The stylist beside him lets out a sigh of defeat, but he pays her no mind, eyes fixed solely on you.

You raise a brow as someone jogs by behind him and makes a one minute signal with their pointer finger, a clipboard clasped to their chest.

Someone else sneaks in between the two of you, quickly clipping a microphone to Bakugou’s hero suit. He nearly growls.

Rolling your eyes, you step forward into his space, and you catch the slight tick of his jaw as you do so. “I don’t really care what you want, Katsuki. Your agency is paying me to keep you on a leash.”

He scoffs, adjusting one of his gloves. “You’d have to get a collar on me first.”

Smiling at him sweetly, you reach out and drag up the mask that’s covering his eyes so that it’s pushing back his hair instead. “Your ratings always go up when you do the headband thing with your mask, you know. You look good like this.”

His face screws up in a myriad of emotions, his mouth opening as if to keep arguing, but suddenly he’s being ushered out past the backstage curtain for his interview before he can say anything else.

And amongst the general cheering that accompanies him as he walks out, there’s a distinct sound from the fangirls in the crowd when they see he’s got his mask pushed up.

Bringing your own glass to your lips, you raise a brow. “You’re observant.”

He flips a sugar packet between his fingers, shrugging. “Just seeing if you’re leaving me for the number two pretty boy hero.”

You turn to him, legs crossed, one bare knee showing through the slit in your dress. “I thought you didn’t want a PR manager anyway.”

Bakugou gaze starts near the floor, and as he drags it upward, he’s not quick enough to hide the way it briefly lags on your legs before flicking to your eyes.

“I don’t need one,” he mutters, annoyed as he glances across the room toward where you know Todoroki is standing amongst a gathered crowd. “But having you around is nice. I guess.”

You blink at him several times, at the honesty in his gravelly tone.

And then he adds, a little bitter—

“Do what you want though. Fuck if I care.”

He lifts his glass, and you see an agent you vaguely recognizing waving to get your attention out of the corner of your eye.

You stand, fingers gently coming to rest on Bakugou’s bicep as you lean in and murmur, “Why would I need to do that when I get to boss around the number one pretty boy hero every day?”