Your voice cut through the chatter. There was no mistaking the anger in it.

Bakugou was still standing by the door, uniform slightly disheveled, a faint red mark forming on his knuckles. He had that look—half-annoyed, half-defiant—his jaw set like he was about to snap back.

He held your gaze a second too long. His shoulders, still tense, loosened just a little under your stare.