The music thrummed.
Lights swirled across the walls.
Crowds sparkled. Laughter floated.
The air smelled like punch, perfume, and youthful hope.
And then—
The doors opened.
Shigaraki entered.
With Darkcreasa.
Like the world needed a reminder that darkness can dress well.
Crimson velvet. Silver-stitched mystery. Gloves tailored like secrets.
His silhouette alone turned heads.
But the girl beside him?
Shadow-trailing strength. Combat couture. A train like silent thunder.
Across the ballroom—
Mina twirled mid-sip of fizzy strawberry punch.
Her boots thudded lightly against the floor
"This party is a DREAM," she sang.
"I swear I haven't seen a single—"
Pause.
Zoom.
Focus.
"...Wait.
Is that... SHIGGY??"
Her cup fell.
Kirishima's eyes snapped toward her.
Then to Shigaraki.
Then back to Mina.
She was frozen.
Pink curls bouncing in disbelief.
Eyes wide with sparkles and suspicion.
Lips parted like she just saw her celebrity crush kiss her favorite anime character.
"Oh my gosh.
He looks like he stepped out of a haunted Vogue spread."
Kirishima's grip on his drink tightened.
His rose gold shirt shimmered as he shifted.
Brows slightly knit.
He took in:
- Mina practically vibrating with excitement.
- Shigaraki walking like he practiced this with royalty.
- The hand-holding.
- The suit.
- The silence.
'...Okay, bro looked good.'
But Kirishima couldn't help the tiny squint of protectiveness creeping in.
That instinct from the dance lessons.
From watching Shiggy nearly flail into Mina during a spin.
He sipped his drink.
Eyes locked.
Observation mode activated.
---
Meanwhile, Mina wheeled back around to Kirishima.
"He glows, Kiri.
You told me he'd look intimidating.
You didn't tell me he'd look like the emotionally haunted lead in a supernatural romance!"
Kirishima smirked.
Low.
Controlled.
"I told you he trained.
I didn't say he'd evolve."
Shigaraki and Darkcreasa stepped into the ballroom like a poetic threat.
Velvet shadows. Silent intensity. Dancing in potential.
But no sooner had they crossed the threshold—
Mina squealed. Loudly. Publicly. Audibly enough to echo.
She practically skipped across the polished floor, the hem of her blush-gold gown fluttering like party confetti.
"Oh WOW—you look exactly like I wanted you to!!"
Shigaraki blinked.
Then physically recoiled.
His shoulders tensed like his velvet blazer had offended gravity.
Mina planted herself in front of him, beaming.
"Couture Chaos unlocked! Ten out of ten decay-coded drama!"
Then she turned—
Mina's eyes sparkled as she faced Darkcreasa.
"And you, Darkcreasa-chan? You look STUNNING. Like midnight rebellion dipped in elegance!"
Darkcreasa tilted her head.
One brow raised.
"Wait… back up.
You wanted him to look like this?"
Shigaraki instantly began mouthing "No" behind Darkcreasa
Subtle. Sweaty. Attempted denial.
But Mina?
Ignored him with professional sparkle.
"Absolutely. He spent the whole week in makeover bootcamp with me and Kiri!
Dance lessons, posture drills, facial expression flashcards, the works!
All for tonight.
All for you."
Darkcreasa blinked. Hard.
Her hand curled faintly around the chain on her wrist—the old arcade token tugging memories to the surface.
He did this... for me?
And Shigaraki?
He was red.
Like velvet melted across cherry embarrassment.
His gloves clenched.
His head dipped.
He looked like he was about to disintegrate from emotional exposure alone.
---
Enter: Kirishima.
Casually.
Strategically.
Internally screaming.
He walked up, smile confident, posture solid, the "Alien Queen Approved" lapel barely glinting.
"Hey, everyone!
Just checking in, making rounds, keeping things smooth—y'know, party patrol!"
But really?
Operation: Remove My Girlfriend from Shigaraki's Gravitational Field had officially begun.
He gently but firmly placed a hand on Mina's waist.
"Babe, didn't you say we're next on the dance rotation?"
Mina blinked.
"Oop! Right.
But Shiggy just looks SO—"
Kirishima turned slightly to block Shigaraki's mortified glow.
