The music pulsed—low and steady, like a heartbeat wrapped in bass.
Aleasha had just finished the last bite of her cupcake, cheeks flushed, smile lingering like frosting on her lips.
Beside her, Bakugo leaned back in his chair, arms relaxed, gaze fixed forward—but his mind?
Still replaying the way she'd offered him that bite.
Still feeling the warmth of her presence.
Then—
Footsteps.
Confident.
Casual.
Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, in a steel-gray suit that shimmered like polished armor, walked over with a grin that could melt metal.
"Hey, Aleasha," he said, voice friendly, easy.
"You look amazing tonight. Wanna dance?"
Aleasha blinked.
Surprised.
Flattered.
She opened her mouth—
But Bakugo stood.
Not fast.
Not loud.
Just… deliberate.
His boots thudded softly against the floor as he rose, plate set aside, posture straight.
"She's with me."
Tetsutetsu paused.
Blink.
"Wait—what?"
Bakugo didn't flinch.
Didn't raise his voice.
Just looked at Aleasha.
Then back at Tetsutetsu.
"She's with me," he repeated.
Low.
Steady.
Certain.
Aleasha's breath caught.
Her heart did that inconvenient flutter again.
She looked up at Bakugo—his jaw set, his eyes calm, his presence wrapped in quiet fire.
Tetsutetsu raised his hands.
"No problem, man. Just asking."
Bakugo nodded once.
Not aggressive.
Just clear.
Tetsutetsu gave Aleasha a smile.
"You've got good taste," he said, then walked off, blending back into the crowd.
Aleasha turned to Bakugo.
Her voice soft.
"Did you mean that?"
Bakugo looked at her.
Really looked.
Eyes steady.
Heart loud.
"I didn't come with anyone," he said.
"But I'm leaving with you. If you want."
Aleasha blinked.
Then smiled.
Slow.
Real.
"I do."
Bakugo offered his hand.
No explosions.
No drama.
Just a boy who finally knew what he wanted.
She took it.
And together?
They stepped onto the dance floor.
Not like a couple trying to impress.
Not like a hero and a civilian.
Just like two people
who had found something
quietly extraordinary.
The music swelled.
The lights spun.
And in the middle of it all—
Bakugo and Aleasha danced.
Not perfectly.
Not dramatically.
But honestly.
And for Bakugo?
That was more than enough.
(Meanwhile)
The music slowed.
The lights dimmed to a soft amber glow.
Couples swayed gently, laughter fading into quiet smiles and whispered words.
And in the center of it all—
Denki held Jirō.
Not casually.
Not playfully.
But reverently.
His hands rested at her waist, fingers light but certain.
Her arms looped around his neck, her head tilted just enough to meet his gaze.
He looked at her like she was the most special girl in the world.
Because to him?
She was.
Jirō's heart thudded.
Not from the music.
Not from the rhythm.
But from the weight of this moment.
Because she almost lost him.
That night—
The scar on his chest—
The hospital—
The escape—
The way he collapsed trying to reach her—
This moment could have never been.
But it was.
And he was here.
Holding her.
Denki leaned in.
His forehead brushed hers.
His breath warm against her cheek.
And then—
He kissed her.
Soft.
Sure.
Like he'd been waiting his whole life for this exact second.
"I love you," he whispered.
He pulled her closer.
Just a little.
Just enough to say I'm still here.
Jirō's breath caught.
Her fingers curled against his back.
"I love you too," she said.
"So much it hurts."
Denki cupped her cheek.
His thumb brushed just beneath her eye.
His gaze locked with hers.
And then—
He said it again.
But this time?
He said words that made her heart stop.
"I love you. I love you so much. I can't wait for the day I marry you."
Jirō froze.
Eyes wide.
Lips parted.
"You're the one," he said.
"No doubt. No question. No backup plan."
Jirō blinked.
Then smiled.
Tears shimmered at the edges of her lashes, but she didn't cry.
She just leaned in.
And kissed him again.
Because in this moment?
She believed him.
And she knew—
He was hers.
