Summary:After two years of elite hero training in America, Izuku Midoriya returns to Japan to complete his final year in U.A.'s college hero course. Stronger. Sharper. More in control. But the one thing he never trained out of himself… was the need for Katsuki Bakugou.
The U.A. campus hadn't changed.
The buildings still loomed bright and clean against the sky. The quad buzzed with students, all older now—some with better posture, some with new scars. But the air still carried that familiar electricity: a place where futures were shaped.
But the moment Izuku Midoriya stepped through the dorm doors, everything inside the common room stopped.
He was taller now. Broader. His curls were cut close at the sides and swept back on top. The sleeveless compression top hugged the muscle he'd built overseas—shoulders, arms, chest. Two years of American pro-hero training had carved every bit of hesitation out of him.
He didn't walk in nervously.
He arrived.
"Yo," he said casually, slinging his duffel down. "Miss me?"
A collective gasp swept the room.
Ochako blinked. "Izuku?"
Iida's jaw dropped. "Midoriya, is that you?!"
Todoroki blinked slowly. "You look different."
But none of it mattered—not the stares, the whispers, the buzz.
Because Deku's eyes found one person only: Katsuki Bakugou.
Bakugou sat at the far couch, arms crossed. His red eyes didn't flinch. But Izuku saw the tension in his jaw. The grip on his armrest.
"Kacchan," Izuku said, voice steady. "Still loud. Still here."
Bakugou stood up slowly. They were nearly the same height now. Almost.
"What the hell are you doing back?"
"I said I'd return for the final year," Izuku replied smoothly. "I keep promises."
"Tch. You left without a damn word."
"I had to. You know why."
"That doesn't mean I didn't think about beating your ass every day."
Izuku stepped closer. "Then do it."
Bakugou's eyes narrowed. "Maybe I will."
The air between them practically crackled. Deku tilted his head, eyes dropping briefly to Bakugou's lips—just long enough for Bakugou to notice.
"You wanna take this outside?" Bakugou growled.
"I was thinking somewhere more private," Izuku said quietly.
The silence that followed was heavy.
And then Bakugou scoffed, turned, and walked off without a word.
Izuku followed—just a few steps behind.
Bakugou's Dorm Room – 20 Minutes Later
The door clicked shut.
No words. No greetings.
Just the sound of Bakugou grabbing Izuku's shirt and slamming him back against the wall.
"You think you can just waltz in here," Bakugou hissed, "looking like that and acting like nothing happened?"
Izuku caught his wrists easily and twisted the hold, flipping them. Now Bakugou was the one pinned—hands caught, breath caught, chest rising sharply beneath Izuku's.
"I don't think anything," Izuku said, voice low. "I know what you want."
Bakugou sneered. "You don't know shit."
"I know you missed me."
Bakugou's mouth parted—but no words came.
"You didn't touch anyone while I was gone, did you?" Izuku whispered.
Bakugou's jaw clenched.
Izuku's grip softened, but he didn't step back. He leaned in instead, their foreheads almost touching.
"I missed you too, Kacchan."
A beat of silence.
Then Bakugou surged forward—grabbing Izuku's collar and pulling him into a kiss. Rough. Desperate. Familiar.
And Izuku kissed him back with just as much heat.
They didn't speak as they stumbled toward the bed—shirts half-tugged off, fingers dragging over old scars and new muscle, every motion filled with the kind of tension that built up over years apart.
When Bakugou's back hit the mattress, Izuku hovered over him, both of them breathing hard.
"You sure?" Izuku asked, voice rough.
Bakugou met his eyes, defiant and aching.
"I've been sure for years."
Izuku nodded once—and leaned down.
The rest didn't need words.
Just touch. Just breath.
And the sound of two hearts finally catching up with each other.