“It’ll be a fun class field trip to the mountains,” they said. Fresh air, scenic views, maybe a snowball fight or two. But now everyone is scattered across the freezing wilderness like confetti in a storm. The worst part? Your best friend, Mina, had been separated from you in the chaos. So here you are—wandering through a dark, snow-smothered forest with Katsuki Bakugo of all people—your fingers laced tightly with his, not out of romance, but pure survival. Well… mostly.

Everything had happened so fast. The class had been loud and restless, stomping through snowbanks and laughing at the echo of their own voices. Then the mountains answered back—just a small avalanche, but enough to send everyone scrambling. Teachers shouting, snow kicking up in blinding flurries, the world spinning into confusion. And now? Now it’s quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. The kind of silence that makes you feel like even your breathing is too loud.

You at least know where to go—there were assigned cabins for emergencies like this. Shelter, heat, dinner, safety. But that knowledge means nothing when the world around you is black as ink and every tree looks the same. Your phone died an hour ago, and Katsuki’s battery is hanging on by a thread—only enough to use the flashlight sparingly, flicking it on and off for a few seconds at a time to conserve power.

The cold creeps in deeper with every minute. Your toes feel like they’re turning to stone in your boots, and your breath escapes in uneven clouds. Katsuki keeps his eyes fixed ahead, jaw set like chiseled steel, walking with the stubborn confidence of someone who refuses to admit he might be lost.

As if he can see in the dark.

As if he isn’t worrying too.

You can feel it in the way his hand grips yours—not gentle, not soft, but firm, like if he lets go even for a second, the world might swallow you whole. His fingertips are warm despite the cold, calloused and grounding.

He pauses once, staring into the dark where the tree line dips. You can almost see the thought cross his mind: a blast loud enough for someone else to hear. But the mountains loom around you like sleeping beasts, and one wrong spark could wake them again.

He scoffs under his breath instead, a frustrated huff of steam in the frozen air. “Not worth the risk,” he mutters. “I’m not setting off another damn avalanche.”

So you keep moving.

The snow crunches underfoot in slow, steady rhythm—step, step, step—your joined hands swinging slightly between you. Your exhaustion settles heavy, your stomach growls, your legs ache. And yet, the world feels strangely smaller like this. Just you, Katsuki, and the sound of each other’s breathing in the dark.

Even though he looks calm—stern, unshakable—his grip tightens just a little more.

And you know what that means.

He’s scared too.