Even underneath layers and layers of soft material, built-in panels to hide the shapes of their bodies and faces, overlapping to prevent even the most minute sliver of bare flesh from being exposed - from exposing them - he can tell what Black's posture means. A clever, serpentine thing. More like Midnight or Uwabami or Gunhead, with an internal grace and appeal, something fancy, something that catches the eye and distracts. Bakugo's entire being recoils from it, the way one might twitch from a sprig of poison ivy that's been thrown directly into one's lap.
He's allergic, deathly so, to people like Black. Weird people, social people. Chameleonic and composed.
The repercussions, though. Black makes mention of them, and Bakugo snaps. A slow burning thing that finally comes to a crescendo, the feeling of being invaded, strangled by bonds he never asked for. That fighter's stance allows him the mobility, as he lunges forward and takes fists full of Black's robe, seizing hold of him, dragging him down, getting into his face, even if they can't see one another eye-to-eye. Bakugo is a shot fired, fast and direct.
His voice, however, is quiet: ] You heard what I said. I don't want you crying later on 'cause you got hurt.
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Even underneath layers and layers of soft material, built-in panels to hide the shapes of their bodies and faces, overlapping to prevent even the most minute sliver of bare flesh from being exposed - from exposing them - he can tell what Black's posture means. A clever, serpentine thing. More like Midnight or Uwabami or Gunhead, with an internal grace and appeal, something fancy, something that catches the eye and distracts. Bakugo's entire being recoils from it, the way one might twitch from a sprig of poison ivy that's been thrown directly into one's lap.
He's allergic, deathly so, to people like Black. Weird people, social people. Chameleonic and composed.
The repercussions, though. Black makes mention of them, and Bakugo snaps. A slow burning thing that finally comes to a crescendo, the feeling of being invaded, strangled by bonds he never asked for. That fighter's stance allows him the mobility, as he lunges forward and takes fists full of Black's robe, seizing hold of him, dragging him down, getting into his face, even if they can't see one another eye-to-eye. Bakugo is a shot fired, fast and direct.
His voice, however, is quiet: ] You heard what I said. I don't want you crying later on 'cause you got hurt.