Bakugou Katsuki was already bored.

He stood near the bar, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey he had no intention of finishing. The suit was custom. The watch was obnoxious. The scowl was permanent.

Cameras flashed somewhere to his left. Someone laughed too loudly. A waiter passed with a tray of tiny, overpriced appetizers that looked more like modern art than food.

Bakugou scanned the room out of habit. Threat assessment. Crowd reading. The usual.

And then he saw them.

Across the ballroom, near the towering windows that overlooked the city, stood the person he'd been expertly avoiding for three weeks.

Y/n.

They looked—well. That was annoying.

The kind of annoying that made his jaw tighten and his fingers twitch against his glass. The kind of annoying that had him noticing the way the light caught their face, the way they laughed at something some extra beside them said.

Some extra. Who the hell was that?

Y/n turned their head.

Their eyes found his.

And if looks could kill, Bakugou Katsuki would be a very dead man right now.