Point of Impact ?Katsuki Bakugo?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Bakugo didn’t make it to the gym.

Didn’t make it past the locker room, actually.

He stood under the too-bright LED lights, gripping the edge of the sink so hard it groaned. His reflection looked like it wanted to pick a fight.

Fine.

He did too.

There was a voice in his head that wouldn’t shut the hell up. Not his own. Not quite hers. Just the echo of it. From the dream. From the trance. From the thousand little moments in between that had rewired something under his skin.

> "I love you, Suki."

It wasn’t real.

But it felt like it had sunk into his spine.

> “Stay the night.”

Fuck.

He didn’t know what the hell was happening to him. One minute he was fine—annoyed, wired, tense—but fine. The next?

He couldn’t breathe without tasting her name.

His Quirk kept flaring. Small. Quick. Irritable sparks that popped against his palms when he wasn’t thinking. Like static. Like warning signs.

He hadn’t had that problem since first year.

And now?

Every time he thought about her, his hands twitched.

Not because he was angry.

Because he missed her.

> You didn’t even see her this morning.

He hadn’t.

Not in the hallway. Not on the track. Not in the training log.

He’d checked. Not deliberately—but yeah. He checked.

Nothing.

Just the echo of her weight where she’d sat in his lap, the smell of her skin after she sparred, the fucking gravity of her when she wasn’t looking at him.

He braced his elbows against the sink and exhaled through his nose.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

The mirror didn’t answer.

Not that it ever did.

He slammed the locker door on his way out harder than he meant to. The metal reverberated. Echoed. So did the hollow space inside his chest.

He needed air.

He needed a fight.

He needed her voice.

And that was the part he couldn’t explain.

---

The quad was still quiet.

Early. Too early for drills. Too late for excuses.

He paced once across the field.

Tried to stretch it out.

Didn’t help.

His shoulders were tight. His jaw worse. The buzz in his skin wouldn’t quit—and it wasn’t just Quirk energy. It was something deeper. Something raw.

Like withdrawal.

He didn’t know what to call it.

But it felt like missing something he wasn’t supposed to have.