Chapter Text
Bakugo hated microphones.
They buzzed, they caught the bite in his words too well, and worse — they caught the silence afterward.
“Can you answer that again, without threatening the intern?”
Your voice was steady, just a shade amused. You sat across from him, camera warm in your hands, eyes too sharp for comfort. You didn’t look scared, and that was new. Most people avoided holding his stare. You matched it, heat for heat.
“Tch. You got a problem with the truth, or are you gonna twist it for clicks?”
“Depends on the truth,” you said, pen scratching across your pad. “Do you ever stop pushing? Or is that all there is to you?”
The jab hit him harder than expected. Too clean, too close. Bakugo crossed his arms, muscles tight beneath the fabric of his hero suit.
“Don’t pretend you know me, dumbass.”
“Then let me,” you said simply.
The words hung in the air, alive and dangerous in their quiet. Bakugo hated how his heart jumped when you smiled — that damn fearless smile no explosion could erase. It annoyed him… it also burned in a way that didn’t hurt.
Days turned to weeks. Interviews became late-night talks. You wrote about the battles and the blood, but also about the boy beneath the blast — the one no one else ever saw. When the article dropped, the world called it raw, honest, human. Bakugo didn’t care what they thought. He just cared that you still answered his calls afterward.
He met you again on a rooftop under a sky that hummed with city light. No cameras, no microphones — only heat, air, and the quiet space between words.
“Guess you weren’t wrong,” he muttered.
“About what?”
“That there’s more,” Bakugo said. Then, voice low, roughened by something new, “But don’t think that means I’ll go easy on you.”
You smirked. “Wouldn’t want you to.”
The next silence wasn’t awkward.
It glowed.