Chapter Text
It had been one of those days—the kind that drained Kageyama Reiko to the point where her chest felt too heavy to breathe. The anger came first, sharp and bitter, triggered by her colleagues’ constant dismissal of her efforts. She had worked tirelessly, solved issues they couldn’t, and still… Kaya and Mei had found a way to twist everything, making her feel as if she were the one dragging the team down. Her lead defended her, even praised her, but the words didn’t reach her. Not today. Because right behind the anger came the hollow ache—a desperate urge to talk to someone, to be heard for once.
But when she called her sister, Aiko only spoke about her own worries. When she called her mother, it was the same. They didn’t mean harm, but Reiko realized, not for the first time, that in their eyes she was always the strong one, the reliable one—the one who didn’t need support. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember the last time someone said, “Reiko, what’s wrong?”
She had wanted to say, I’m not okay.
But the words never found space. So, she carried her tears alone, like always.
Reiko sat on the cold park bench, pulling the oversized hoodie over her head, tugging it low to hide her trembling mouth as the tears slipped through. She curled into herself, fingers clenching the fabric. The sky above, heavy and grey, finally broke into rain—gentle at first, then steady, as if the world itself had decided to cry with her. Drops splashed onto her skirt, her shoes, the ground beneath her feet, blurring the world with silver lines.
Bakugo Katsuki ran through that same park every evening. Jogging calmed him—kept his mind from spiraling into thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge. But today, he slowed, brow furrowing when a faint, broken sound cut through the patter of rain. Sobs. Raw, muffled, coming from a corner where the path curved by the benches.
He glanced around, scanning the area until his eyes landed on a figure hunched on the bench—a girl, alone, hiding behind a dark hoodie, shoulders shaking. The rain had begun to fall harder, tracing a shimmering sheet across her small frame. Katsuki took a step forward, something tugging in his chest. He wasn’t the type to involve himself unnecessarily, but leaving someone crying alone in a downpour? He couldn’t walk away from that.
Before he could speak, he heard her whisper to herself, voice cracking under the weight of emotions she had tried too hard to swallow.
“Why am I always the one on the side of not receiving love?”
The words hit him like a strike to the sternum. His feet paused mid-step. It was the kind of question he had never asked out loud, but understood all too well.
The rain grew harsher, pelting the ground. Without thinking further, he jogged toward her and knelt down in front of the bench, water dripping from his hood. “Oi. You okay?” His voice came out rough, but strangely gentle.
Startled, Reiko lifted her head. Beneath the hood, he saw her eyes—swollen, red, shimmering with tears that still hadn’t stopped. She blinked at him, stunned that someone had approached her at all. He wasn’t recognizable at first, masked, hood pulled low, rain running down his face.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the park, snatching her hood back. Her long black hair spilled out like ink flowing in the rain, strands whipping around her face. Her side bangs stuck to her forehead, soaked. Her brown eyes looked lost, trembling, fragile in a way that made Katsuki’s breath catch unexpectedly.
She wasn’t the type of beautiful people turned to look at twice—but there was something in her expression, something raw and unbearably real, that rooted him in place.
Her eyes widened when she realized someone was watching her so closely. Embarrassment shot through her entire body. With a small, panicked breath, she grabbed her bag, rose from the bench, and bolted.
“Oi—wait—!” Katsuki stood instantly, hand half-extended, but she was already rushing away, her steps splashing against the wet pavement. She didn’t look back.
He exhaled sharply, frustrated at how fast she disappeared into the curtain of rain. Then his gaze dropped to the bench.
Her glasses lay there—thin-framed, delicate, forgotten in her hurry.
Katsuki picked them up, examining the raindrops clinging to the lenses. He looked in the direction she had run, jaws tightening. He wanted to chase after her, return them, reassure her… but he understood enough to know chasing a crying stranger into the rain would likely terrify her further. She clearly hadn’t wanted to be seen.
He pocketed the glasses; eyes still fixed on the empty path.
And from that day on—every evening for the next three months—he brought those glasses with him on his jogs. Hoping he’d see her again. Hoping she’d come back to the same bench. Hoping for a chance to return what she had left behind, and maybe… ask if she was okay.
But she never came.
Not even once.
-*-
After three months-:
Three months passed.
