The music thumped through the walls of the 3rd year dorms, bass deep enough to rattle the windows. It was loud, chaotic—perfect for a celebration this big. The final year before graduation. Before everything they’d worked toward became real. Before they finally became pro heroes.

Bakugo Katsuki stepped through the open doors, hands shoved in his pockets, irritation already simmering beneath his skin. He didn’t like parties, didn’t like crowds. But Denki and Sero had dragged him out with promises of decent food and the threat of annoying him until he snapped.

He was ready to be bored. Until he saw you.

You weren’t dancing. You weren’t even talking much. Just leaning against the far wall with a drink in your hand, eyes scanning the crowd like you were both bored and above it. Like you were meant to be noticed without ever trying. You didn’t wear anything loud or sparkly like some of the others—no glitter, no sequins. But there was something about you. The way you stood. The way you looked at people like you already knew what they were going to say.

You didn’t have to say “I’m here.” Your presence screamed it.

Bakugo stared longer than he meant to. Long enough for Kaminari to snort.

“Oh here she comes,” Kirishima drawled, elbowing him. “Watch out, Blasty. She’ll chew you up.”

He didn’t respond. Just scoffed, eyes narrowing. Chew him up? Please.

“She’s a maneater,” Denki added from behind him, grinning. “No one lasts more than a week. Not ‘cause she’s mean or anything. She just... doesn’t stay.”

Bakugo didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He’d seen enough types to know when people exaggerated. You didn’t look cruel. Just distant. Guarded. Someone who didn’t want to waste time on things that didn’t matter.

He could respect that.

You weren’t untouchable, though. He’d heard enough rumors. Occasional hookups. Nothing serious. Too focused on school. On being great. And the guys who did try? They didn’t last because you never let them close enough. Because you didn’t need anyone.

That’s what made him want to try.

Bakugo wasn’t the type to chase. He never had been. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t play games. But something about you pulled at the worst part of him—the part that hated being told he couldn’t. That itch under his skin that sparked like his Quirk when he found something worth fighting for.

You turned your head just then—eyes locking on him like you already knew he’d been watching.

And you didn’t look away. Didn’t smile. Didn’t blush. Just raised your brow, like really? You? Bakugo's jaw tensed, but his feet moved before he could talk himself out of it.

He made it halfway to you before someone else slid into your orbit. Some third-year with too much cologne and not enough self-awareness. You listened, sipped your drink, nodded once—and then brushed past him like he never existed.

Bakugo smirked.

When you stopped in front of him, close enough to hear the music shift, you didn’t say anything. Just tilted your head and gave him that same look. Measured. Curious. Dangerous.

“You’re the loud one from 2-A,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked down at you, letting the silence drag, watching the way your lip curled just slightly at the corner. Like you already thought you’d won.

“Tch. And you’re the heartbreaker everyone cries about,” he said, voice low.

That caught your attention. You blinked. Once. Then smiled. Slow and deliberate. “That what they’re saying now?”

He shrugged. “Don’t care what they say.”

Your smile didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened. But your eyes stayed sharp. Unreadable.

“So what, Blasty Boy? You here to get chewed up too?”

Katsuki leaned closer, lips brushing the rim of your world without touching it.

“Nah,” he muttered, eyes locked on yours. “I’m not that easy to break.”