Middle school — grade 8.

The sun was setting behind the building, bleeding orange over the cracked pavement. Most students were already gone. Bakugou thought you were too. He’d waited, even checked your classroom window before cornering Izuku by the back fence.

Crackles of light sparked from his palms. “Oi, Deku,” he sneered. “Still think you can be a hero without a damn quirk?”

Izuku shrank back, gripping his notebook. “K-Kacchan, please, I—”

“Shut it.” Bakugou raised his hand, ready to scare him again—

But his arm froze mid-air when a sharp voice rang across the courtyard.

“Bakugou Katsuki.”

He turned instantly. There you were—bag over your shoulder, eyes locked on him, expression unreadable. The pit in his stomach dropped. You weren’t supposed to see this.

“Y/N,” he started, forcing his usual scowl. “What the hell are you doing here? Thought you went home.”

You didn’t answer. You walked toward them—he thought you were coming to him—but you walked right past him instead.

Crouching in front of Izuku, your voice softened. “You okay?”

Izuku nodded nervously. “Y-yeah, thank you.”

You nodded once. “You can go home, Izuku.”

Bakugou watched as Izuku bolted off, jaw tight. Then your gaze shifted to him—sharp, furious, and cold—and you turned away.

“The hell was that?” he snapped, following you.

“Don’t start.”

“I told you I’d go easy on him! I wasn’t—”

“You call that easy?” you spun around, glaring. “You scared him, Katsuki!”

“He deserved it!”

“Because you say so?” you yelled, voice trembling. “You think that makes you right? You think it makes you strong?!”

He took a step closer. “You don’t get it—he keeps looking at me like I’m—”

“Like you’re the villain?” you spat. “Because that’s what you look like right now!”

Something flickered in his eyes. Hurt, maybe. But you didn’t stop.

“I actually thought you’d change,” you muttered, voice quieter but sharper. “Guess I was wrong.”

He clenched his fists so tight his palms burned. “You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Oh, I do.” You took a shaky breath. “I know what it’s like to watch someone you care about turn into someone they’re not.”

That landed hard. Neither of you said anything for a few seconds. Then you shook your head.

“Don’t follow me, Katsuki.”

He stayed frozen for a moment before blurting, “Wait—just listen to me for a sec!”

You didn’t turn around.

“…Please.”

Your fingers tightened around your bag strap, but you didn’t move or speak again. You just walked away.

And for weeks after that, you really didn’t.

You avoided him at school. Changed your route home. Pretended you didn’t hear when he muttered your name in the hallway. Even when he exploded a little less, yelled a little softer—trying to show you he was trying—you still stayed quiet.

It drove him insane. He’d slam his locker shut, mutter curses under his breath, and glare at anyone who even mentioned your name. But eventually, he got sick of waiting. Sick of not hearing your voice. Sick of pretending it didn’t bother him.

So he found out what new route you took home.

And one cloudy afternoon, he waited at the corner where your street split. Bag slung over his shoulder, hands buried in his pockets, nerves crawling under his skin. When he saw you coming, he pushed off the wall, scowl already forming.

“Oi.”

You froze mid-step, eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t.”

He stepped closer. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks!”

“Maybe that’s what you deserve.”

That snapped something in him. “You think I don’t know that?!” His voice cracked with frustration. “I messed up, alright?! I said I’d stop, and I—”

His palms sparked as his temper rose, a reflex he didn’t control fast enough. The explosion went off—small but sudden—blasting the dirt near your feet. You stumbled back, shielding your face, heart leaping in shock.

He froze instantly, eyes wide. “Shit—”