"Yup. He looks cool. You helped him. Very proud. Now come shine on the floor with me."
---
Shigaraki was left blinking.
Darkcreasa still watched him—
Processing.
Connecting dots.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
Wondering what it means
to be the reason someone becomes
more than they were yesterday.
Let's continue from here: The ballroom was glowing—students in dazzling outfits, music humming low, and anticipation thick in the air like glitter waiting to explode.
Then—
The lights dimmed.
A hush rippled through the crowd.
Spotlights swiveled toward the DJ booth.
And from behind a wall of speakers and neon glow—
Present Mic leapt into view.
Gold blazer. Sunglasses. Hair spiked like he'd been struck by lightning and loved it.
He grabbed the mic like it was born in his hand.
"YEEEEAAAHHHHH! WHAT'S UP, U.A. HIGH?!"
The crowd erupted. Cheers, whistles, and a few explosive quirks flared in excitement before being quickly reined in by vigilant teachers lurking at the edges.
Present Mic spun once, arms wide, soaking in the energy like a solar panel on caffeine.
"Tonight's not just a party—it's a moment! A celebration of every test you crushed, every villain you faced, every friendship you forged! So let's make it LOUD, make it LEGENDARY, and make it something even All Might would fist-pump to!"
He pointed dramatically toward the dance floor.
"And to kick things off—Class 1-A, you ready to show us how heroes
really move?!"
The spotlight shifted.
Ochaco was already bouncing in place, eyes sparkling.
Kirishima cracked his knuckles, grinning like he was about to punch the beat itself.
Jirou gave a subtle nod, her earjacks already syncing with the rhythm.
Even Bakugo, arms crossed, muttered, "Tch. I'm not dancing," but his foot was tapping.
Then the bass dropped.
BOOM.
The floor lit up in pulsing colors.
Students surged forward.
And just like that—
The U.A. Hero Ball was officially ON.
The bass pulsed like a heartbeat.
Lights strobed across the walls in waves of neon and gold.
The floor came alive—heels, boots, sneakers, and even hover soles hitting the beat like they were born to move.
Ochaco spun into the center, laughing as Izuku tried to match her rhythm with textbook precision.
Jirō swayed effortlessly, her earjacks glowing faintly, syncing with the music like she was part of the sound system.
Kirishima twirled Mina, her rose-gold dress catching the light like a disco comet, her laughter ringing louder than the speakers.
And Bakugo?
Still arms-crossed.
Still muttering.
But now standing suspiciously close to the dance floor, foot tapping like it had a mind of its own.
Shigaraki stood at the edge.
Watching.
Not brooding.
Not sulking.
Just… observing.
His crimson blazer shimmered under the lights, silver embroidery catching every flicker like it was alive.
His gloves flexed once.
Twice.
Darkcreasa stood beside him, her train trailing like smoke, her boots planted like she was ready to fight the music itself.
They didn't move.
Not yet.
But the tension between them?
It danced.
Across the room, Toga was spinning Dabi like she was auditioning for a villainous rom-com.
"You're doing great, Dabi-kun! You only stepped on me twice!"
Dabi grunted.
"I'm not built for rhythm. I'm built for dramatic exits."
"Then make your entrance dramatic instead!"
She twirled again, her crimson dress flaring like a flame, her cardigan bouncing with every step.
Kirishima and Mina were mid-spin, her boots thudding, his rose-gold soles leaving shimmer trails.
"You're watching him, aren't you?" Mina whispered.
Kirishima smirked.
"I'm watching you watch him."
She laughed, cheeks flushed.
"He's doing great. But you? You're glowing."
Kirishima dipped her low.
"Alien Queen's orders."
Back at the edge, Shigaraki shifted.
Darkcreasa glanced at him.
"You're not going to dance?"
He hesitated.
Then—
"I learned. For tonight. For you."
She blinked.
Her heart did something inconvenient.
"Then prove it."
She held out her hand.
Shigaraki took it.
And together?
They stepped onto the floor.
Not like heroes.
Not like villains.
Just like two people
who had finally
earned the right
to move.
(Bakugo POV)
Bakugo stood at the edge of the dance floor, arms folded, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.
