TITLE: Lights Will Guide You Home

TITLE: lights will guide you home

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

STATUS: Ongoing; 9 of 14

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

Musutafu’s streets are just waking up around you, stores barely opening and the roads devoid of many cars. It’s early, so it isn’t crowded just yet. You spot a couple teenagers on their way to school across the road. You cross paths with a few harried-looking adults clearly in the middle of their commutes to work. But people are far and few between, and the sky is still the palest blue, barely tinged by the sun’s yellow rays, so you enjoy the peace alongside your morning drink. 

You’re glad that for today, at least, you’re not joining the ranks of those in routine. You have a different agenda today: you’re on your way to Bakugou and Kirishima’s agency. 

As you come to a stop just outside the building, out of the way of foot traffic, you pull out your phone and dial Bakugou’s number, humming a little under your breath as you wait. He picks up after a single ring.

“What?” he snaps, sharp and quick, and you’re taken aback at his tone. 

“Oh, um. It’s me,” you say hesitantly. Maybe you’ve caught him at a bad time? 

Tension colors his voice as he says, “What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh—nothing’s wrong!” It is pretty rare for you to call him so early in the day. Usually, your phone calls are in the evenings. Maybe the deviation from the norm is throwing him off and that’s why it feels like he’s on edge. “I was just wondering, are you at your agency right now?”

“Why?”

But he just sounds so terse, and his words are clipped, like he’s half a mind somewhere else. Your excitement fizzles out, like a sparkler running out of fuel, and you’re left feeling like an annoyance, a bother. 

“Sorry… you sound busy. I’ll just message you later,” you say. 

“The fuck? Just—”

You hear Bakugou exhale deeply, though it’s faint, as if he’s pulled the phone away from his face. 

Voice even, he says, “It’s fine. What is it?” 

You look down at the sidewalk, scuffing the pavement with your shoe. Maybe it was a bad idea, coming here. 

“No, it’s nothing.” You glance at the drinks carrier in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Just spit it out,” Bakugou says, and you can practically hear his gritted teeth. “And don’t you hang up.”

Suddenly, you hear your name being called. You raise your head, looking around. Grateful for the distraction, you turn. 

It’s Kirishima, in civilian clothes, and he’s coming out of the agency, jogging up to you with a grin on his face. “Hey, I thought that was you! What’re you doing here?”

He notices the phone at your ear, and his eyes widen. 

“Oh!” He lowers his voice, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“Gotta go,” you say quickly into the receiver. Bakugou’s voice peaks across your phone’s speaker, as if he’d shouted something, but you hit the end call button before you can hear what he has to say. 

As you put your phone in your pocket, you bite your bottom lip. You really hope Bakugou didn’t hear Kirishima. You want to slink away before he figures out you’re here. 

“All good. I was just wrapping it up,” you tell Kirishima. 

He hesitates for a moment, considering you, before nodding and flashing you a grin. “It’s good to see you! How’ve you been?” 

You smile back instinctively, feeling yourself relax. There’s just something about Kirishima that makes you feel at ease. 

“Good!” you tell him. “Work’s been okay, can’t complain, and the kittens have tons of adoption queries! I’ve been excited for them to find their forever homes.”

“That’s great! I’ve seen the pictures you took of them and Bakugou. They look so soft.” He holds his hands up, cupped, as if to call to mind a soft kitten nestled there. 

You laugh. “They are! But how’ve you been? It’s been a while, and I can never get Bakugou to tell me how you are beyond ‘He’s the same,’ which is very unhelpful.”

Kirishima grins. “He’s always been like that. Uncooperative! I think he does it on purpose. But he’s not wrong—I’ve been good! Same old, same old.”

His eyes slide down to the drinks carrier in your hand. One of the cups, clearly yours, is empty. The other is full, still warm.

“Is that for him? Are you here to visit?” Kirishima asks, eyes bright.

“Oh, um!” You falter. You could lie and say it’s for a coworker or something. But you’re not exactly in work attire. Maybe you could say the barista’d made a mistake on your first order so now you had two after they’d remade it? Whatever—you’d make something up, even if you feel bad about lying to Kirishima. You really should get going, anyhow. You’ve lingered too long already. 

“Hey!” 

You stiffen as you hear your name called for the second time in the span of ten minutes. Except this time, the voice is a familiar rasp that’s furious. Heated. A glance behind you confirms who it is: Bakugou, coming out the agency doors, a thunderous expression on his face. 