(Meanwhile…)
Bakugo and Aleasha stepped onto the dance floor.
Not like pros.
Not like people who'd rehearsed this.
But like two students who had just realized they were about to touch each other in public and had no idea how to do it properly.
They stood there.
Awkward.
Unsure.
Aleasha looked up at him, cheeks pink, her hand hovering midair like she wasn't sure where it belonged.
Bakugo blinked.
'Where the hell do I put my hands?'
He glanced around—discreetly, of course.
Denki and Jirō were nearby, wrapped in each other like a love song.
Denki kissed her softly, and Jirō placed her head on his shoulder, eyes closed, swaying like she was floating.
Bakugo's eye twitched.
'Nope. Not doing that.'
Then he spotted Kirishima and Mina.
They were very close.
Bodies pressed.
Faces mere centimeters apart.
Mina giggled, and Kirishima whispered something that made her blush and swat his chest.
Bakugo blushed slightly.
'Absolutely not. That's illegal.'
Then—
He saw Shigaraki and Darkcreasa.
They moved slowly.
Carefully.
Darkcreasa looked hesitant, her eyes flicking down every few seconds.
But Shigaraki held her like she was made of glass—one hand on her waist, the other hovering respectfully, as if afraid the slightest touch might shatter her.
Bakugo nodded.
'That. That I can do.'
He turned back to Aleasha.
She was still waiting.
Still smiling.
And when she placed her soft, delicate hand in his—
His heart did that very weird thing again.
It didn't explode.
It didn't race.
It quaked.
Like something inside him shifted.
Like something cracked open.
And her smile?
He believed her smile broke him.
Not painfully.
Not violently.
Just gently.
Like a wall falling down in the quiet.
Bakugo placed one hand on her waist.
The other held hers.
Respectful distance.
Steady grip.
They began to move.
Awkward.
Uncoordinated.
But together.
And for once?
Bakugo didn't care if he looked stupid.
Because Aleasha was smiling.
And she was smiling at him.
They moved.
Bakugo and Aleasha.
Not perfectly.
Not gracefully.
But together.
His hand rested lightly on her waist, her fingers curled into his palm.
Their steps were uneven, their rhythm unsure—but it didn't matter.
Because every time Aleasha looked up at him?
She smiled.
And every time she smiled?
Bakugo's heart did that weird thing once more.
Like it was trying to learn a new beat.
Like it was syncing to her.
Then—
She tripped.
Just a little.
Her heel caught the edge of her dress, her balance faltered, and she stumbled forward—
Right into him.
Bakugo caught her.
Instinctively.
Effortlessly.
One arm wrapped around her back, the other steadying her hand.
She gasped.
Eyes wide.
Face inches from his chest.
Bakugo looked down.
"I've got you."
His voice was low.
Soft.
Not explosive.
Not sharp.
Just… safe.
Aleasha blinked.
Then laughed.
Quiet.
Embarrassed.
"I'm so sorry. Again."
Bakugo shook his head.
"You always fall. I always catch you."
Aleasha's cheeks flushed.
She didn't move.
Didn't pull away.
Instead—
She rested her head gently against his chest.
Bakugo froze.
His heart?
No longer weird.
Just loud.
Just real.
He looked down at her—this clumsy, brilliant, cupcake-scented girl who somehow made him feel like he wasn't just the angry one.
And he held her a little closer.
Not because she needed it.
But because he did.
(Kirishima POV)
Kirishima had her.
'Finally.'
After dodging her conspiracy theories, analyzing the suspiciously spicy shrimp, and enduring her commentary on every couple in the room—
He had Mina.
In his arms.
Close.
Too close? Maybe.
Illegal? Possibly.
But she was laughing.
Smiling.
Radiating that pink, glittery joy that made his chest feel like it was about to explode.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered.
She didn't hear him over the music.
But that was okay.
He said it for himself.
Then—
Disaster.
His eyes flicked across the room.
And there they were.
Bakugo.
Aleasha.
Together.
Not just standing near each other.
Not just tolerating proximity.
