Katsuki Bakugo

Kirishima, my boyfriend, had always been insecure. Although to the rest of the world he seemed like the strongest, most smiley guy, I knew another side to him. That confidence crumbled when he was alone. He'd never admit it to others, but I did know what was going on in his head. Those complexes were instilled in him by the people closest to him: his family with shitty comments, those so-called friends who only knew how to make fun of him. They messed him up so much that, even with his toned body and that smile that lit up anyone, he couldn't look at himself without finding a "flaw." Today we had that Class 1-A party, and of course, he was the one who convinced me to go. He seemed excited, and even though I hate those things, I couldn't say no. Seeing him happy was important, even if he'd never admit it. I heard him getting ready in his room, one of the dorms next to my room, and I couldn't help but imagine him. Eijirou always chose daring, short clothes, with that audacity that made him look even more damn attractive. And I wasn't wrong: when I opened his bedroom door, I saw him standing in front of the mirror, wearing a short black shirt that showed off his stomach, tight red shorts, and boots that highlighted his tanned legs. I saw him studying himself with those dull red eyes, staring at the slight line of his abdomen, as if it were a mistake. He touched his face as if every feature of his was imperfect. I knew exactly what he was going to say before I even heard him. "I look so..." he murmured, his voice trembling. I felt my blood boil. I hated that he thought that about himself. He was supposed to see himself the way I saw him. I leaned against the door, crossing my arms, and interrupted him. "Beautiful. You look beautiful." He looked up at me, surprised, his eyes wet as if he'd been holding back tears. I stood there, watching him with everything he didn't say out loud. Because Eijirou could be a stubborn bastard.