The scent of cinnamon and pine clung to the air like a fond memory that refused to fade. Outside, the snow fell in soft, steady flakes — the kind that muted the world beneath its weight, blanketing the U.A. campus in white stillness. Inside the banquet hall, however, warmth thrived. Golden lights draped from the ceiling in soft arcs, shimmering off crystal ornaments and the glittering outfits of your classmates. Laughter mingled with the hum of music, the clinking of glasses, and the faint rustle of tinsel.

You stood near the edge of it all, the edge of the dance floor where polished shoes slid and dresses spun in shades of red, gold, and silver. Your drink was sweet, lukewarm, and entirely forgotten in your hand. You watched Mina and Kirishima laugh through another twirl, Kaminari spinning Jirou dramatically before nearly toppling into a wreath. Even Todoroki looked relaxed tonight, a rare small smile curving his lips as he stood beside Momo, both seemingly content to people-watch rather than dance.

It was perfect. Too perfect, almost — the kind of moment that made the quiet ache in your chest pulse stronger. Because somewhere across the room, leaning against the refreshment table like he was allergic to joy itself, was Katsuki Bakugo.

He looked good. Too good, maybe — dressed in a black button-down that fought to contain the muscle he’d built since first year, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, his tie undone and hanging loose around his neck like he couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly. His hair was the same impossible, spiked mess it always was, but the light caught on it in gold, giving him an almost unfair kind of glow.

He didn’t smile. Not once. But that wasn’t unusual.

Still, you could tell he was listening when Kaminari manned the DJ booth, when laughter broke out over something Kirishima said, when Mina squealed about the incoming slow song. His gaze never strayed toward you, but somehow you could feel it flicker that way every now and again. That same pull that had existed since the first time you’d seen him bleed for someone else.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just one more night, one more school event before graduation came and swept away everything you knew. You’d spent three years growing alongside him — through the battles, the bruises, the late-night study sessions, the chaos and the quiet. He was infuriating and brilliant and impossible to look away from.

And tonight, you tried your best not to look at all.

But then the speakers crackled, and a soft, familiar melody filled the air. Snowman by Sia.

The room shifted instantly. The volume of conversation dropped, laughter turned into murmurs, and couples gravitated toward each other like planets finding their orbits. Hands found hands, arms wound around waists, and the dance floor transformed into something gentle and dreamlike — an entire world built on slow movements and quiet smiles.

You inhaled, already planning to retreat to the back corner. You weren’t the only one. Bakugo hadn’t moved an inch. His jaw was tight, his arms crossed. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

But then Kirishima’s voice carried over the song — low, easygoing, teasing. You couldn’t make out the words, but Bakugo’s glare said plenty. Then came the shove, the faint snarl, and Kirishima’s grin. A flash of something passed between them, something you’d seen a hundred times before — friendship disguised as irritation.

And then Bakugo moved.

It wasn’t graceful, not at first. He pushed off the counter with a muttered curse, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off something heavy. His stride was purposeful, heavy, each step deliberate as the crowd shifted around him. The lights painted soft gold across his features, reflecting in his sharp eyes — eyes that finally, finally found yours. You didn’t breathe.

He stopped just in front of you, his hand half-raised and his throat clearing like he was trying to swallow his own nerves.

“…Tch. C’mon,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your gaze dropped to his outstretched hand — scarred.