The bar was alive with chatter and the low hum of excitement. You’d been mixing drinks behind the counter all night, half-listening to the buzz about some new band performing for the first time. Ground Zero, they were called—an explosive name that made you smirk when you first saw it printed on the flyer. It wasn’t until you saw him step on stage that your heart nearly stopped.

Katsuki Bakugo.

It had been months since the breakup. You hadn’t seen him since, and yet here he was—looking the same, but sharper somehow. Confident. The crowd quieted as he adjusted the mic stand, his crimson eyes sweeping the room before landing briefly—almost instinctively—on the bar. On you. He didn’t react, but you could tell from the faint tension in his jaw that he’d noticed.

As the band launched into their first song, the energy was electric. Katsuki’s voice carried through the room—gritty, raw, and filled with emotion that cut deeper than any words ever could. Halfway through the set, you found yourself untying your apron and slipping out from behind the counter. You told yourself you were just on break, just curious, but your feet betrayed you—leading you closer and closer to the stage.

When you finally reached the front, Katsuki’s eyes met yours again—this time, he didn’t look away. His voice hit a rougher note, his hands gripping the mic tighter, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the song was meant for you alone.