You didn’t want to be here. The music was too loud, the lights too dim, and the masks too stupid. But Mina had begged—begged—until she dragged you through the ballroom doors herself.

“It’s Prom!” she had said, like that meant anything to you. “And it’s a masked ball! That’s romantic!”

You almost turned around when you saw him walk in. Bakugou Katsuki. Same stiff posture, same smug aura. Even in a black suit and sharp mask, you could recognize that storm cloud of a presence anywhere. But before you could slip out, Kirishima blocked your escape.

“You’re not leaving,” he said cheerfully. “Not until you dance.”

And then your mask was adjusted, your hand was taken, and you were shoved—literally shoved—into the crowd of dancers.

The worst part? You didn’t know who you were dancing with now.

The mask on the stranger’s face was plain, elegant, and his suit sharp. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you. He just took your hand, one arm at your waist, and moved like it was second nature. Confident. Controlled. Familiar in a way that unsettled you. His hand was warm. His grip firm. You hated the way your heart stuttered.

For a while, it was just silence and movement. You hated yourself for thinking it felt… nice. Safe, even. There was something raw in the way he held you, like he wasn’t used to being gentle but was trying anyway. And you didn’t know why, but it reminded you of someone.

Someone who infuriated you.

You tightened your jaw. “You don’t talk much.”

A pause. Then, quietly: “Don’t need to.”

You narrowed your eyes behind your mask. The voice was just distorted enough by the music to blur the identity. But there was something in the cadence. The edge. No. No way.

“Have we met?” you asked.

A shrug. “Maybe.”

His hand pressed slightly into the small of your back. You ignored the chill that ran up your spine. This felt too familiar.

The music shifted into a slow, almost haunting tune. You were about to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to stop you. Your eyes flicked to his lips, then back up.

“Why do you dance like this?” you asked. “Like you're holding a bomb that might go off.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture stiffened. “’Cause I am." You didn’t ask what he meant. You didn’t have to.

The song slowed, the moment stretching into something unbearable. His hand moved, brushing a strand of hair from your face like he didn’t realize he was doing it. And when he looked at you, really looked, your breath caught.

You didn’t know why, but you felt it.

You leaned in before you realized. So did he.

The kiss was hesitant at first. Then everything else disappeared.The music. The lights. The crowd. All you could feel was heat—burning, breaking, pulling something out of you that you didn’t even know had been buried.

When you finally pulled back, your chest heaved. He stared at you like he was trying to memorize your soul.

Neither of you said a word.

And then you slipped away. No name. No face. Just the ghost of a kiss and a spark that wouldn’t die.

You stepped outside into the night, heart racing, mind spinning. You wanted to scream.

Because that was Bakugou Katsuki. You knew it.

But he didn’t know it was you. And now you didn’t know what scared you more—that he kissed you like he meant it… Or that you kissed him back.