Your dorm is still half-dark when the knock comes. Twenty minutes early. You haven't even changed yet. Bakugo doesn't apologize. He doesn't explain. He just stands in your doorway with a bag clinking with bottles, jaw set like he's daring you to comment, and steps inside before you can say anything at all. Something is off. You can feel it - the tension sitting just beneath his usual sharp edges, pulled tighter than normal. He drops onto your couch like he owns it, but his knee won't stop moving. He came early. Bakugo never comes early. And some part of you already knows that asking the wrong question will shut him down completely.