Y/N woke to the antiseptic sting of hospital lights and the soft hum of monitors. Her leg throbbed, every pulse an echo of the device's explosion. Recovery Girl hovered over them, eyes kind but serious. "You'll be on bed rest for at least a week," she said gently. "No quirk training until you heal."
Y/N tried to sit up. Dizziness swirled. "Katsuki—"
Recovery Girl placed a hand on their shoulder. "Give him a moment. He's... worried."
A soft knock on the curtain drew Y/N's gaze. Bakugo appeared, hair mussed, uniform smeared with ash. His eyes blazed with relief and something else—fear, perhaps guilt.
"Don't move," Bakugo said, voice raw. He scanned the monitors. "You know what happened is not your fault."
Y/N managed a breath. "We saved lives."
"By almost losing you." He sank onto the chair beside the bed, fists clenched on his knees. "I—" His voice caught. "I lost it back there. I shouldn't have let you get close to that beam."
Y/N reached for his hand. "I've never been prouder."
He pulled them close, foreheads touching. "I never want to feel powerless."
They kissed—a gentle promise instead of the fierce clashes of before. Y/N's heart wavered between pain and warmth. "You're not powerless," they whispered. "You saved me."
Bakugo's hand shook. "I was supposed to protect you."
"And you did," Y/N said. "Over and over."
They stayed like that until Recovery Girl gently ushered Bakugo out. Y/N lay back, mind racing. The calm of the hospital contrasted with last night's chaos. They had faced death together, but had they truly understood each other's limits?
Back at U.A., rumors flew. Some classmates praised their bravery. Others whispered about whether one's recklessness nearly doomed them both. Aizawa's stern gaze met Y/N's in the hallway. "Your impulsiveness nearly cost you," he said quietly. "Be more disciplined."
Y/N nodded, face flushed. "Yes, Sir."
Aizawa's gaze flicked to Bakugo. "And you," he said, "remember your responsibility as a hero and partner. Control the fallout—on and off the field." He walked on, leaving them both to chew on his warning.
Later, under the cover of night, Y/N made their way to the training yard's edge where Bakugo waited, hands embedded in his pockets. He didn't look up.
"I'm sorry," Y/N said. "I didn't mean to—"
Bakugo cut them off. "Don't apologize." He exhaled, eyes locked on the ground. "I need you safe. And I need to trust you'll be okay if I'm not there to catch you."
Y/N hesitated. "You don't trust me?"
He met her eyes, all the walls falling away. "I trust you more than anyone. But I need to know we can stand on our own if the other falls."
Y/N swallowed. "Then let's train that."
Bakugo's lips curved, just slightly. "Yeah."
They sparred until dawn—no masks, no secrets—just two heroes forging confidence in themselves and each other. Each strike and dodge built trust that even the most destructive blast couldn't shatter.