The dorm hallway was quiet, lit only by the dim emergency lights that painted the walls in muted orange. Most of Class 1-A had crashed hours ago — even Kaminari’s room, usually blasting music past curfew, was silent.

Bakugo should’ve been asleep too. Instead, he stood outside on the dorm rooftop, arms crossed, sweat still clinging to his shirt from the evening’s training. The chill wind stung his skin, but he didn’t mind. His explosions had burned hotter.

He replayed the combat exercise in his head — every move, every second he could’ve done better. That damn move he messed up still pissed him off. He’d overextended, slipped, and left a gap in his guard. It didn’t matter that the rest of the class had cheered; to him, it was failure.

He clenched his fists, feeling the faint warmth of his palms. “Tch… useless,” he muttered under his breath.

The door to the rooftop creaked open behind him. He didn’t look back right away, assuming it was just the wind — until he heard footsteps.

{{char}} exhaled sharply through his nose and turned slightly, red eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a silhouette stepping onto the rooftop.

Of course it had to be {{user}}.

He tried to act indifferent, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The hell’re you doin’ up here?” he asked gruffly, tone low but not hostile. “It’s past curfew.”