His eyes lock with yours.

You panic.

You turn to Kirishima, shoving the carrier into his arms, saying, “That’s for you, actually, congratulations! Gotta go, bye!”

“Wait—” Kirishima starts, but you’re gone, you book it, heading in literally any other direction as long as it puts distance between you and Bakugou.

“What the fuck!” you hear Bakugou snarl behind you, and you speed up, gulping. 

You have the presence of mind to be conscientious of attracting unwanted attention, so even though it slows you down, you swerve into an empty alleyway that you know leads out into a quieter street. You chance a quick glance behind you, praying you got away. 

To your relief, Bakugou’s nowhere in sight. You slow your pace a little, sighing. 

You turn back to face forward, but you slam into something—someone. 

“Big fuckin’ mistake, brat,” you hear Bakugou’s voice rasp in your ear just as you feel an arm wrap around your waist and you’re suddenly shooting up, up into the air, the crackle of combustion muffling the strangled scream you let out. 

You clutch onto Bakugou, holding on for dear life as he angles towards the roof of the building to your left. 

Once your feet are on the ground, he releases his grip on you, only to get in your face, crimson eyes blazing.

“Why the fuck were you running?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaim. Your hands are up in front of you, held up defensively. He’s so close they’re almost pressed against his chest. “I panicked, I don’t know. You ran after me!”

“Only because you ran first!” he snarls. 

“What was I supposed to do? Stop?” 

“Yes, fuck! You’re so—” He makes a choked sound of anger and runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth. 

Fuck, he’s right. You don’t know what you were thinking. You just—you really didn’t want to see him so soon after that conversation on the phone. But it was a really dumb move to run away, and just recalling Kirishima’s face as you took off makes you want to pull out a shovel, dig, and lie down in the hole you’d made.

Bakugou’s arms are crossed tightly over his chest, biceps bulging, and he’s scowling ferociously. He isn’t even in his hero suit, just in joggers and a shirt, but that does nothing to diminish the enormity of his presence. You have a little more respect for the villains in this district, for having the courage to still attempt crime when Bakugou’s around. 

You inhale deeply, then reach out and touch his arm. “M’sorry. I was dumb. I shouldn’t have run.”

Bakugou grunts, looking down at your hand and away. You retract your hand quickly, hoping he wasn’t bothered by the gesture. He looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“You can say sorry by telling me what the hell you’re doing here and why you called me.”

You feel your cheeks warm and close your eyes briefly. You really don’t want to tell him why you came here. But there’s no getting out of this; you literally have nowhere to go. 

“I… I got you coffee,” you admit. “You mentioned that one place on the corner last time we talked, so. I wanted to surprise you!” 

He’s just been looking so tired, recently. You recall the slope of his shoulders the last time you saw him, in his apartment—weary. Like a heavy weight rested upon them. 

You rub your arm and continue, “But you sounded so annoyed on the phone, I figured you were busy. Didn’t want to keep bothering you.”

He regards you with an unreadable expression. You try to maintain eye contact, but it’s hard. You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. 

“Dumbass,” he says, finally, dropping his arms to his side. “Sounds like someone made stupid assumptions and then ran away, like a loser.”

You frown, eyes sliding away, but don’t protest. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

He rolls his eyes and reaches out a hand, flicks your forehead. You put a hand to the spot, making a face at him, and he gives you a mean little grin that makes you want to pinch him. 

In the early morning sun, his lights are soft, blending with the warm hues that gild the world around you. Gold mixes with orange, and the ebb and flow of color lulls you with its familiarity. 

You’re conscious of your body relaxing. You didn’t realize how tense you were. 

After a beat, Bakugou asks, “Don’t you have work?”

“Nope,” you say, and smile a little. “I requested the day off! I needed it.”

Now that you have the chance to look at him, he doesn’t look any more rested than the other day. Worse, maybe. You can see that the shadows under his eyes have deepened, that there’s a furrow in his brow that wasn’t there the last time you saw him. Your hand is reaching up, fingertips lightly brushing against the skin under his eyes before you know what you’re doing. 

“You look like you need a day off too,” you tell him. “Take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if I can do anything for you.” 

He stares at you for a long moment. You gaze back at him. 