The music thumped.
But after watching one too many couples twirl like they were auditioning for a romance anime, he turned and made his way toward the refreshment table.
And then he saw her.
Aleasha.
Standing alone.
Blankly sipping punch.
Watching the dancers like she was trying to understand a language she'd only read about in books.
She was wrapped in a long crimson dress, molded to her like molten flame.
Scarlet ribbons curled around her neck, elegant and battle-ready.
The corset bodice laced tight, structured like strength—not restraint.
Her cropped black jacket added edge, rebellion stitched into every seam.
She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.
But her expression?
Soft. Curious. Bookish.
She sipped punch like it was a quiet ritual.
Her gaze flicked across the room, not with envy—just quiet wonder.
Bakugo's heart did something weird.
Like it skipped.
Then tripped.
Then tried to act like it was stretching.
'What the hell is that?'
He grabbed a cup of punch.
Stood beside her.
Didn't speak.
She turned.
Blink.
"Oh. Hi."
Bakugo blinked back.
"...Hey."
She smiled.
Small.
Genuine.
"Everyone looks so cool tonight."
Bakugo glanced at her.
"You do too."
She looked down at her dress, tugging the hem slightly.
"Oh. Thanks. I keep tripping on it."
Bakugo smirked.
Of course she did.
She was clumsy.
She'd bumped into him five times since arriving at UA.
Once in the hallway.
Twice in the common room.
Once during training observation.
And once—the worst one—when he was holding a plate of food and she crashed into him so hard, the entire meal exploded across his shirt.
She had looked like she was about to cry.
But what Aleasha didn't know?
He never blew up. Not once.
Not at her.
Not even when she first arrived and started hanging out in Class 1-A's common room like she belonged there.
She was always curled up on the couch, reading some electrical quirk textbook*, legs tucked under her and hair messy.
And every morning?
Bakugo would get up to make breakfast.
And he'd talk to her while doing it.
Sometimes about quirks.
Sometimes about nothing.
One time?
He made breakfast with her.
She'd chopped vegetables.
He'd scrambled eggs.
They'd stood side by side, quiet, warm, like it was normal.
And she still didn't know.
She didn't know he was the angry pomeranian of UA.
Didn't know he'd once yelled at a vending machine for eating his change.
Didn't know he'd nearly exploded a training dummy for looking at him funny.
To her?
He was just Bakugo.
Sweet.
Caring.
A little intense, maybe.
But safe.
Bakugo glanced at her now.
Her dress shimmered.
Her eyes sparkled faintly.
She sipped her punch like she was waiting for someone to ask her to dance—but didn't expect it.
"You hungry?" he asked.
She blinked.
"A little."
He nodded toward the snack table.
"C'mon. I'll make you a plate."
She smiled again.
And Bakugo?
He didn't know what this feeling was.
But it was soft.
And it was hers.
Bakugo led Aleasha around the refreshment table, weaving past punch bowls and glittering trays of finger foods like he was on a mission. His boots thudded with purpose. Hers? Light, uncertain, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to follow.
He grabbed two plates—one in each hand, smooth and practiced.
"You ever notice how every girl here smells different?"
Aleasha blinked.
"Uh… what?"
Bakugo didn't look at her.
He was already scanning the snack section like it owed him answers.
"Perfumes. Lotta floral. Some citrus. One girl smells like straight-up vanilla frosting."
Aleasha tilted her head.
"You… pay attention to that?"
Bakugo shrugged.
"I notice stuff."
He scooped a few mini sandwiches onto her plate.
A couple fruit skewers.
Then paused.
He reached for a cupcake.
It was small.
Frosted in pale pink.
Topped with a tiny sugar heart.
He placed it gently on her plate.
Then looked at her.
Eyes steady.
Voice low.
"You smell like cupcakes."
Aleasha froze.
Her brain short-circuited.
Her heart did a backflip.
Her soul screamed into a pillow.
"I—uh—what?"
Bakugo blinked.
Still calm.
Still Bakugo.
"Not in a weird way. Just… sweet. Warm. Like frosting."
Aleasha's cheeks flushed.
Her fingers curled around the plate like it was a lifeline.
"I didn't even wear perfume tonight…"
Bakugo smirked.
