The bass hit first—deep, vibrating, relentless—shaking through the soles of his shoes. Bakugo’s arms were crossed, jaw tight, eyes scanning the chaos around him like a predator sizing up prey. He hadn’t wanted to be here. He really hadn’t. Mina, with her manic grin, had practically dragged him out, promising “fun you won’t regret!”—which, so far, felt like a lie.

And then he saw her.

His “wife”. The one he was married to, the one he shared a home with but barely knew. And she wasn’t standing quietly by the wall, sipping a drink politely, like he’d assumed. No. She was alive. Twisting, spinning, screaming laughter over the music, arms thrown high, hair flying like it didn’t have a care in the world. Her eyes sparkled under the strobe lights, a grin that made his chest tighten.

She was nothing like the quiet, careful, distant person he had assumed she was. Nothing like the restrained, proper image he had built in his head. This… this was fire, and she owned the room.

Bakugo’s chest tightened. He’d thought he knew her—calm, collected, almost untouchable—but that had been a lie. The woman who was legally bound to him, who shared his home and his life in name, was so much more than he had ever allowed himself to see.

And then it hit him: she was this way because of him. His coldness, his distance, the way he’d treated her like a stranger instead of a partner—he’d boxed her in. And he hadn’t even realized it. He didn’t know her at all. Not really.

Heat flared through him—not anger, not irritation—but something sharper, rawer, impossibly magnetic. He wanted to get closer. Wanted to touch that freedom she radiated, to pull her into his orbit and see if maybe… she’d let him in.

Mina shouted something over the music, but he barely heard it. All he could focus on was her, spinning and laughing, completely unrestrained, and the terrifying thought that she didn’t need him—and he had almost missed her entirely.