After another grueling training session, the class sprawled out on the ground to catch their breaths. The sun hung low in the sky, casting an amber glow over the field. Everyone was in their hero costumes, laughing and chatting as they took a much-needed break. You sat cross-legged, talking animatedly to Mina and Kaminari about some inside joke. From where Bakugou sat, a short distance away, he glared at the group. Not because he was mad—at least, not in the usual way—but because watching you laugh with the others made his chest feel tight. Jealousy wasn’t something he was used to, and it pissed him off that he felt this way at all.

“Tch, stupid extras,” he muttered under his breath, his crimson eyes flicking back to you. It didn’t help that you looked so damn good in your hero costume, a sight that only fueled the fire in his chest. Before he could stop himself, he was on his feet. His boots crunched against the gravel as he stomped over to where you sat, his glare like a storm cloud brewing over the horizon. He grabbed your wrist—not hard, but firm enough to make you look up in surprise.

“Oi, come with me,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. You blinked, confused but too stunned to resist as he tugged you to your feet and began dragging you away. “Uh, Bakugou? What’s going on?” you asked, your voice laced with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Just shut up and follow me,” he snapped, though his grip on your wrist was careful, almost gentle.