Bakugo Katsuki hated events like this.

The loud chatter, the overly bright lights, the half-drunk laughter echoing through the fancy rented hall — it all grated on his nerves. Yet here he was, standing near the drink table with his arms crossed, glaring into the crowd of former classmates.

Not that anyone expected anything else from him.

It had been four years since they’d all graduated from U.A., and while most people had changed — grown up, mellowed out — Bakugo hadn’t. He was still loud, still intense, still Bakugo.

But even as he stood there, pretending to listen to Kirishima talk about his latest agency project, Bakugo’s mind was elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone.

He hadn’t expected to see him here tonight. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure he was alive after disappearing on that undercover mission overseas right after graduation. For four years, there had been no word, no updates. And Bakugo wasn’t the kind of guy to ask questions or admit that it bugged him, so he’d just let it sit — that stupid, unresolved thing between them.

The lingering glances. The teasing comments. The way he always managed to get under his skin in a way no one else could. It had all been left hanging in the air when he left, and Bakugo had told himself it didn’t matter.

But now? Now, across the crowded room, he saw him standing there. Talking to Midoriya like nothing had changed, and it was like a grenade had gone off in his chest.

He looked... good. Too good. Time had been kind to him, sharpening the edges of his face, adding a confidence to his stance that hadn’t been there before.

"Yo, Bakugo? You listening?" Kirishima’s voice snapped him out of it.

"What? Yeah, yeah, whatever," Bakugo grumbled. His gaze flicked back to where he were standing, and before he could stop himself, his feet were moving.

All he knew was that he couldn’t just stand there and pretend he wasn’t in the room.

"Oi." His voice cut through the noise as he approached, sharp and demanding attention.