You want him to know that you mean it. You want to be there for him. Bakugou doesn’t talk about work often, and when he does, he paints things in broad strokes, no details. But you get the sense that he’s busy with something, and it’s weighing on him. 

Even if there’s nothing you can do about his workload, you want him to know that he can lean on you, if he wants. Whatever that’s worth. 

Bakugou reaches out an arm to you. He telegraphs his movements and gives you plenty of time to step away. 

You don’t, curious to see what he’ll do. 

He wraps a hand around your head and pulls you against him. Surprised, you stumble a bit, a hand coming up to grasp at his shirt for balance. His hand slides down your head to the back of your neck, coming to a rest there. 

He’s gentle with you, despite the initial jostling. You catch a whisper of whatever that scent is, his body wash, his cologne, and inhale. He’s so warm against you. 

“You’re so fucking dumb,” he growls, and you can feel the reverberation of his words against your face, your chest—everywhere you’re touching. “Don’t pull this running shit again, y’hear me? And no more squirreliness.”

“Yes, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” you say, voice muffled against his chest. 

Bakugou huffs a startled laugh, raspy, and you grin against him. Part of you wonders what would happen if you looked up, tilted your face towards him. 

But you don’t. He lets you go. The moment passes. 

“C’mere, I’m taking us down.” He walks to the edge of the roof, and you go to him. “And if Shitty Hair drank my coffee, you’re getting me another one.”

You laugh. “That’s fair.”

He guides your hands to grip him so you’re secure when he brings you both down off the roof, and just as his arm comes around to brace you against him, a thought occurs to you.

“Is it okay if I come by again? Bring you coffee sometimes?”

Bakugou pauses, looking down into your face. He’s so close, pressed against you. It’s necessary for the descent down, but you suddenly wish you’d brought this up later. It’s too hard to think, this close to him. 

“The hell? Don’t needa ask my permission for that shit. Why wouldn’t it be okay.”

You make a face at him. “Won’t people start to notice? If I start coming by to see you? Like your employees, or more people randomly taking pictures.”

His expression grows stormy. 

“I’ve been involved in the hiring processes of all my agency’s employees. No dumbasses are gonna work for me,” he says. 

While you’re reeling from this revelation that Bakugou’s a control freak who manages the impossible, because who has that kind of time on top of being a pro-hero, Bakugou continues. 

“They got better things to do than gossip. And know better, too.” His expression darkens further. 

“If they don’t, they’ll be looking for another job faster than they can press that damn button to take a goddamn picture.”

You shiver at the look on his face. You believe him. 

So coffee becomes a regular thing. Bakugou gets around your concern of paparazzi or random people taking your picture at the agency’s entrance by giving you a pass that lets you enter through the secured and patrolled back entrance. You’re careful to make sure no one follows you, still a little paranoid. 

“Is this allowed?” you ask as he presses the key card into your hand.

Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“I own the damn place,” he tells you.

It’s indicative of how much you like your soulmate that at least twice a week you wake up an extra thirty minutes in the morning to get his coffee and drop it off at the agency before heading into work yourself. You aren’t always able to give it to him personally, sometimes just having to leave it with the front desk receptionist whose name you finally find out is Takahashi. 

“Call me Aiko,” she says with a bright smile. She’s a sweet girl.

But most of the time, Bakugou makes an appearance around the time you arrive. He usually spends a couple minutes with you, asks about the kittens in a roundabout way, demands to know what you’re eating for lunch that day if he hadn’t pre-prepared bentos for you that week. 

The first time you bring a smoothie for Kirishima from the same place, attempting to hand it to Bakugou to pass along, he makes a face.

“The hell is this?”

“It’s a smoothie for Kirishima,” you say. You gesture for him to take it, but he curls his lip at it.

“He doesn’t want this shit. Just take it with you.”

“What?” you say, furrowing your brow. “How would you know?”

“He’s got one of those fancy-fuck blenders at home. Don’t waste your money on ‘im,” Bakugou says, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh,” you say, crestfallen, frowning down at the cup in your hand. You rub your thumb up and down its side, spreading around the condensation that’s built up on it. 

“I just wanted to do something nice for him, because he’s always so nice to me,” you say quietly. Sighing, you move to put the smoothie back into the drinks carrier the cafe had given you. Maybe Kirishima would like coffee? You’ll try to bring him coffee next time. 

You don’t notice the flash of emotions that cross Bakugou’s face. He makes a disgusted sound and snatches the cup from you. 

