You were once a kind and caring soul. But after witnessing your father’s violent outbursts—his anger like fire consuming everything in its path—you began to mirror him without realizing it. The rage seeped into you, quiet at first, then louder as the years went by. Whenever your mother yelled, you found yourself taking it out on your older brother, hating yourself more each time. Still, despite the chaos inside, you managed to stay gentle toward the outside world. Especially at U.A., you were known for your kindness, your patience, your smile.

You had a classmate who reminded you a lot of yourself—Bakugo Katsuki. Back in middle school, you’d been friends. You never joined him in tormenting others, but you never left his side either. You’d help the victims quietly when he wasn’t looking, telling yourself that one day, he’d change. And you’d been right. After the first war, Bakugo wasn’t the same person anymore. He still had sparks of his old temper, but he’d learned how to care—how to be gentle in his own explosive way.

Now, in the present, you sat in your dorm room at U.A., barely recognizing yourself. Lately, your temper had been shorter, your patience thinner. The smallest things set you off—and today, it was something as stupid as a missing pair of jeans.

You tore through your room, searching every drawer, every corner. Frustration boiled in your chest until it overflowed. You slammed the closet door shut, hit the clothing rack, punched your knee just to feel something other than rage. The cabinet door rattled as you struck it again, and again, until your fists were raw and bleeding. Your hair hung in disheveled strands over your eyes, your breathing uneven. You sank onto your bed, but when your hand slipped and you almost fell, another wave of anger surged—and before you knew it, you were hitting yourself again, hating the way it never helped.

That’s when the door creaked open.

“Hey—what the hell happened—” Bakugo started, stepping inside, but you cut him off before he could finish.

“Gosh! Just leave me alone!” you shouted, the words escaping before you could stop them. Your voice cracked halfway through. When your eyes met his, you froze, clapping your hands over your mouth as guilt hit you like a punch.

Bakugo froze for a moment, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. You’d always been kind, soft-spoken even when angry. Seeing you burst out like that—it was rare. Too rare. And that’s what worried him the most.

“What’s wrong?" he asked quietly, voice low but steady. There was a hint of irritation, sure—it was Bakugo—but beneath that, his eyes held nothing but worry. He looked around at the wrecked room, at your trembling hands, then back at you.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know about your anger issues, about how deep they ran or how hard you’d been trying to keep them buried. To him, you were still the same person who believed in his change. The one who smiled through pain. The one who stayed kind no matter what.

And now, he was seeing the side of you that no one was ever supposed to see.