Bakugo’s agency had grown—not much, but enough that he could finally breathe between patrols and paperwork.
With Kirishima pushing him relentlessly,
“Bro, you NEED a proper website. And an internal app. Please don’t make your staff suffer.”
He had finally agreed to outsource the tech work.
Which was why he now stood in the pristine lobby of Next Innovation Software, wearing a suit of all things. He tugged lightly at the collar—it felt like a chokehold.
His assistant bowed politely as a man approached them.
“Thank you for coming all the way here. I am Nakahara Hiro. I will be leading this team today.”
Nakahara was tall, a little round-faced, with a gentle energy that clashed painfully with Bakugo’s sharp presence.
“Yeah,” Bakugo nodded curtly. “Let’s get this over with.”
Nakahara smiled nervously but gestured them toward the meeting room.
Bakugo entered—and in the next moment, he stilled.
There she was.
The girl from the park.
Her.
The one who cried alone in the rain… the one whose voice trembled when she whispered. Her hair was neatly tied today, her bangs framing her face, thick framed glasses replaced the ones she forgot in the park. She typed something on her laptop with calm efficiency, looking every bit the composed professional.
As if she had never broken down in that lonely park. As if that moment didn’t exist at all. Of course it wouldn’t—for her, he was just Bakugo Katsuki, Pro Hero Dynamight. Not the man who had knelt in front of her in the rain with a hood and a mask on asking her if she was okay.
Nakahara cleared his throat. “Let me introduce the team.”
One by one, the members exchanged business cards with him. Then she stepped forward.
She smiled politely, bowing. “Nice to meet you. I am Kageyama Reiko. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”
Bakugo reached out automatically, but the moment his fingers brushed the card, he paused. His hand stayed there just a fraction longer—long enough for her to blink at him curiously. Her voice was calm. Professional. Not at all like the trembling one he heard that night. She pulled her hand back politely and stepped aside.
Bakugo exhaled slowly and looked down at the card.
零子
Zero.
Child.
Why would someone name their kid that? Child of nothing? Child of the void? What the hell…?
His chest tightened with an emotion he couldn’t name. But the meeting began, snapping him back to reality. Reiko spoke confidently. Her explanations were sharp, structured, and detailed. She handled every question smoothly, as if she had rehearsed every possible outcome.
If he hadn't known the emptiness behind her eyes… he would have believed she was perfectly fine. But he had seen her broken once. He recognized the silent heaviness she hid under her gentle tone.
Two hours later, the meeting ended. The team bowed and began to leave. Only Nakahara remained to clarify a few points with Bakugo’s assistant. Bakugo didn’t listen.
His eyes moved—inevitably—toward her.
Through the glass wall, he watched her talking with a colleague. The colleague said something teasing, and she laughed lightly.
A soft, easy laugh.
But when the colleague walked away, the laugh disappeared.
Her smile faded like it was never real.
Her eyes dimmed. Her shoulders dipped a little.
There it was again.
That emptiness.
That loneliness.
A faint echo of her voice surfaced in his mind—
“Why am I always the one on the side of not receiving love?”
He clenched his jaw.
He had come here for work. But now, seeing her again—the girl who cried in the rain, the girl who vanished leaving only her glasses behind—it felt like something had clicked into place.
Something he didn’t yet understand.
-*-
The moment Bakugo slid into the backseat of his car, he shut the door harder than necessary.
“Rough meeting?” his assistant asked lightly.
“Shut up,” he muttered—not with anger, but distraction.
Because the second he leaned back into the seat, her voice replayed in his mind like a crack he couldn’t ignore. It pulled at him, unsettled him, in a way he couldn’t explain. The car started moving, the city lights passing in streaks across the window. But he didn’t look out. He stared ahead, eyes unfocused, mind trapped in a loop.
Love…?
What kind of love had she meant?
Family love? Friendship? Romantic…?
He clicked his tongue, annoyed at himself. Annoyed that one stranger’s broken words from three damn months ago were still clinging to him like they had been branded into his memory. But he couldn’t help it.
He had seen her again today—smiling politely, talking professionally, acting like everything was fine. Yet he had also seen the moment that smile fell when no one was looking.
He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t blind.
That girl was lonely. The kind of lonely that sinks into your bones.
