You told Mina you were going to grab a lemonade and headed toward a stand near the concert entrance. The crowd was thickening now, families with tired kids, groups of teenagers, a few older folks in faded band merch. The soundcheck had started, a distant guitar riff bleeding through the fairground speakers.

You were juggling your phone in one hand and reaching for your wallet with the other when it happened.

You turned a corner and walked straight into someone solid.

Hard solid. Like walking into a brick wall that smelled faintly of caramel and nitroglycerin.

Your phone slipped from your hand and clattered to the gravel. You stumbled back a step, already muttering an apology, and looked up.

Blond hair. Crimson eyes. A scowl so deep it looked carved into stone.

Katsuki Bakugo stared down at you like you'd just declared war on him personally. His funnel cake now slightly crushed between you hung in his grip, half-forgotten.

"Watch where you're going, extra," he said. Flat. No warmth. But also... not quite as angry as you'd expect. More like it was muscle memory.

For a second, neither of you moved. The guitar riff from the stage swelled and faded. A few people flowed around you like water around a rock.

Then his eyes flicked down to your phone on the ground, then back up to your face. He clicked his tongue, shifted his funnel cake to one hand, and bent down.

He picked up your phone.

For a moment, you thought he was going to throw it. Instead, he shoved it toward you, still scowling.

"Take it."

You took it, fingers brushing his for just a split second. His palm was warm. Calloused.

He straightened up, gave you one last look unreadable and turned, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

You stood there, phone in hand, heart pounding a little harder than it should have been.

From a few yards away, Mina's voice rang out: "Did you just get yelled at by that hot angry guy?!”