"Guess that's just you, then."
She looked down at the cupcake.
Then back at him.
And for the first time all night—
She felt seen.
Not as Denki's secret sister.
Not as the clumsy bookworm on the couch.
Just as Aleasha.
Sweet.
Warm.
Cupcake-scented.
The music pulsed behind them, but Bakugo and Aleasha sat side by side in two chairs angled toward the dance floor—close enough to feel the beat, far enough to stay in their own quiet bubble.
Their plates balanced on their laps.
The cupcake still untouched.
The lights flickered across their faces like soft spotlights.
Aleasha swung her legs gently, watching the dancers with a dreamy sort of detachment.
Bakugo leaned back, arms resting on the sides of the chair, gaze fixed forward.
"You come with anyone tonight?"
Aleasha shook her head.
"Nope. Didn't care to."
She took a bite of fruit, chewed slowly.
"In Class-C, no one really knows me. Or sees me. I'm always in Class-A when school's not on. I guess I just… fit better there."
Bakugo glanced at her.
She didn't sound sad.
Just honest.
"You're always on that couch," he said.
"Reading those quirk books."
She smiled faintly.
"They're interesting. And Class-A has better snacks."
Bakugo smirked.
"Fair."
He paused.
Then asked—
"You think I came with anyone?"
Aleasha blinked.
"I mean… did you?"
Bakugo shook his head.
"Nah. All the girls already had partners. And if I asked, they'd probably be more scared than flattered."
Aleasha frowned.
"Why would they be scared?"
Bakugo hesitated.
His fingers tapped the edge of his plate.
His voice dropped a little.
"People think I'm intense. Angry. Explosive. Like I'll yell if they breathe wrong."
He didn't say it with bitterness.
Just resignation.
Aleasha turned to him.
Eyes soft.
Voice steady.
"I don't think that."
Bakugo looked at her.
She continued—
"You're quiet. Focused. You notice things. You're kind in your own way. You made me breakfast. You talk to me every morning. You never yell. Not at me."
She hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of her plate.
"And you're always there to catch me when I fall…"
Her voice dipped, cheeks flushing pink.
"I think you're… sweet. And strong. And maybe a little scary to vending machines."
Bakugo blinked.
Then laughed.
Just once.
Low.
Real.
Aleasha smiled.
And for a moment—
The music faded.
The lights dimmed.
The dancers blurred.
Because in that chair, beside her—
Bakugo felt seen.
Not as the angry pomeranian.
Not as the explosive prodigy.
Just as Katsuki.
And now that the plates are nearly empty, conversation lingering like warmth between them.
Aleasha had eaten everything methodically.
Mini sandwiches first.
Fruit next.
A single cheese cube she debated for too long.
And now?
The cupcake.
She reached for it slowly, almost reverently.
Because Aleasha had a system.
She always saved her favorite for last.
So that the final taste in her mouth was the one that made her happiest.
She picked it up, fingers brushing the delicate frosting swirl.
And as she did—
She remembered what Bakugo had said.
'You smell like cupcakes.'
Her cheeks flushed again.
Soft.
Private.
He didn't know.
He didn't know that cupcakes were her absolute favorite.
That she used cupcake-scented lotion.
That she once tried to make a batch shaped like lightning bolts for Denki's birthday and nearly set the oven on fire.
She smiled to herself.
Then took a bite.
And instantly melted.
The frosting was light, whipped to perfection and it melted beautifully in her mouth.
The cake was moist, sweet, with a hint of vanilla and strawberry.
It was so good—
She couldn't help it.
"Mmm…"
Bakugo turned.
Eyebrow raised.
Eyes curious.
Aleasha blinked.
Then held the cupcake out toward him like it was sacred.
"You have to try this."
Bakugo stared at her.
At the cupcake.
At her flushed cheeks.
At the way she looked like she'd just discovered joy in frosting form.
"You're serious?"
She nodded, eyes wide.
"It's life-changing."
Bakugo smirked.
Then leaned in.
Took a bite from the side she hadn't touched.
Paused.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
"...Okay. That's good."
Aleasha beamed.
And just like that—
They shared a cupcake.
A moment.
A softness neither of them expected.