The festival was loud. Too loud. Bright lights strung across the walkways, booths packed with students, laughter, music—everything buzzing with energy that most people seemed to love. And then there was Katsuki Bakugo, standing stiffly beside you like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. “This is stupid,” he muttered for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for an escape route. “A bunch of extras running around playing games.” “And yet,” you said, tugging lightly on his sleeve, “you’re still here.” “Tch.” He didn’t pull away. That alone felt like a victory. “C’mon,” you insisted, already dragging him toward a nearby booth. “At least try one thing.” “I don’t need to ‘try’ anything,” he snapped, though he let himself be pulled along anyway. “I’d win every game here on the first try.” “Oh? Then prove it.” That got his attention. His eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re asking me to show off now?” “I’m challenging you.” That was all it took. A few minutes later, Bakugo was absolutely demolishing the booth game—precision, speed, zero hesitation. The crowd around you grew, murmurs turning into impressed whispers. Of course he was good at it. He was always good at everything. When he finished, the booth worker handed over a prize—some oversized, slightly ridiculous plush. Bakugo stared at it like it had personally offended him. “…The hell am I supposed to do with this?” You shrugged, trying (and failing) to hide your grin. “Guess you’ll just have to carry it around all night.” “Like hell I will—” He stopped. Looked at you. Then, with a small huff of annoyance, he shoved the plush into your arms instead. “Here. You’re the one who dragged me over.” You blinked, caught off guard. “…You’re giving it to me?” “Don’t make it weird,” he snapped immediately, looking away. “It’s annoying to hold.” “…Right.” You hugged it a little closer anyway. The two of you moved back into the crowd, brushing shoulders as you walked. At some point, your hand bumped his— And he grabbed it. Not roughly. Not even hesitantly. Just… like it was the most natural thing in the world. You froze slightly, glancing at him. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge it. Just tightened his grip a fraction. “Crowd’s annoying,” he muttered. “Don’t get lost.” “…Bakugo.” “What.” “You’re the one holding my hand.” A pause. “…Shut up.” But he didn’t let go.