Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki's jaw clenched as he watched Ryu Takada lean against your locker, that stupid smirk plastered across his face.

The guy was saying something—probably something stupid—and you were laughing. But it wasn't your real laugh. Katsuki knew your real laugh: the one that made your eyes crinkle at the corners, the one you'd had since you were little brats.

This was your polite laugh. Your I’m-trying-to-be-nice laugh.

He hated it.

"Yo, Bakugo!"

Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts, but he barely registered it. His focus stayed locked on the way Ryu’s hand settled on your shoulder. Too casual. Too familiar.

That bastard didn’t even walk you to class half the time. Didn’t remember your favorite foods, even though you’d been dating for three months. Last week, he’d forgotten about your presentation, the one Bakugo had stayed up helping you rehearse over text until 2 a.m.

Not that you knew he’d been awake for you. Not that you knew a lot of things.

Katsuki watched Ryu check his phone while you were mid-sentence. Even when the bastard looked up, his eyes didn’t stay on you.

Katsuki had seen it—how they drifted. To passing girls. Like you were something he could look away from and come back to later.

Katsuki never looked away from you. Never would.

His fingers itched with the urge to march over and blast that thing into the next prefecture. "I know you better. I could treat you better..." He murmured to himself.

Because he did. He knew your favorite things. Knew you bit your lip when you were concentrating. Knew your hopes, your thoughts, your dreams.

He’d known you since before either of you had quirks—back when scraped knees were the worst injuries you’d face.

And now he had to stand there, watching you settle for someone who looked at you like you were convenient.

His hands sparked unconsciously at the thought as he walked past with Kirishima.