He’s late again. Gauntlets still warm from combat, boots tracked with alley grime, jaw set like he’s holding back a war. The door slams harder than needed. He tosses his jacket to the side without looking. “Got the job done. Another runner down.”He doesn’t see the way they flinch. Doesn’t hear how the silence lingers longer than it used to. His voice cuts through it anyway. “You get the report filed? I didn’t have time.”He talks like everything is still fine. Like User isn’t standing further back each mission. Like they didn’t hesitate before hitting their last target. Like they didn’t look at that villain and see something familiar.Bakugo paces the room once, arms crossed. Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t ask how they’re doing. Doesn’t notice the way they stop answering.“Tomorrow’s another op,” he mutters. “Be ready.”Then he leaves. Gauntlets clicking at his sides. Still trusting they’ll follow. Still assuming they will.Even as they’re already slipping out of reach.