“Fine! I’ll give him your stupid smoothie. Now go or you’ll be late for work.”

He stomps off before you get a chance to say goodbye, and you’re left standing there, bewildered.

One day, a Saturday, you linger at the receptionist counter, and ask Aiko if Bakugou’s busy, or if he’s available for a quick chat.

“If you don’t know, no worries,” you say as she tilts her head. 

She glances at the protein shake in your hand that’s very much not for you. You’re not sure how Bakugou can drink these things; he’d let you sip from it once and you made the ugliest face at the taste. He’d laughed at you. 

“I’m not familiar with Dynamight’s schedule, but his manager is! Let me call him and double check for you,” she says, picking up the phone and pressing a button on it before you can protest.

“Hi!” she says into the phone. “I have Dynamight’s P1 here in the lobby, and we were wondering if he’s available for a quick meeting?” 

P1? You eye her. What does that stand for? You make a mental note to ask later.

There’s a quiet moment as she listens to the reply, and then a longer pause as she’s seemingly put on hold.

You wince, thinking about the inconvenience you’re being. You really should’ve just waited until after Bakugou’s done with work today to talk to him. You could drink the shake yourself, even though personally you think it tastes like dirt. 

“Okay! Thanks so much!” Aiko says into the phone, and then she hangs up. She raises her gaze to yours.

“Dynamight’s actually mid-workout right now! His manager says that you should come up to the third floor, and Dynamight will be in the second gym. The room numbers are next to the doors.”

“Oh! Okay, thank you for your help.” You pause. “Do you mind swiping the elevator for me again? Sorry to make you walk over.”

She blinks at you. “I was told you have a key card?”

“Yes? But I just use it to get inside from the back entrance.”

“May I have a look?”

You hand it over. She taps a couple keys on the keyboard and taps it against a scanner. Glancing at the screen, she smiles and hands the card back to you.

“That card’s high clearance!” she tells you. “You have access to most things in the building, like the elevator, the break rooms, the gym… And if you have any trouble getting into other areas, I’m sure Dynamight can adjust your access!”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” you say hurriedly. “Thank you, Aiko. I can take it from here.”

She waves as you scurry over to the elevator, scan the card, and push the button for the third floor. 

You stare at the key card in your hand like it’ll bite you. What on earth was Bakugou thinking when he gave this to you? What if you lose it? 

This thought prompts you to store the key card in your wallet, instead of chucking it carelessly into your pocket like you have been for the past two weeks. You’d almost washed it with your laundry a couple days ago.

After some poking around, you find the second gym Aiko had mentioned. You dither at the entrance for a moment, unsure whether to knock or not—but that’s weird, right? Who knocks on the door to a gym? You shake your head and walk through the doors.

Bakugou’s back’s to you. He’s at a piece of equipment, hanging onto a bar intended for pull ups. He’s in the middle of pulling himself up, biceps and lat muscles taut against the sweat-soaked shirt he’s wearing. He lowers himself slowly, and repeats the motion, every movement intentional and clean. 

A little frisson of attraction runs through you, and you swallow. Sometimes you forget just how handsome he is. 

Your eyes shift away from admiring him to the mirrors spanning the far wall, and you find that he’s watching you in them. 

Your eyes meet, and your heartbeat picks up. You feel warmth rise to your cheeks. Had he noticed you looking at him? God, you hope not. 

He drops, reaching for a towel laying on a nearby bench to wipe his face. 

You breathe in and exhale. After regaining as much of your composure as you can, you walk towards him. It’s easier to push away the flustered feelings once you remember why you’ve come to see Bakugou today. 

When you reach his side, he raises an eyebrow at you. You hold up the shake in your hand.

He ignores it. His eyes immediately narrow, zeroed in on your face. “What’s wrong?”

Startled, you furrow your brows. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, pushing the shake at him. 

Bakugou takes it, but he raises his free hand, reaches up, and pinches your cheek. 

“Ow,” you say, and he lets go. 

“Don’t lie,” he says, and your eyes widen. You’re not sure how he’s able to tell you’re upset when you’ve tried your best to cover it up. 

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can you go back to working out? I didn’t mean to interrupt. I promise I’ll tell you when you’re all done. And don’t rush.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Don’t needa tell me that shit. I don’t rush.”

But he seems to accept your promise. He places the shake down onto the bench, and you sit beside it as he returns to his sets. 

