CHAPTER TWELVE
No one spoke.
The room still buzzed—quiet, charged, unstable—like something had flared and hadn’t quite cooled yet.
Aurelia didn’t fidget. Didn’t flush. Didn’t say a word. She just stared, calm and unreadable, at Mina like she was waiting for the punchline to a joke that hadn’t landed.
Bakugo’s hands were flat on his thighs. His jaw tight. His breathing a little too even.
Neither of them looked at each other.
Which, of course, made it worse.
Because everyone else was looking at them.
Mina’s voice, when it returned, was high and brittle. “You—seriously. Neither of you remember what just happened?”
Aurelia blinked. “We sat. You asked questions. We answered.”
“Yeah,” Bakugo added, eyes narrowing. “You act like that’s new.”
“It is,” Jirou muttered, barely loud enough to be heard.
Kaminari groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Guys. You didn’t just answer questions. You—synchronized. You were linked.”
Bakugo scowled. “We were focused.”
Mina’s hands flailed, wild and exasperated. “You were breathing in sync! Finishing each other’s sentences! You said—you literally said you’d pull her closer and she said she’d take your hand—”
Aurelia tilted her head. “Did I?”
“You don’t remember saying that?” Sero blurted.
“I remember the game,” Aurelia said evenly. “I remember the questions.”
“But not the answers,” Kirishima said quietly.
Bakugo’s fingers twitched.
“No,” he said flatly. “Not all of them.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was stunned.
Because field sync wasn’t just rare. It wasn’t just powerful.
It was felt.
And the fact that neither of them noticed?
That meant their bodies had done it on their own.
Mina looked like she might spontaneously combust. “Okay. Okay. We are taking a break—”
“No,” Aurelia cut in, standing. Calm. Level. “I'm done. It's past midnight and Aizawa has me scheduled for an early round in The Gauntlet."
"But tomorrow's Saturday!" Mina whined.
"And your point is?" Aurelia countered.
Mina threw her hands in the air like it physically pained her. “My point is, you can’t just emotionally obliterate the entire room and then leave like it’s nothing!”
Aurelia didn’t budge. “Nothing happened.”
Jirou stood slowly, arms crossed. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”
Bakugo still hadn’t moved.
His gaze was pinned to the floor, jaw twitching once, hard, like he was holding something back. Not rage. Not denial.
Just confusion.
Or maybe something worse.
Because he didn’t remember. Not all of it.
And something in him wanted to.
Aurelia turned toward the hall, jacket already in hand. “I’m going to bed.”
Mina opened her mouth.
But Jirou caught her wrist. “Let it go.”
“What?!”
Jirou’s voice was low. Firm. “Let it go, Mina.”
Mina blinked. “She doesn’t even know—”
“I know,” Jirou cut in. “But pushing her right now isn’t going to help. If they’re syncing without realizing it? Forcing awareness too soon could destabilize it.”
Mina looked like she wanted to argue. Like her whole body was buzzing with a need to do something. But the logic in Jirou’s voice clipped her impulse just enough to hold her still.
Across the room, Bakugo finally moved.
Not fast. Just a shift—like his center of gravity had changed and his body was trying to recalibrate. He stood, quiet and deliberate, his hands flexing once before curling into loose fists.
He didn’t say goodbye.
Didn’t nod.
Just turned and followed Aurelia out of the lounge.
Not right behind her.
Not side by side.
But close.
Close enough to mean something.
Close enough that the group didn’t dare speak until both of them were gone.
---
Kirishima broke the silence first. “So that’s happening.”
Kaminari dragged a hand down his face. “I feel like I watched someone get married and divorced at the same time.”
Mina flopped dramatically onto the nearest couch. “They don’t know. They don’t know they’re bonding. I’m gonna lose my mind.”
Jirou dropped beside her, exhaling slowly. “They will.”
“Yeah?” Mina muttered. “And when’s that? When one of them ends up on the floor in burnout and the other’s Quirk activates without consent?”
Kirishima raised a hand. “I mean… that’s kinda how it works, right?”
Sero nodded slowly. “They’re instinctual. They don’t need permission. They need vulnerability.”
“And they’re not there yet,” Jirou said. “Not consciously.”
“But their fields are,” Mina whispered.
Everyone fell quiet again.
Because they weren’t just watching a flirtation anymore.
They were witnessing a sync event unfold in slow motion.
And neither of them had any idea.
---
A few doors down, in the hallway outside her dorm, Aurelia didn’t look back when she heard his footsteps.
Bakugo didn’t speak.
Didn’t stop.
Just walked past her.
Right to his door.
He paused for a second. Like something in him itched to say more. To ask.
But he didn’t.
He opened the door to Room 209.
And stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Aurelia stared at it for three full seconds.
Then turned.
And walked into her room.
The moment the door closed, the silence was unbearable.
Like something had followed her in.
Or stayed behind.
Either way—
She could still feel him.
And that?
That scared her more than anything else tonight.
---
She didn’t turn on the light.
Didn’t change.
Didn’t even peel off the combat boots.
She just stood there in the dark, staring at the wall like it might break first.
The room was too quiet.
Too still.
Her body still buzzed from the aftermath—of what, she couldn’t say. The party? The lap? The look in his eyes when she shifted just a little too far into his space?
No.
It wasn’t any one moment.
It was all of them.
Stacked like cards.
Waiting for a breeze.
Aurelia sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her thighs, her fingers tangled in the hem of her jacket like she was holding something together. But her spine—
It hurt.
Not from posture. Not from combat.
From absence.
She'd gotten used to him.
Somewhere in the quiet between challenge and touch, her body had learned something new: that she was steadier near him. Quieter. Sharper.
And now he was on the other side of the wall.
Breathing the same air.
But not hers.
She exhaled once, slow and sharp. Then reached for the lamp.
Stopped.
No light.
She peeled off her boots in silence.
Let the rest of her uniform fall in pieces to the floor. Jacket. Corset. Utility pants.
Then she slid under the covers in just her sports bra and compression briefs, the same way she always did—like she had nothing to hide.
But tonight?
She curled slightly.
Just enough to feel her own pulse behind her ribs.
> You’re not mine.
But I'm tired of pretending I don't want you to be.
---
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he backed into it.
Leaned there.
Breath slow. Measured.
False.
His hands were shaking.
Not visibly. Not enough to see.
But enough to feel.
He didn’t undress right away. Just stood in the dark, staring into the room like it had changed while he was gone. Like her absence had rewritten the architecture of the walls.
He could still feel the shape of her against his thigh.
The weight of her breath across his chest.
The smell of her—sharp, citrus-tinged adrenaline.
And now it was gone.
He stripped in pieces. Shirt first. Then the tank. Kicked off his pants.
The sheets felt colder than they should’ve.
Not because the room was cold.
Because she wasn’t in it.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time.
Didn’t close his eyes.
Not until his body finally betrayed him.
Gave up.
Slipped under.
And somewhere in the quiet where logic lost its grip, a dream cracked open—