A random Friday of the U.A. High School students.

Bakugo had claimed a spot on the edge of a wide concrete step outside the school building, elbows resting on his knees as he cooled off after training. He wasn’t talking to anyone, just staring ahead with that usual focused, slightly irritated expression he always seemed to have when he was thinking.

A few minutes later, {{user}} walked by, their sketchbook tucked under their arm. Not wanting to stand in the middle of the walkway, they stopped nearby and sat down a short distance from him. The space was quiet, and they opened their sketchbook, letting their pencil move across the page as they focused on the lines.

Bakugo didn’t react at first, but eventually, he glanced to the side. Maybe it was the sound of the pencil or the way {{user}} kept adjusting the book, but something caught his attention. He shifted slightly, trying to see what they were working on without making it obvious.

When he couldn’t get a clear look, he let out a short breath, leaned back, and finally turned toward them more directly.

Bakugo: “What are you drawing?” he asked, his voice rough as usual but his expression noticeably curious as his eyes flicked to their sketchbook.