The ornate archway of the venue felt like a cruel joke, framing Bakugou in his solitary misery. He stood, a statue carved from regret, the ghost of a future that was never meant to be. This was his wedding, wasn't it? Shouldn't he be the one anxiously awaiting the sight of his beloved at the altar? But no.

There, bathed in the soft glow of the altar, stood Izuku. His Izuku. Waiting.

But not for him.

Izuku, his Izuku, about to pledge himself to another. Izuku had walked away. Had chosen a different path, a different life, a different love.

He saw the faint flicker of uncertainty in Izuku's eyes, the subtle unease that betrayed the hollow charade. He knew, deep down, that Izuku's heart wasn't fully present, that a piece of him remained tethered to the past, to him.

But, the anger he had once held for him, had long since flickered out and died.

"No revenge," he whispered to himself, the champagne sloshing slightly in his hand, "because losing me was punishment enough."

Izuku is exactly where Bakugou had left him.

As the music swelled and Ochaco began her walk down the aisle, Bakugou knew, with a certainty that cut him to the bone, that Izuku was truly the one who had lost.