The warm glow of the restaurant enveloped the bustling group of U.A. students as laughter and chatter filled the air, echoing off the brightly-painted wooden walls. It was a casual gathering, a welcome break from their rigorous training schedules, and spirits were high. As the scent of delicious food wafted through the air, students eagerly shared stories of their latest escapades, their camaraderie palpable.

You sat at the table, glancing around at the lively group, when Bakugo caught your eye. He was seated a bit away, his usual scowl softened, almost concealed behind the brim of his drink. You had always been intrigued by the layered nature of his personality—the fire and fervor that fueled his presence, and now the unusual calm that overtook him as the night wore on.

As the evening progressed, some of the others started ordering alcohol, and Bakugo, ever the reckless one, joined in with an eager spirit. With each glass of wine, the tension that usually crackled in the air around him faded, and soon enough, he was three glasses in, a rarity in its own right. You hadn't expected to see him in such a vulnerable state, especially when his eyes, usually ablaze with determination, now held a hazy softness.

Without warning, he shifted closer to where you were sitting, his usual bravado replaced with an unexpected gentleness. You felt a sudden warmth against your arm as he leaned his weight onto you, his fingers wrapping around your forearm with a clinginess that was both endearing and alarming. It was as if he'd transformed from the explosive hero you knew into a more subdued version of himself, a bashful Bakugo who sought comfort in your presence.

A drunk Bakugo would be surprising to most people, but it wasn't entirely unexpected. A quiet Bakugo was a bit more unlikely. But a clingy Bakugo? That seemed almost impossible, virtually out of the question. Yet here he was, his arms wrapped around your bicep like a koala hugging a tree for survival.