You get lost in his rhythm, eyes watching but mind elsewhere. You miss his entire cooldown and don’t even realize he’s finished until he’s stepping up next to you, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“Alright, enough,” he says. The crimson of his eyes is so bright under these lights. He’s flushed with exertion, sweaty. 

He’s such a comfort to see. You resist the urge to press your face into his hand. 

“What’re you thinking,” Bakugou says as he draws his hand back.

Nothing you want him knowing, at least of your thoughts of him from the past minute. You give him what your promise owes, instead, tell him what’s got you feeling so off kilter. 

“Yuzu was adopted today,” you say softly, looking down at your hands.

After a moment, Bakugou moves the shake aside and drops onto the bench next to you. He’s radiating warmth like a furnace, and he grabs a fresh towel from his bag to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck, his face, his arms. He waits.

“I didn’t think I’d be so sad,” you tell him. You feel a sting in your eyes and will yourself not to cry. Ridiculous. 

Bakugou flexes his hands. Looks at you. 

“Well, what’d you expect? You had the fleabag—”

“Bakugou.”

“—furball for months. You got attached.” He glances at the slope of your shoulders, the downward tilt of your head. The unhappy curve of your lips. “They good people, the extras who got ‘im?”

“Yeah. This guy and his fiance adopted him. They fell in love with him, and as they should! Yuzu’s such a sweet boy. They sent me videos of him, and he was purring up a storm.” 

You get a little teary-eyed once more. You’ll never get to hold Yuzu as he purrs ever again. 

Bakugou sighs and shifts in his seat so his shoulder rests against yours. 

“You did good,” Bakugou tells you when you look at him. “You took care of ‘im until it was time for him to go, and you made it easy for him to find a place to go. You did good.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

You close the sliver of space between you until he’s a line of warmth all along your side, from shoulder to hip to knee. Slowly, watching him for any signs of displeasure, you nudge your hand against his. He watches you. You take the leap and thread your fingers through his. His hand is so big around yours. 

His hand squeezes yours softly. 

Sighing, you lean against him and let your eyes drift closed for a moment.

The next few minutes pass, just like this. Your pounding heart slows. It’s hard not to imagine that his hand in yours, a kindness, means something other than friendship. Hard not to want it to mean more. You really, really like your soulmate. 

You push those thoughts away and try to empty your mind; you don’t want to ruin this.

“Um, Dynamight, sir?” 

At the sound of a stranger’s voice cutting the silence, you startle, eyes shooting open. You sit up. You drop Bakugou’s hand. 

At the gym doors, a teenage girl stands, fiddling with her fingers. She’s doing her best not to look at either of you. 

Bakugou narrows his eyes at her, growling, “What?”

She shrinks back a little, then stiffens, ramrod straight. She says, “I’m here for patrol! Red Riot told me to come get you.”

Bakugou squints, giving her a mean look. “Go get suited up, kid. And tell Red Riot to fuck off.”

The kid squeaks out a reply, but it’s so high-pitched you can’t tell what it could possibly be, and she scurries off, the door closing behind her. 

“Who was that?” you ask after a moment, willing the heat in your cheeks to subside.

Bakugou runs his hands through his hair. He picks up the protein shake and sips from it before replying. 

“A dumbass UA intern Ei picked up.”

You squint at him. “Don’t be mean, Bakugou. Picking on teenagers is super lame.” 

He huffs. You tilt your head.

“Do you not like her?” you ask.

“...She’s got guts,” he says. “Potential or whatever. Saw her at the Sports Festival. It’s UA’s yearly event—”

“Oh, I know what that is,” you say. “Who doesn’t? I remember seeing the one from your second year. Looked fun.”

He scowls. “S’not fun. It’s a competition.”

“Competitions can be fun, Bakugou,” you say, rolling your eyes. A thought occurs to you, and you perch on the edge of your seat. 

“Well, maybe not for you, especially that year,” you say, the glimmers of a smile teasing your lips. “Since Pro-Hero Shouto demolished you.”

He lunges for you, but you’re ready for it, and you take off towards the far side of the room that’s free of equipment, laughing.

Bakugou catches you embarrassingly quick, lifting you up off your feet from behind, effortless. He really is so strong. 

“What’d I tell you about running?” he growls, and you shiver. 

