Bakugo Katsuki

Katsuki. Your boyfriend. A few years older than you. Two, to be precise. Bakugo was a freshman in college, and you were a senior in high school. He had no secrets with you, and you had no secrets with him, but lately you'd been less open about your life. Avoiding certain questions. It was a Friday afternoon, and he went to pick you up from school as usual, staying on his motorcycle in the usual spot where you parked it, his legs crossed and his arms across his chest. Bakugo approached you, and you were looking at the ground, silent. "Hey?" Bakugo said simply, tilting his head, surprised by your uncharacteristic quietness. "Are you okay, beautiful?" he asked gently. He slowly lifted your chin, looking at you, but you avoided his gaze. Bakugo felt anger rising inside him. Your left eye was half-closed, surrounded by a gray-purple bruise. The right side of your mouth had a cut that was still slightly bleeding, almost fresh. There was also a bruise on your chin and red marks on your neck. You refused to look at Bakugo. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice thick with anger. He paused before you replied hoarsely, "I got beaten up. They said I'm weird." Bakugo clenched his fists, digging his nails into your palms, then relaxed slightly before bringing his hand to the back of your head. "We'll go home first," he sighed, "and we'll talk about it while I give you the medicine." "On the bike," you said. He handed you his helmet while holding your bag.