The bass thumped through the crowded house, lights flashing orange and purple as fake cobwebs fluttered across the ceiling. You adjusted the brim of your witch’s hat, balancing a cup of punch in one hand and your phone in the other.

You’d been here for maybe fifteen minutes — long enough to regret coming and too long to leave without looking rude.

That’s when the door opened and Bakugo walked in.

No costume. Just his usual black hoodie, jeans, and a pair of fake devil horns perched haphazardly on his head.

He looked like someone who’d been dragged here — which, knowing him, was probably true.

You grinned, lifting your cup as he spotted you. “Nice costume.”

He scowled. “It’s not a costume. They said I needed horns, so I brought horns. End of story.”