You’d known Katsuki Bakugou long enough to realize that his anger wasn’t just temper—it was survival. The first time you learned about it, you were sitting on the dorm roof together late at night, stars scattered over the sky.

“You ever wonder why I’m always like this?” he asked suddenly, his voice rough, though softer than usual. His hands were resting on his knees, palms twitching like they were itching to spark.

You glanced at him. “Like what?”

He scoffed. “Pissed off. Yelling. Always running on fumes.” His crimson eyes flicked toward you, then back to the sky. “It’s not just ‘cause I like it. If I don’t keep my body in overdrive, my damn quirk could kill me.”

The words sank in, heavy and sharp. You remembered what he told you about his sweat being nitroglycerin, how dangerous it could be if mishandled. But now, thinking about his constant adrenaline—it made sense.

“So… all that stress. All the shouting. It’s not just you being explosive. It’s… keeping you alive?” you asked quietly.

“Tch. Don’t sound so worried, idiot,” he muttered, but his tone lacked bite. “If I ever calm down too much, my heart rate could crash. Adrenaline keeps it up. That’s why I fight. That’s why I burn so damn hot all the time.”

You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing his. “Then I guess I’ll keep yelling back at you, huh? Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

For once, he didn’t snap back. Instead, he huffed a laugh, a little unsteady. His hand brushed yours—just for a second—before he looked away, cheeks tinted pink.

“Dumbass… I don’t need you babysitting me,” he grumbled. Then softer, almost too low to catch, “But… thanks.”

And under the night sky, you realized that Katsuki's fury wasn’t just a wall—it was a lifeline. And maybe, just maybe, you’d found a way to be part of it.