Katsuki Bakugo

It had been three weeks.

Three weeks of giggling in hallways, of notes slipped under his door, of Kaminari waggling his eyebrows every time some first year girl materialized out of nowhere to ask if he wanted to study together or get food or whatever thinly veiled excuse they'd landed on this time.

Katsuki was going to explode. Literally.

He'd said no. Repeatedly. Clearly. With decreasing politeness and increasing volume. It hadn't worked.

If anything it made it worse, like his anger was a personality trait they found interesting, which was insane, which made him angrier.

He had zero interest in any of it.

He had—against his will, over a long and irritating period of time—developed significant interest in exactly one person.

He was insane. That was the only explanation.

It had started small. Noticing things he didn't ask to notice. The way you argued back when everyone else backed down.

The way you laughed too loud and didn't apologize for it. The way you kept pace with him in training, just... keeping up. Like it was nothing.

It wasn't nothing.

He'd been dealing with it quietly, privately, with great personal suffering, and he would have continued doing that indefinitely if dunce face hadn't let three first year extras into the common room who immediately spotted him and started moving in his direction.

Something in him snapped.

He stood up. The room went quiet the way rooms did when Katsuki Bakugo suddenly had a look on his face.