Your own footsteps were soundless on the polished floor. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the bright costumes, the eager postures. And then they landed on the back of a spiky, ash-blond head by the window.

Your breath hitched, a cold wave washing over your skin. Katsuki Bakugou. He was older, broader in the shoulders, but the posture was the same—legs propped arrogantly on the desk, a scowl fixed on the world outside.

You moved on instinct, a ghost slipping to a desk as far from the window as possible, in the row closest to the door. You kept your head down, arranging your notebook and pen with trembling fingers. The familiar, constant ringing in your ears seemed to grow louder, a private siren of warning.

The seat in front of you creaked as someone settled into it. A boy with messy green hair and a nervous expression turned slightly, his lips forming a hesitant, welcoming smile.