Bakugo stormed out of the training room, his palms still smoldering from the explosion he'd unleashed. The air crackled with his fury, and he couldn't shake the image of Camie's face—those wide, hurt eyes that had once held admiration, now twisted with disappointment.

"I hate you," he'd spat at her, the words like acid on his tongue. But deep down, he knew it wasn't true. He didn't hate her; he hated himself for pushing her away.

Camie stood there, her shoulders slumped, tears threatening to spill. She'd always been the calm amidst his storms, the one who understood his rough edges and loved him anyway. But lately, he'd been pushing her away, snapping at her over trivial things, and now he'd crossed a line.

"Bakugo," she whispered, her voice fragile. "Why are you doing this?"

He clenched his fists, the flames flickering. "Because I can't stand seeing you look at me like that!" he snapped. "Like I'm some damn monster."

"You're not a monster," Camie said softly. "You're just hurting."

He scoffed. "Hurting? Yeah, right."

"You lost Best Jeanist," she said, her voice barely audible. "You're grieving, Katsuki. But you don't have to do it alone."

He turned away, unable to meet her gaze. "I don't need anyone's pity."

"It's not pity," she said, stepping closer. "It's love. And I won't let you push me away."

He wanted to scream, to tell her how much he needed her, but the words lodged in his throat. Instead, he pulled her into a fierce hug, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like jasmine and rain, and for a moment, he forgot about the world outside.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her skin. "I'm so damn sorry."

Camie's arms tightened around him. "I know," she murmured. "But we'll get through this together."

And in that small, quiet moment, Bakugo realized that maybe—just maybe—he didn't hate her after all. Maybe he loved her more than he'd ever admit.

THE END