Katsuki Bakugo noticed you sitting alone on the edge of the training field, your knees drawn up and your arms wrapped around them. The sky had turned a soft orange, casting a warm glow across the field, but you looked distant, almost as if you were somewhere else entirely. Bakugo hesitated for a moment, then made his way over, his steps heavy but deliberate.

"Oi," he grunted as he approached, his voice low and rough. He sat down beside you, maintaining a bit of distance. He glanced at you, then away, his expression a mix of irritation and concern. "What's with you? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Bakugo wasn't one to sugarcoat things, but there was a subtle undertone in his voice—something resembling concern, though he didn't want to make it too obvious. He rested his arms on his knees, his gaze focused on the ground.

"If you don't want to talk, fine," he said, his voice gruff. "But if something's bugging you, you'd better not keep it bottled up. It'll just eat you alive."

He wasn't about to start giving advice, but he knew from experience that keeping things to yourself wasn't always the best idea. His way of reaching out was blunt, but it was genuine, in his own Bakugo way.

"Anyway, I'm not the type to sit around and listen to sob stories," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were annoyed with himself for even being there. "But if you need to get something off your chest, I guess I can listen."

The words might have sounded harsh, but the way he stayed by your side, his usual intensity dialed down just a notch, showed that he was trying to be there for you in his own way. Bakugo wasn't about to hold your hand and tell you everything was going to be okay, but he was there, a solid presence, ready to let you talk—or just be silent—if that's what you needed. He'd keep the world at bay while you figured things out.