Chapter Text
The cameras were waiting, as always.
Bright lights, clicking shutters, the faint murmur of questions meant to pry into the life of Japan’s youngest number one hero.
Bakugo didn’t bother to smile.
He didn’t bother to charm.
He didn’t need to.
Everyone already knew what they were getting.
“I don’t need a mate,” he said, voice flat and sharp. “I don’t need anyone slowing me down. I don’t need anyone, period.”
A pause.
Flashbulbs.
Murmurs.
Someone tried to press for more, “But, Dynamight, surely there’s someone-”
He cut them off with a tilt of his chin, scarlet eyes burning. “No.”
It was simple.
It was final.
People loved to speculate about the top alpha heroes.
Omegas and betas alike would throw themselves at him, hopeful, eager, daring to imagine breaking through that wall.
Bakugo didn’t notice.
Didn’t care.
When the interview ended, he left without a word.
The streets of the city stretched out before him as he drove back to his apartment, the world alive with chaos he didn’t need to join.
He wasn’t lonely.
He was focused.
Controlled.
Efficient.
Heroes had no room for distractions, and he didn’t intend to make any.
At home, he let himself drop onto the couch.
No messages, no interruptions; just the faint hum of the air conditioner.
He went over the day’s patrol schedules, thought about upcoming missions, considered his training plan.
Alone? Yes.
But he liked it that way.
That was the life he had chosen.
That was the life that made him, him.
Sometimes, though, in moments too brief to name, Bakugo caught himself noticing the gaps; the small, unnoticed details of the world around him that didn’t bend to his control.
A child laughing in the park, an older hero letting their guard down, a stranger doing something reckless yet brave.
He acknowledged them with a flicker of irritation; no, not irritation, exactly.
More like curiosity that he refused to indulge in.
Nothing personal.
Nothing that needed attention.
He ran drills in his living room later that evening, precise movements cutting through the silence, sharp and controlled explosive bursts.
Efficiency was a rhythm, a meditation.
He measured his own limits against the clock and the city’s needs.
No one else factored in.
Not a friend.
Not a partner.
Certainly not someone who could somehow disrupt the careful balance of his life.
By the time he paused for dinner, the city lights had dimmed to their night glow, and even the hum of traffic seemed distant.
He ate quickly, methodically, and cleaned up without a second thought.
His apartment was quiet, empty, and safe.
He liked it that way.
He liked the space to think, to plan, to breathe without having to account for anyone else.
And yet… as he gazed out the window, the streets stretching below him like a map of possibilities, he couldn’t entirely dismiss the way he noticed the little cracks in the order of the world.
He could smell them in the air, feel the vibrations of the city that didn’t quite obey, see them in fleeting movements that almost demanded acknowledgment.
They didn’t matter.
He didn’t need them to.
Bakugo had no plans for anyone; no room for intrusion, no desire for companionship, no thought of what it would mean if someone dared to reach beyond the edges of his carefully constructed life.
He would remain untouchable.
Untethered.
Alone.
Alone wasn’t lonely; it was freedom.
It was control.
It was enough.
And that was all that mattered.