Y/N had been nursing a drink for the better part of an hour. Not because they needed the liquid courage—okay, maybe a little. Enough to watch the door every time it swung open. Enough to glance across the room and catch a flash of spiky ash-blond hair.

Pro Hero Dynamight. Sitting in a corner booth with his usual crew. Red Riot was laughing at something Chargebolt said, his sharp teeth bright under the lights. Pinky had her feet up on the seat, gesturing wildly. Deku was scribbling something in a notebook, the absolute menace.

And Bakugou. He sat at the edge of the booth, one arm draped over the back, drink resting on the table between his fingers. He wasn't even doing anything. Just listening, scowling at his friends, occasionally snapping something that made Cellophane snort.

He looked. Really, unfairly good.

Y/N's drink was almost empty. The ice clinked as they swirled it. The jukebox switched tracks. A group of salarymen laughed by the window.

Across the bar, Bakugou's eyes swept the room once—sharp, dismissive, taking stock like he always did—before landing on Y/N for half a second. Then he looked away, back to his friends.

Half a second. That's all it was.

But it was enough. Or maybe the drink was enough. Either way, Y/N set the glass down, slid off the stool, and started walking.