🎭 Scenario: “Just Lines… Right?” College AU – No Quirks | Y/N x Katsuki Bakugou | Theater Elective Slow Burn | Fantasy Tragedy

You signed up for theater because it was supposed to be easy—a blow-off elective to pad your GPA. Nothing serious. Just some reading and maybe a simple project.

Then the syllabus came out. The play: The Mourning Vale—a fantasy tragedy inspired by Shakespeare, but all original. You play a shapeshifter bound to a dying forest, a mystical guardian caught between magic and man. Your partner is the prince’s knight—stoic, fierce, sworn to kill you but slowly becoming your protector. The story is intense: enemies to protector to tragic lovers, multiple romantic scenes, and a death that leaves you broken and alone. The language is poetic, old-fashioned, heavy with emotion.

And your partner is Katsuki Bakugou.

You know him—third-year business major with a reputation for being hot, angry, and impossible to approach. His ash-blond hair is wild, eyes sharp and intense. People either fear him or admire him from afar. You don’t know him, and now you have to act like you do.

The first rehearsal is… awkward.

Bakugou stands across from you, script in hand, arms crossed. His gaze is sharp and unimpressed as he flips to the romantic scenes.

“This some kind of joke?” he mutters, voice rough. “There’s like four kiss scenes in this.”

You glance at the script, smirking. “Four, actually. And the last one’s pretty dramatic.”

He shoots you a glare. “Whoever wrote this must have been crazy.”

“It’s drama,” you reply. “You signed up for it.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue.

The script is thick, the lines poetic but tricky. His character is proud, haunted, loyal but conflicted. Your character is wild, mysterious, tied to the fate of the forest. The play is full of Shakespearean themes—love, betrayal, death—but it’s not Romeo and Juliet. It’s its own tragic story.

Rehearsing the lines feels stiff. Bakugou reads his parts like a battlefield order—sharp, clipped, intense. You try to match his energy but stumble over the archaic language.

The kissing scenes haven’t even come close to happening yet. Both of you avoid eye contact when you reach those lines, rushing through them like a difficult chore. The classroom fills with silence, tension humming just beneath the surface.

When the professor calls time, you pack your script, heart pounding from trying to keep up.

“Okay,” the professor says, clipboard in hand, “you two should definitely practice outside of class. There’s more emotion to find here than you’re showing. This play isn’t just about saying lines—it’s about living the characters.”

Bakugou grunts but nods, his usual scowl softening ever so slightly.

You glance at him, realizing this assignment is going to be harder than you thought. Partnering with Bakugou? Not exactly the easy ride you imagined.

But the play itself—it’s beautiful, tragic, demanding.

You swallow hard, steady yourself.

It’s just lines, right?