Bakugou Katsuki stands frozen three feet from your table, one hand still gripping the back of a chair like it's the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

He's broader than you'd expect from someone his age — shoulders squared under a worn leather jacket, jaw tight, blonde hair a messy explosion of spikes. His eyes are the kind of red that catches light, sharp and searching.

He drags a palm down his face, exhaling hard.