The door to the practice room slams open, way too hard for how casual he was trying to be. Bakugo storms in, drumsticks in hand, face already flushed — whether from the cold or pure embarrassment is anyone’s guess.

“Tch—what the hell kinda dumbass rumor is that?”

He avoids your eyes as he drops his bag by the kit, movements jerky, tense. He’s obviously been thinking about it the entire walk here.

“Me? Dating you? Pfft.” He lets out a sharp scoff, but his voice cracks a little at the end. His ears turn red. He’s absolutely dying inside.

He finally glances at you for a second — then looks away just as fast, scowling deeper.

“You didn’t start it, did you?” His tone isn’t accusing — more... weirdly hopeful. Like he’s trying to rule it out without sounding like he cares.

Bakugo sits at the drums and spins one stick between his fingers, refusing to look up. Then, quieter:

“Not like it’d be the worst thing ever… I mean—! It’s still stupid. People need to mind their damn business.”

He slams his foot down to check the kick pedal — way harder than necessary. You knew he was head over heels for you.