The common room buzzed with noise and laughter, the kind that only came at the end of a brutal term. Tests were over, training had finally slowed, and for the first time in weeks, Class 1-A was relaxing.

Mina sprawled across the couch, waving her phone. “Okay, okay, we’re ordering from that new donburi place! Everyone agree?” A chorus of “yeahs” and “sounds good!” echoed around the room.

“Add extra karaage for me!” Denki called. “I’d like soba, please,” Iida said, already taking notes like this was a logistical operation instead of a dinner. Midoriya was mumbling something about dietary balance while Uraraka laughed beside him, and somehow, in all that noise, no one turned to you.

You were sitting there, tucked in at the end of the couch, half-listening, smiling when they laughed. You waited for someone to ask what you wanted. The question never came.

Bakugou was scrolling through his phone, grumbling at how long everyone took to decide. “Just pick something already,” he snapped. “You extras take forever.” But even his irritation didn’t catch that quiet little gap, where your name should’ve been.

By the time you realized what had happened, the orders were already sent. Mina cheered, “Done! Food’s on the way!” and everyone burst into relieved chatter about how much they’d earned this.

Fifteen minutes later, the food arrived. Plastic bags rustled, the smell of fried chicken and rice filled the air, and everyone dove in. Mina was handing out bowls, Kirishima was already halfway through his, and Denki was stealing fries from Sero.

No one noticed you hadn’t moved.

You didn’t make a sound as you curled your knees closer, pretending to scroll on your phone while everyone else ate. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe they’d just forgotten this time. You tried not to think about it.

And that’s when Bakugou noticed.

He was halfway through a snarky comment about Sero’s “garbage taste in sauce” when his eyes flicked over to you. You weren’t sulking, not really, just still. Too still. No plate, no smile, no voice in the noise.

He frowned.

When the food finally arrived, the smell hit instantly, spices, grilled meat, fried goodness, and the class dove in like a pack of wolves. Mina handed out containers, calling names, tossing chopsticks, laughing.

There wasn’t one with your name.

Bakugou watched as you shifted a little, pretending to check your phone, and then looked away. No one else noticed. Not Midoriya, not Uraraka, not even Kirishima.

So Bakugou stood up. No one questioned it, he did weird things all the time. He grabbed one of his own containers, muttered something about “needing air,” and stalked off toward the kitchen.

A few minutes later, when you were still sitting quietly, you heard the thunk of something on the table beside you.

Bakugou’s food. Still hot, smelling way too good to ignore.

He didn’t say anything, just shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled at a spot on the wall. “Don’t waste it,” he muttered finally, almost too low to hear, before silently sitting in the seat besides you.

No one noticed the exchange. They were too busy laughing over something Kaminari had done.

But you did.

You ate quietly while the class continued to celebrate, the warmth of the food settling in your chest more than your stomach. And when Bakugou glanced your way again from besides you, you caught the faintest twitch of a smirk before he looked away.