He knew that kind of thing. He recognized it instantly.
He slumped slightly in the seat, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as thoughts he never let himself entertain began to surface.
What did she mean by not being loved?
He wasn’t good with this kind of emotional crap. But still…
Her words made him think about himself.
Sure, he was loved.
His parents adored him—loudly, embarrassingly. He had friends he would die for—idiots who dragged him out to eat, celebrated his wins, punched him when he was being too much. He had fans too—people who believed in him, admired him, cheered for him.
But—
His jaw tightened.
That wasn’t the kind of love he thought about late at night when he came home to an empty apartment.
That wasn’t the kind of love he wanted when he watched Izuku hug Ochako goodbye before Ochako headed to a mission. Or when he saw Kaminari whisper something stupidly sweet to Jirou. Or when he passed by couples on the street, laughing like they had all the time in the world.
He wanted something… else.
Something he never said out loud. Something quieter. Something that didn’t require explosions or battles or proving himself. He wanted— someone who looked at him, not the hero Dynamight. Someone who understood him without him having to say every damn thing. Someone soft, someone warm, someone whose presence felt like… home. The kind of love that wasn’t loud or flashy. The kind that stayed.
But people didn’t come close to him that way. They kept their distance. And he made it worse—always angry, always intimidating, always putting up walls because needing someone felt weak.
Pathetic.
He scoffed quietly at himself.
“Bakugo-san?” his assistant glanced back through the mirror.
“What?” he snapped, harsher than he meant.
“You look… troubled.”
“Tch. None of your damn business.”
The assistant wisely shut up.
Bakugo leaned back again, fingers tapping impatiently against his arm.
Love.
What a stupid thing to think about.
And yet—
A girl crying alone in the rain.
A girl whose smile collapsed when no one watched.
A girl whose voice cracked with loneliness.
A girl who didn’t meet his eyes today because she didn’t know the stranger who saw her broken once and never got to return her glasses.
Her glasses.
He exhaled slowly.
Three months, and he still carried them when he went for jogging.
Why?
He didn’t know.
Or maybe he did.
The car stopped at a traffic light. Raindrops from a passing shower slid down the window, reminding him too much of that night. He closed his eyes, her broken whisper echoing softly—
“Why am I always the one on the side of not receiving love?”
He didn’t have an answer for her.
But for the first time in a long while…he found himself wishing he did.
-*-
The next evening, Bakugo jogged through the familiar path, breaths steady, steps even—yet his heart wasn’t. He told himself it was stupid. Ridiculous even. There was no reason to look for her again. But his eyes kept scanning every corner of the park anyway.
And then—there she was.
Sitting on the same old bench from three months ago, a canned coffee resting in her small hands. Her hair fell down her shoulders like liquid ink, swaying with the breeze. She wasn’t crying this time. She wasn’t smiling either. Just staring up at the sky as if hoping the clouds had answers she never received from people.
Bakugo slowed to a stop. His breath caught—not from jogging, but from something else. Something unfamiliar. Something unsettling. He hesitated. Then forced himself forward.
“Hey!” he called out.
He intended to sound gentle. It came out rough.
Reiko jerked in surprise, eyes snapping toward him. Seeing a man in a hood, mask, and shades walking toward her in the evening light—she immediately grabbed her bag like a shield.
Her voice was sharp, defensive, shaking just a little. “W–What do you want, creep?”
Bakugo’s eyes widened. “Oi! I’m not—”
Before he could finish, he quickly pulled off the hood, mask, and glasses in a panic, revealing his unmistakable spiky hair and fierce red eyes.
“It’s me,” he said hastily. “Bakugo Katsuki. Dynamight”
She froze.
Her lips parted, mortified. “Ah—! I—I’m so sorry! I thought—”
“It’s fine,” he cut her off, embarrassed himself. “My bad. I look… suspicious.”
She nodded quickly, cheeks burning. “Yes… I mean—no! I mean—ah—sorry.”
They both stood there awkwardly until he finally sat down on the far end of the bench. After a moment, she followed suit, keeping a safe distance between them. Her eyes remained fixed on anything but him. Bakugo glanced at her sidelong, then reached into his bag. Without a word, he held out a familiar object.
Her glasses.
“Here.”
Reiko’s breath hitched. She stared at the glasses, stunned.
