft pink and clouded pale.

"I see you," she whispered.

Bakugo stared at her, that usual fury behind his eyes softening into something more vulnerable, something raw. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against hers.

"Damn it, Emi," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "You make it too damn hard to stay angry."

She smiled, the kind that melted into her scar and reached her eyes. "Good. You could use a break."

He pulled back slightly, then leaned in again—this time, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was soft and uncharacteristically tender. He didn't rush it. Didn't grip her too tight. He just kissed her like he needed the quiet. Like he needed her.

When they pulled apart, Emi leaned her head against his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

They didn't need to say anything else.

The sun crept over the horizon, casting a gentle orange glow through the dorm windows of U.A. High. Morning light spilled across the common area, where students slowly began trickling in, yawning and stretching, still riding the wave of yesterday's exams.

Emi stepped into the kitchen, dressed in her usual training clothes—black leggings and a dark pink cropped hoodie. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, and her left eye, though clouded, still scanned the room out of instinct.

She poured herself some tea and leaned against the counter, waiting for Katsuki to come down. He hadn't texted her all night, which was… unusual.

The elevator doors dinged.

Out stepped Aizawa, looking more exhausted than usual, his scarf hanging loosely from his shoulders. He walked into the center of the common area, and everyone went quiet as they noticed the hard look in his eyes.

"Morning," he said flatly. "I'll keep this short. Last night, two students engaged in an unsanctioned, destructive battle on school grounds—despite being explicitly told to rest and recover after the exam."

Emi's heart sank. A ripple of murmurs spread through the room.

Aizawa didn't pause. "Bakugo. Midoriya. Step forward."

Katsuki stepped in from the hallway. His hands were in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes dark. Midoriya came from the stairs, looking more anxious, a bruise visible under his jaw.

Gasps filled the room.

"Wait… you two fought?!" Kaminari exclaimed.

"Like, seriously fought?" Mina added, stunned.

"They nearly leveled part of the quad," Aizawa confirmed. "The damage was extensive, and the risk they posed to themselves and anyone nearby was unacceptable. You both know better."

Bakugo said nothing. Midoriya swallowed hard and gave a small bow.

"As punishment: Midoriya, three days of confinement to your dorm. Bakugo, four days. No training, no classes, and no access to common spaces outside of mealtimes."

Everyone gawked. Kirishima opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it.

Aizawa sighed. "Let this be a lesson to all of you. Power means nothing if you can't control it. That's all."

He turned and walked away, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Emi didn't say a word.

She turned slowly toward Katsuki, her tea forgotten on the counter.

He looked at her—expression unreadable—but she didn't need words. Her eyes were blazing, full of quiet fury and something deeper beneath it.

"You fought Midoriya?" she said, voice low and tight.

"It wasn't—" he started.

"And you didn't think to talk to me about that?" Her voice rose just enough to make the others retreat into the background, giving them space.

He scowled. "What, so I needed your permission now?"

"No," she shot back. "But maybe a heads-up? Maybe anything so I wouldn't wake up to find out you blew up half the courtyard like some reckless idiot!"

Katsuki's fists clenched, but he didn't yell back. He didn't even move.

Emi stepped closer, her scar seeming to glow under the morning sun.

"You told me you were done trying to prove yourself like this. That you didn't need to fight like this anymore."

Katsuki looked away, jaw grinding. "It wasn't about that."

"Then what was it?" Her voice cracked. "Because right now, it just feels like you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."

He met her gaze finally, and for a moment—just a moment—there was guilt in his eyes.

"I didn't want you to stop me."

Emi felt her chest twist. "Then maybe you should've listened to the part of you that knew I would."

Without another word, she turned and walked out of the room, the others watching her go in complete silence.

Katsuki didn't follow.

He just stood there, still and stormy, with four long days ahead of him to think about what he'd done.

The dorms were unusually quiet for Katsuki Bakugo.

By the second day of his confinement, the walls of his room felt too close, too empty. He was used to silence, sure—but not this kind. This was the silence that came with absence. Emi hadn't spoken to him since the morning Aizawa handed down their punishments. No texts. No glares. No sarcastic quips or wind pulling at his hoodie when she passed him in the hallway.

Nothing.

She was freezing him out.

Bakugo sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, fingers twitching restlessly in his lap. He hated being benched. Hated being caged. But more than anything, he hated the hollow spot in his chest that came every time he looked at his door and didn't hear a knock from her.

