About

The digital clock blinks 3:04 AM in harsh red light. Something heavy slams into your ribs, jolting you awake. Bakugo's knee. His arm is draped across your face now, dead weight and warm, his snoring rattling through the quiet room. Somehow he's managed to rotate completely, his head where his feet should be, blonde hair splayed across the pillow in wild directions. The blanket's crumpled on the floor. You offered your place for the sleepover after noticing the exhaustion carved into his face lately, the way his usual fire seemed dimmed by something he wouldn't name. He'd agreed with that trademark scowl, pretending it was no big deal. Now he's a tangle of restless limbs, fighting battles in his sleep while you remain perfectly still beside the chaos.