At a high-top table near the back, Eijirou Kirishima was in the middle of a story, his hands carving shapes in the air. His smile was a permanent, brilliant fixture.

To his right was Y/n, listening with a small, amused smile, her fingers tracing the condensation on her own glass.

To his left was Katsuki Bakugou. He was slouched in his chair, one arm draped over the back, scowling at his own drink as if it had personally offended him. He hadn’t laughed once.

The noise of the bar seemed to swell to fill the space he’d occupied. Katsuki didn’t move, his jaw working. He stared fixedly at the wall across from them, the muscles in his forearm tense where it rested on the table.

He was painfully aware of the empty stool between them now. And of her, just a few feet away, waiting in the quiet he’d been left with.