It was driving him insane.

Downstairs, he could hear faint laughter—Kirishima, Kaminari, Mina. The usual crowd. Every once in a while, he caught the soft sound of Emi's voice, barely distinguishable from the others. She sounded normal. Like she wasn't hurting.

But he knew better.

On the third night, he heard a knock.

His heart kicked. But when he opened the door, it was Kirishima holding out a plate of food and a guilty expression.

"Emi made dinner. Thought you should eat," he said.

Bakugo stared at the plate for a long second, then took it without a word.

"She asked me to bring it to you, though," Kirishima added, scratching the back of his neck. "She… she's still mad."

"Tch," Bakugo muttered. "Figured."

Kirishima paused. "You gonna talk to her?"

"I will when I've got something worth saying."

The door shut.

He didn't eat the food until later, when the dorms were dark and quiet again. It was still warm.

⸻

Day Four

On the final night of his grounding, Katsuki walked down the hallway for the first time in days. The dorms were quiet. Most of the class was in the common room, watching a movie. He didn't care. He wasn't here for them.

He found Emi on the second-floor balcony, sitting alone on a bench with a blanket draped over her shoulders, wind teasing her hair.

She heard him approach but didn't turn.

He stood behind her, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket.

"Four days," she murmured. "And nothing."

"I didn't know what to say."

She glanced up at him then—her good eye sharp, the clouded one catching the moonlight like glass.

"You didn't try, Katsuki."

He flinched, just a little.

She shook her head. "You let your anger speak for you. Again. And this time, it cost you more than just another detention."

"I know," he said, quietly.

Emi stood up. "I needed you to trust me enough to talk to me. Not to protect me. Not to fight for me. Just talk. Like a partner."

His chest tightened. "I didn't want to look weak in front of you."

Her expression softened—not pity, but something gentler. "You're not weak. But you're not alone either, Bakugo. You don't have to carry everything by yourself."

He looked down, breathing slow and hard.

Then: "I missed you."

Emi stepped closer, wind swirling gently around them. "I missed you too, dumbass."

He looked up.

"Still mad?" he asked, voice low.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Gonna stay mad?"

A pause.

"No," she said. "Not forever."

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed.

"Good," he whispered.

The next morning, things finally felt… normal.

Class 1-A filtered into homeroom one by one, dragging their feet and exchanging tired greetings. Groans about homework, stiff muscles from training, and the surprise quiz Present Mic had sprung on them the day before echoed through the room like the start of an average day. Aizawa sat at the front, half-wrapped in his yellow sleeping bag like a cranky caterpillar, eyes shadowed but watchful.

Katsuki Bakugo entered without fanfare, sliding into his seat as if the last four days locked in his dorm room hadn't happened. The room acknowledged him in small, subtle ways: Kaminari offered a half-raised fist bump, which Katsuki ignored with a scoff. Kirishima gave him a quiet, "Welcome back, bro," earning only a nod. Sero smirked at him knowingly, nudging Mina with his elbow, but no one dared bring up the fight.

No one needed to.

Behind him, Emi Moshizuki sat with her elbows on her desk, eyes already on him. She looked better today—bright, focused. The windstreamers attached to her belt shifted gently with every move. Her hair was swept up like usual, and the scar on her left eye remained uncovered. The pale pink eye, clouded and unmoving, was as much a part of her now as her Quirk. Katsuki stared at her for a moment.

She lifted an eyebrow.

He smirked.

That was enough.

Class went on as usual—lectures, a discussion on rescue coordination, followed by battle tactics. At one point, Midoriya tripped over his own notes while trying to explain something, and Katsuki muttered "freakin' nerd" under his breath. Aizawa gave him a tired side-eye, and Emi snorted behind her notebook.

When the bell rang for lunch, the class filed into the cafeteria, spreading into their usual clusters. Emi picked up her tray and headed toward her table with Jirou and Yaoyorozu—but paused when she noticed Katsuki waiting a few steps off to the side. His hands were in his pockets, his expression unreadable, but he didn't move until she made eye contact.

Then he jerked his head toward the corner table. The one they sometimes shared after training.

She followed.

They sat without speaking, setting their trays down at the same time. Emi unwrapped her onigiri. Katsuki practically attacked his katsudon. For a few minutes, they ate in silence, letting the energy of the room buzz around them.

