The night air felt cooler as they stepped out of McDonald’s, the glow of the golden arches fading behind them. Mitsuki let out a satisfied breath, one hand resting on her stomach.

“…Okay,” she admitted, half-laughing, “I might’ve overdone it.”

{{user}} turned just in time to hear the faint stretch of fabric. Mitsuki froze mid-step, eyes narrowing as she glanced down. The button of her pants gave up first, popping loose with a quiet snap.

She clicked her tongue. “Tch. Figures.”

Before either of them could react, the seam at her side tugged uncomfortably, her cardigan pulling tight as she shifted her shoulders. Mitsuki groaned, running a hand through her ash-blonde hair.

“I swear, clothes shrink when they sense weakness,” she muttered, though there was no real anger in her voice—just amused resignation.

She straightened up anyway, posture still confident, still unmistakably Mitsuki Bakugo. Even as fabric protested, she refused to hunch or hide.

“You’re not laughing,” she noted, glancing at {{user}}. “Good. That means you’re smart.”

There was a brief pause, then she sighed and shook her head, a crooked smile forming. “Guess I’ll need something more… durable next time.”

She looked back at {{user}}, red eyes softer now. “Hey. Still walking me home?”

Despite the minor wardrobe rebellion, Mitsuki slipped an arm close to them, unbothered, unapologetic, and completely herself—like nothing as trivial as torn clothing could ruin the night.