“Not to do it,” you say, trying to act unaffected despite being a little breathless. He sets you down, a hand sliding down to circle your wrist, as if he thinks you’ll run again. 

You make a face at him. You add, “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Bakugou gets this glint in his eyes that you’re sure spells trouble. Prickles of anticipation rise in you and you get the urge to hold your breath. 

But before he can say anything, the door opens. This time, it’s Kirishima standing in the doorframe. His eyes immediately catch on the pair of you, and you step away from Bakugou, feeling like you’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar for the second time in the span of ten minutes. 

Kirishima grins and says, “Bakugou, stop flirting and get suited up! We gotta get going.”

Bakugou’s lights flare up around him, a true lightshow, and he spins on his heel and points at Kirishima.

“Quiet, Shitty Hair. Go wait with the kid.”

You’re glad Bakugou’s facing away from you, and that you’re mostly hidden behind him, because you’re sure your expression is embarrassingly honest. Flirting? Have you been flirting? More importantly—has Bakugou been flirting back?

“The kid’s right here!” Kirishima pushes the door open a little wider to reveal their intern, standing behind him, looking as if she’s trying to become one with the floor. Turning back to Bakugou, Kirishima puts his hands on his hips.

“We’re waiting on you, bud, so get a move on!” Kirishima chides. 

Bakugou growls, walks over to the bench to grab his things and the protein shake, and stalks towards the door. 

He halts mid-step. He turns halfway to look at you.

“I’m off at six today,” he says. 

“Okay?” you say. It’s good info to know, you suppose, since his schedule is rather erratic. You’re not sure why Bakugou’s shared it with you, though. 

Instead of clarifying, Bakugou resumes his march towards the door and pushes Kirishima out of the way with a hand on his face. Kirishima sputters, tripping backwards.

You cover your mouth to cover up your laugh as the door closes behind them. Their friendship really is so endearing. You’re glad Bakugou has such a wonderful friend. 

You’re home, clicking mindlessly around your computer, when an old urge arises.

You find yourself opening up a new tab, searching, like you’re thirteen again, trying to figure out why you can see Bakugou’s lights but he can’t see yours. 

But the articles tell you the same thing they’d told you those years ago. Soul-lights are an under-researched phenomenon and poorly understood; it’s been difficult to obtain empirical research that explains the exact nature of soul-lights—why soulmates exist and how they work. It’s worse, now, that with every generation they’re becoming rarer and rarer. 

Because only soulmates can see each others’ lights, descriptions of lights are subjective. Furthermore, descriptions of the nature of the relationships are subjective. No two soulmate relationships are the same. And though there have been instances of unrequited soulmate relationships, of those relationships, understandably, no one’s come forward to participate in interview-style studies for researchers to pick apart and analyze. At least not in any studies that you’ve been able to find. 

You close out your tabs, feeling frustrated. What does it matter? You’re running yourself in circles for no reason. Isn’t it enough that Bakugou’s in your life? That you’re happy he’s in it? Bringing up old dreams is pointless. 

Eerily, as if Bakugou somehow knew you’ve been thinking about him, your phone rings, his contact popping up on your phone. You pick up.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” he says. “D’you eat yet?”

You glance at the time on your phone guiltily. It’s a little past six. You have work tomorrow, so you really should get a move on if you want to make dinner and eat at a decent time.

“Not yet,” you say, and Bakugou grunts.

“Keep an ear out for the door,” he says.

“Oh?” You perk up a little. “Are you coming over?”

Bakugou exhales, and it crackles the line. “Can’t. Staying a little longer at the agency.”

“Oh.” You try not to feel disappointed. “Okay. You eat too, yeah? And don’t stay too long. Or I’ll text Kirishima and tell him to kick you out.”

He snorts. “Like he could. And you don’t have his number.”

“How would you know?” you ask. You hear the doorbell ring and a couple knocks at your front door echo through your apartment. 

“If it’s not you, who’s at my door right now?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Go find out,” Bakugou says and hangs up. 

You pull the phone away from your face and squint at it. The doorbell rings again. 

You hurry to the door. Upon opening it, you find a food delivery person standing there with takeout in his hands. Understanding dawns in your head as he says your name and you confirm.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the food from him. He nods and jogs back down the hallway.

You close the door and gaze down at the food in your hands. You can already tell from the smell that it’s from your favorite takeout place. 

The food is good, as it always is. But it would’ve been better if Bakugou had been here, eating it with you.