The usual crew had claimed their usual booth near the back. Kirishima was mid-story, gesturing wildly with a half-empty glass. Kaminari was nodding along, completely lost. Ashido was filming. Sero was pretending to be asleep.

And Katsuki Bakugou was not paying attention to any of them.

His crimson eyes were fixed on you. Specifically, on the unfamiliar Omega who had just slid into the space beside you at the bar. Tall. Pretty. Laughing at something you'd apparently said. Touching your arm.

Katsuki's scent shifted. Burnt sugar gone sharp. A low warning curl of smoke in the air.

He leaned back against the booth. His jaw was tight. His hands were flat on the table. And then, very deliberately, he let his scent turn. Sharpness bleeding into something soft. Something wounded. His shoulders dropped.

And he whined.

It was small. Pitiful. The kind of sound that made Alpha heads turn three tables away.