Dancing.
Touching.
Smiling.
Aleasha's head rested gently against Bakugo's chest like it belonged there.
Bakugo's arms wrapped around her like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it.
Kirishima's brain short-circuited.
"What the—?!"
He almost dropped Mina.
Almost.
But then—
He remembered.
If Mina saw that?
If she saw Bakugo being soft?
Being romantic?
Being… dateable?
She'd spiral.
She'd analyze.
She'd probably write a thesis on "Explosive Love Languages and Their Impact on Emotional Regulation."
And worst of all?
She'd leave him. Again.
He seriously thinks she has ADHD or something!
---
Operation: Don't Let Mina See™ was a go.
Kirishima spun her.
Hard.
She squealed with delight.
"Ejiro! What was that?!"
"Dance move! Totally normal!"
He dipped her.
Twirled her.
Blocked her view with his body like a human shield of love and desperation.
Mina laughed.
The sound was pure magic.
It made his heart ache in the best way.
"You're being so dramatic tonight!"
"I'm always dramatic. You just never noticed."
She giggled again.
He held her tighter.
Because no matter the cost—
He wasn't losing her.
Not to Bakugo.
Not to curiosity.
Not tonight.
Kirishima twirled Mina again.
Not because the music called for it.
Not because he had a sudden burst of choreographic genius.
But because Bakugo was still holding Aleasha.
And Mina?
Mina was dangerously close to turning her head.
'Nope. Not today. Not on my watch.'
He dipped her low, one arm strong behind her back, the other shielding her line of sight like a glittery riot shield.
Mina laughed.
"You're being so extra!"
Kirishima grinned.
"I'm just happy to have you in my arms."
That part was true.
Because for once, she wasn't bouncing between conversations, analyzing outfits, rating punch flavors, or interrogating Shigaraki about his emotional growth.
She was here.
With him.
Pressed close.
Smiling.
And he wasn't letting anything ruin that.
But then—
She started to turn.
Eyes flicking toward the refreshment table.
Kirishima panicked.
"Hey, babe! Look at me!"
Mina blinked.
"What?"
"I just—uh—wanted to say your earrings are amazing!"
She squinted.
"You've seen these like five times."
"Yeah but they're glowing extra tonight! Must be the lighting!"
She giggled.
"You're acting weird."
Kirishima laughed nervously.
"Weird in love?"
She smiled.
That soft, radiant smile that made his knees weak.
"Okay, I'll allow it."
Crisis averted.
But Kirishima's eyes darted back to Bakugo and Aleasha.
Still dancing.
Still close.
Still looking like a scene from a slow-burn fanfic.
'How did this happen?!'
Bakugo looked… happy.
Relaxed.
Like he wasn't the guy who threatened vending machines and exploded at clouds.
And Aleasha?
She was glowing.
Kirishima sighed.
'Okay. Fine. They're cute. But Mina can never know.'
(Aizawa POV)
The music was already pulsing when he stepped in.
Low bass. Glittering lights. Too many students. Too much sparkle.
Shota Aizawa hated sparkle.
But tonight?
He made an exception.
Because in his arms, wrapped in pastel tulle and pure joy, was Eri.
Her dress was sky blue, layered in soft waves of shimmer.
Her sash was tied in a perfect bow—he'd redone it three times.
Her hair was styled in gentle waves, half-up, with a tiny star-shaped clip, sparkling like it had its own quirk.
Her bracelet jingled faintly with every bounce—tiny charms of her favorite heroes: Izuku, Mirio, Tamaki, Kirishima… and him.
And Aizawa?
He'd made an effort. For her.
He wore a sleek black suit, tailored but relaxed—just enough structure to say he cared, just enough rumple to say he wasn't about to start smiling at strangers.
Underneath, a charcoal shirt, collar open, no tie. It whispered "I showed up," but also "don't talk to me about glitter."
His signature capture scarf had been reimagined as a soft, silvery shawl, draped loosely over one shoulder—a quiet nod to the hero he was, without the combat-ready edge.
