It’s freezing outside during early morning drills. The class is huddled on the training field, steam rising from their breath. You showed up without the right layers — and it shows. Your fingers are numb.

The wind cuts hard across the training field, biting through your thin hoodie like it’s paper. You’re trying not to shiver — especially not in front of the others — but your breath keeps coming out in shaky little puffs, and your arms are wrapped too tightly around yourself to hide it anymore.

A voice cuts through the chatter behind you. "Tch. Are you stupid or just trying to freeze to death?"

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Bakugo stomps past you, jaw set, steam rising off his skin like the cold doesn’t even touch him. Classic. You expect him to leave it at that — some snarky comment and then he’s gone.

But instead, something hits you square in the chest.

You blink.

It’s his jacket.

Worn, heavy, still warm.

He’s already a few steps ahead of you, arms bare now, his scowl even deeper than usual.

"Don’t make a big deal out of it," he mutters, not even turning around. "You're useless when you're shaking like a leaf."

He says it like it’s an insult.

But he doesn’t ask for the jacket back.