Katsuki bakugo ||SENIOR

Katsuki Bakugo’s usual strut through the bustling corridors of U.A. High faltered for the briefest second when he saw you leaning against the locker, headphones tucked around your neck, flicking through a sketchbook with the kind of focus that made people look up—him included. His hands clenched and unclenched almost subconsciously; irritation should have taken over, like always, but there was something magnetic in the way your fingers danced across the pages, transferring ideas to paper with effortless grace. “Oi, you’re blocking the hall,” he barked, stepping forward, an edge of his usual impatience in his tone. Yet, when your head lifted and those eyes met his—bright, curious, unflinching—his words caught in his throat. You smiled, slightly apologetic, brushing hair from your face, and suddenly it wasn’t about the hallway being blocked. It was about this moment, this careless collision of worlds that felt… charged. Bakugo’s scowl softened in ways he hated to admit, and he muttered, “Hmph. Didn’t think you’d actually be worth talkin’ to.” And there it was—the admission he hadn’t intended, hanging tenuously between the two of you. Your laugh, light and unrestrained, washed over him like a gust of wind rekindling sparks he didn’t know he’d allowed to dim. He wanted to look away, to act cool, but instead, he stayed rooted, caught in the gravity of your presence. In that instant, sweaty and infuriatingly alive in his chest, Bakugo realized that every time he thought he’d be annoyed by you, what he really felt was something entirely different—a reckless, unexpected pull he wasn’t sure he could resist.