“H–How…?” she whispered, hesitant to touch them as if they would disappear.
“You forgot ’em. Three months ago.” He looked away, pretending nonchalance even though his ears were faintly red. “I picked them up.”
She slowly accepted them with trembling fingers, staring at them as though they were something precious she never expected to see again.
Her voice softened. “I… came back twice but… they were gone.”
“Yeah. I had them.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again as realization dawned. The red eyes. The voice. The night she cried until her world blurred.
“It was you…” she murmured. “That night…”
“Yeah,” he replied quietly.
She slipped on the glasses, blinking as the world sharpened. Her gaze drifted once more toward the sky, her expression unreadable.
“Thanks,” she said again—this time almost a whisper.
Bakugo looked at her profile—the curve of her jaw, the faint dark circles under her eyes, the heaviness she tried so hard to carry alone. He cleared his throat. Gathered every ounce of nerve he had.
And asked—
“…Are you okay?”
She stiffened.
“Eh? Ah… y–yes. I’m perfectly fine.”
He stared at her. He could tell it was a lie. Anyone could, if they looked long enough. But she didn’t owe him the truth. And he was still a stranger.
“…Right.” He didn’t push. “Well, I should go.”
She turned to him quickly. “Thank you. For the glasses… and for that day.”
He grunted a small nod, giving a faint wave before jogging away. Reiko watched his figure grow smaller, her heart strangely unsteady. Once he disappeared into the path, she sank back onto the bench, pressing a hand to her chest.
He kept my glasses… for three months? He carried them every day? Did he come here hoping I’d show up? Why ask if I’m okay? Why twice?
Her mind spiraled.
Was it because he was a hero? Because that’s what heroes do? Or… was it something else?
She hated thinking this much. Hated how her brain never let her rest. And yet, she couldn’t stop replaying the way he looked at her.
With concern.
With recognition.
With something she hadn’t felt in a long time—
Gentleness.
The sky kept stretching endlessly above her, but tonight it felt a little less empty. Because for the first time in a long while…someone had noticed her.
-*-
Bakugo jogged back, trying—really trying—to shake the lingering image of her eyes. It was stupid. He barely knew her. They exchanged maybe twenty words in total.
And yet…
Tch.
He ran faster, trying to outrun the thoughts forming in his head. But every time he blinked, he saw that rainy night again—her curled up on the bench, hoodie pulled over her face, trying to hide tears that wouldn’t stop. And then today—her shocked expression when he gave her glasses back, the way her fingers trembled as she held them.
Why did he care so damn much?
He reached home, threw his shoes aside, and leaned both hands against the kitchen counter, breath heavy even though he wasn’t tired.
“Why am I thinkin’ about this so much…?”
No answer came. His apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge.
That silence didn’t bother him usually. Tonight, it did. He replayed her words from three months ago—the ones she whispered when she thought no one could hear.
“Why am I always on the side of not receiving love?”
Back then, he froze because he didn’t know someone could sound that broken without even crying out loud. It hit too close to something he kept buried inside himself. Because he understood. More than he wanted to admit.
He opened his hand unconsciously—fingers remembering the warmth of the glasses when he handed them to her. He didn’t need to carry them for three months. Didn’t need to come back to the park every evening hoping she’d show up.
But he did. And she had finally appeared. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
“Tsk… why did she look so different today…” he muttered.
She wasn’t crying. But she wasn’t fine either. Her eyes were calm but distant—as if she lived somewhere between exhaustion and resignation. He hated it. He hated that strangers looked happier than she did. That her laugh disappeared the second no one was watching. That he couldn’t ask her why without crossing a line he wasn’t sure existed yet.
He threw himself onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
Her voice.
Her eyes.
Her smile that vanished too quickly.
Her question—one he never heard spoken aloud.
Everything repeated in loops.
What kind of love was she waiting for?
Who made her feel like she never deserved it?
Why did she look like she carried the whole world on her back alone?
And why…why did it bother him so much?
He covered his eyes with his forearm, exhaling sharply.
“…I gotta stop thinking about her.”
He didn’t.
Not that night.
Not the next morning.
Not even during hero work, when he should’ve been focused on a training demo.
He didn’t know her.
But something inside him whispered:
He wanted to.
-*-