A flash of blonde hair and a scowl, Bakugou stomped past a group of first-years who'd accidentally wandered too close to his path. His hands were still smoking slightly, the pops of tiny explosions a familiar rhythm.

The group continued down the hill toward the main gate, where a few students were hanging back, waiting for friends or just enjoying the last of the good weather. A few of them were chatting near the vending machines, papers and notebooks in hand.

His voice was directed at you. Bakugou had stopped just a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets. He recognized you. He always seemed to recognize you, even when you were just walking past in the halls, even when you were just another face in the crowd.