💥 : you where a shy kid, you always had been! It didn’t help after your parent(s) moved house and your school, you knew nobody around you. It in fact made it ten times worse. So when you didn’t answer Bakugo when he asked to play with you? He was mad.
💬 100.2k
@Mackenz1eThe air in the new kindergarten classroom was thick with the smell of paste and old carpet, warmed by the weak afternoon sun filtering through high, dusty windows. Outside, a pale blue sky stretched over the unfamiliar suburban rooftops, the only sound a distant lawnmower and the shrieks of other children playing in the far yard. Inside, the room was a riot of primary-colored plastic and scattered toys, but in one corner, near a basket of worn plush animals, it was quiet.
Y/n sat with their back to the cubbies, a small, neutral-colored toy bear held loosely in their lap. They had been there since free-play began, a still point in the whirl of motion. A teacher had smiled at them encouragingly an hour ago; a girl with pigtails had asked if they wanted to build a block tower. Y/n had only nodded, then smiled when the girl waited for more. The girl had shrugged and run off. Y/n was used to it.
The scrape of sneakers on linoleum, sudden and close. A group of boys halted in front of the plush toy basket. At their front was Katsuki Bakugo, a scowl already etched on his face, spiky blond hair catching the light like a crown. He stood with his feet planted, hands shoved in the pockets of his red shorts, his small chest puffed out.
Katsuki Bakugo
Hey! His voice was a loud crack in the quiet corner. Wanna play with us? We need an extra villain!
He didn’t wait for an invitation. He just jerked his chin toward the group behind him—two other boys shifting impatiently—his red eyes fixed on Y/n. It wasn’t a question so much as a decree. Y/n looked up. The smile was automatic, polite, a slight upturn of the lips. But their eyes stayed wide and silent, and they said nothing.
Bakugo’s eyebrows knitted together. He blinked. The confusion was brief, quickly swamped by a hotter, sharper irritation. His nostrils flared.
Katsuki Bakugo
What? He took a half-step closer, his voice dropping into a growl. You can’t speak? Are you some kind of freak?
One of the boys behind him, a kid with round glasses, tugged at Bakugo’s sleeve.
Boy with Glasses
C’mon, Kacchan, let’s just go! We don’t need a villain that bad!
Katsuki Bakugo
Shut up! He yanked his arm away without looking back, his gaze locked on Y/n’s silent, smiling face. His cheeks were flushing pink. He took another step, now standing over them. Hey! Can’t you respond to me?!
Still nothing. Just the quiet, the distant lawnmower, and that infuriating, placid smile. Bakugo’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides. His breath hitched. The frustration boiled over, simple and violent.
Katsuki Bakugo
Weirdo!
He shoved Y/n hard in the shoulder. It wasn’t a huge push, but Y/n was sitting, and off-balance. They toppled sideways into the basket of plush toys, a soft avalanche of stuffed rabbits and dogs raining down around them. Bakugo stared for a second, his chest heaving. Then he snorted, turned on his heel, and stormed off, his friends scrambling after him. He didn’t look back.
Snack time came and went—apple slices and milk at little round tables. The room buzzed with chatter Y/n didn’t join. They sat in their assigned seat, ate quietly, and when it was over, drifted back to the same corner, now tidied, to sit alone.
The classroom door opened. The head teacher, Ms. Aoki, a woman with a kind face and tired eyes, stepped in. Beside her, held firmly by the hand, was Katsuki Bakugo. He was dragging his feet, his head bowed so low his chin touched his chest. His other hand was a tight fist. Ms. Aoki scanned the room, her eyes softening when they landed on Y/n.
She led Bakugo across the room. The other children had gone back to playing, but a few glances flickered their way. The air felt heavier now, the sunlight through the windows casting long, sharp shadows across the floor. Ms. Aoki stopped in front of Y/n and gently pulled Bakugo to stand beside her. She knelt down, putting herself at their eye level. Bakugo refused to look up. He was staring at a scuff mark on the linoleum as if he could burn through it.
Ms. Aoki
Katsuki-chan, she said, her voice gentle but firm. Is there anything you’d like to say to them?
Bakugo’s whole body went rigid. His shoulders hunched up near his ears. He wasn’t just annoyed at Y/n now; he was furious at himself, at the teacher, at the whole stupid situation. He’d thought they were alone in the corner. He hadn’t seen Ms. Aoki refilling the glue bottles behind the easel. His ears burned a brilliant, humiliated red.
A long, tense silence stretched out, filled only by the muffled sounds of play from across the room. Finally, he kicked at the scuff mark with the toe of his sneaker.
Katsuki Bakugo
…I’m sorry for calling you a weirdo. The words were ground out, barely audible.
He kicked the floor again, harder.
Katsuki Bakugo
And for pushing you.
Another pause. He took a shaky breath, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, as if reciting a list of crimes.
Katsuki Bakugo
And for saying you have a big head, and for calling you a loser who—
Ms. Aoki
That’s enough, Katsuki-chan. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, cutting him off.
The silence returned, thicker than before. Slowly, reluctantly, Bakugo lifted his head. His pout was epic, his lower lip jutting out, his red eyes glaring not at Y/n, but at a point just past their left ear. His small fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked utterly miserable, and furious about it.