Then Emi nudged his foot under the table.

"You survived four days without blowing anything up," she teased, voice light and playful.

Katsuki grunted. "Barely."

"You missed me?"

His eyes snapped to hers, sharp and challenging. "Tch. Don't ask stupid questions."

A slow smile stretched across her lips. "You totally did."

"You're annoying."

"And you're sweet."

He glared, but the tips of his ears turned red. She smiled to herself.

Kaminari, walking by with a sandwich halfway in his mouth, pointed at them with dramatic flair. "Oh my god, you two are so dating now, huh?!"

Katsuki nearly launched his chopsticks across the room. Emi just giggled and tossed a napkin that hit Kaminari square in the forehead.

Kirishima slid into the seat across from them, tray in hand and grin already in place. "It's good to see you two back to normal."

Emi nodded, relaxing into her seat. "Yeah. It really is."

They fell into easy rhythm—talking, laughing, bickering between bites of food. Katsuki didn't say much, but he didn't leave either, and that alone said everything. The tension from the week before, the fight, the grounding—it all faded into the background. Around them, the rest of the class talked and joked like usual, voices rising and falling in comfortable waves.

It felt like a reset.

As the last bell rang and lunch trays were returned, Emi slung her arm through her bag strap and leaned in close to Katsuki before they left the table.

"I'm glad you're back."

He looked at her with that sharp gaze of his, and for once, didn't try to look away.

"…Me too."

She squeezed his hand once before letting go, the ghost of a smile on her lips as they walked together back toward class.

The common room buzzed with low chatter and laughter, lights dimmed to a cozy glow. A game of Uno was unfolding in the corner, with Kaminari dramatically flopping over the couch like he'd just been mortally wounded by a Draw Four. Mina was cackling while Sero accused her of stacking cards illegally.

Kirishima peeled himself away from the chaos and made his way toward Emi, who sat alone near the window, curled up with her knees tucked close to her chest. The light from the hallway cast a soft glow on her face, the scar across her left eye catching in the shadows like a permanent badge of survival.

"Yo, Emi!" Kirishima said with his usual easy grin. "You wanna join us for Uno? Kaminari's losing bad and we need more players."

Emi gave a small smile, warm but distant. "Thanks, but I think I'll sit this one out."

"You sure? Could be good stress relief."

She hesitated, then shook her head gently. "I'm okay, really."

Kirishima nodded in understanding, then reached out to ruffle her hair the way an older brother might. "Alright. But don't sit in your head too long, yeah? We've got your back."

She gave him a grateful look as he turned to head back to the game. As the noise resumed at the card table, the hallway door opened with a soft creak.

Bakugo stepped into the room, a towel slung lazily around his neck, fresh out of the shower. His blond hair was damp, sticking up in spikes more chaotic than usual. His tank top clung to his still-warm skin, and his scowl was firmly in place.

"You're still up?" he grunted.

Emi looked over at him, her smile faint. "Could say the same about you."

He walked past her at first, heading toward the kitchen, but stopped midway. After a pause, he turned back, brow furrowed.

"You keep touching your face," he said flatly. "Stop fidgeting."

Her hand, which had been subconsciously grazing the edge of her scar, dropped instantly. She sighed, exasperated, but not angry.

"It itches sometimes. Nerve damage does that, apparently."

Bakugo stared at her, quiet. Then, after a beat: "…Still not used to it?"

Emi turned her face toward the window, one arm curling around herself. "Would you be?"

The silence that followed wasn't tense—it was heavy, thick with things left unsaid. Bakugo exhaled, a low sigh from deep in his chest. He crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside her without warning, arms sprawled against the backrest, close but not touching.

"I don't care what it looks like," he muttered. "I never have."

Emi blinked, caught off guard. Her heart tugged slightly at his words, blunt and awkward as they were. But they were real. Honest.

"I know," she said quietly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Around them, the common room carried on—cards slapping, laughter rising and falling—but in their little corner, the world had gone still.

Finally, she leaned over, just a little, resting her shoulder against his. He didn't flinch. Didn't move away.

"You're a terrible comforter," she teased gently.

He scoffed. "I'm not trying to be comforting."

"Then you're doing a terrible job at not comforting."

His lips quirked ever so slightly. "Shut up."

She smiled. "My hero"

Bakugo didn't respond. He just stayed there, solid and steady beside her.