Polished black boots grounded him—functional, quiet, stylish, and ready to chase down any student who tried to sneak out early.
And his hair?
Still messy.
But maybe—just maybe—he brushed it.
Once.
It was pulled back into a low ponytail, a few strands rebelliously loose, because even tonight, he was still him.
He didn't sparkle.
But Eri did.
And that was enough.
She was practically vibrating.
"Daddy, look! Look! Kota's here!"
Aizawa nodded, scanning the crowd like a tired panther in a jungle of glitter.
"I see him."
Kota waved from across the room, dressed in a little suit, holding a juice box like it was a sacred artifact.
He wore a soft navy vest over a crisp white shirt, the fabric freshly pressed and sleeves rolled just enough to show he meant business—but still wanted to dance. His tailored khaki pants gave him a polished look, and the forest green bow tie at his collar added a pop of personality that screamed "I'm here to party, but I respect nature."
Pinned to his vest was a tiny silver fox charm, a quiet nod to his love for animals—subtle, but unmistakably him.
On his feet? Clean dress sneakers, white with a navy stripe, comfy enough to chase Eri across the dance floor but stylish enough to impress anyone watching.
His hair was neatly combed, a little gel keeping it in place—probably Mandalay's handiwork, though the faint shimmer near his bangs suggested Eri had snuck in some sparkle spray when no one was looking.
He looked proud.
He looked ready.
And when Eri spotted him, she gasped like she'd just seen a celebrity.
"Daddy, he looks like a prince!"
Aizawa blinked.
"He looks like he's about to spill that juice."
Eri giggled.
"Daddy! He's obnoxiously clean."
She squealed and wiggled in his arms.
"Put me down! I need to twirl!"
He crouched, gently setting her down.
She spun once, her dress flaring like a cloud of magic.
"Did it twirl right?"
Aizawa nodded.
"Perfect twirl."
She beamed.
Then paused.
Her eyes scanned the room.
"Is Emi here?"
Aizawa's jaw tightened.
"Don't know. Don't care."
Eri squinted up at him.
"You brushed your hair."
He blinked.
"Once."
"You wore the scarf."
He tugged at the soft silvery shawl draped over his shoulder.
"It's not a scarf."
"It's a scarf."
She giggled, then leaned in.
"You look handsome."
He sighed.
"I look tired."
"Handsomely tired?"
She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the dance floor.
"Come on! You promised you'd watch me dance with Kota!"
He followed.
Boots quiet.
Suit rumpled.
Eyes scanning for threats—mostly emotional ones.
And then—
He saw her.
Emi.
And of course—she was impossible to miss.
She wore a dazzling emerald green jumpsuit, the fabric shimmering subtly under the ballroom lights like it had its own spotlight. A dramatic cape-like train flowed behind her, catching air with every step, every spin, every exaggerated gesture.
Her statement earrings were shaped like exclamation marks—because subtlety was for other people.
Her clutch? A comic-style speech bubble that literally said "LOL!" in bold letters.
Her chunky glitter heels sparkled like they were trying to outshine the disco ball.
Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, streaked with neon color, and—yes—glow-in-the-dark strands that pulsed faintly like she was part rave, part romcom.
Her makeup was loud but perfect—bright eyeliner, coral gloss, and a tiny **star sticker near her eye that winked every time she did.
She was laughing.
Spinning.
Talking to three students at once.
And somehow still scanning the room like she was looking for someone specific.
Then—
She spotted him.
"Zawa-kun!"
Aizawa's soul left his body.
He turned slightly, as if maybe she was calling someone else.
She wasn't.
Eri gasped.
"She's here!"
Aizawa groaned.
"I'm cancelling the party."
Eri twirled beside Kota.
"You already said that. Four times."
Emi waved again, her train flaring behind her like a superhero landing pose.
Aizawa braced himself.
Because villains? He could handle.
Paperwork? He could conquer.
Sleep deprivation? His natural state.
But Emi in emerald green, calling him Zawa-kun with a star sticker on her cheek?
That was his final boss.