A/N So I don't know if I should continue this story in first person. I'm kinda leaning toward changing it all to third. I dunno if I wanna do that since I don't have a lot of experience with writing, but if anyone knows which one I should be doing, feel free to tell me. Also, i'm sorry each chapter is so short. I write when the inspiration strikes and stop when it leaves me.

Bakugou POV

It's been three days. Three days of mediocre rest and an intense desire to hit everything and everyone.

It's 2 in the morning. I lay on my bed and seethe. Seething is all I seem able to do. If only I could explode that inexplicable feeling out of my own chest. I pound my fist against the mattress beside me and find no satisfaction.

I'm starting to forget what release feels like.

I can't figure out why this desire is so strong. I think back to the last few days and can't find anything too upsetting. Deku still pisses me off on occasion and Kaminari still makes the dumbest jokes, but no one has seriously ticked me off recently.

The remedial lessons with the little brats wasn't even that bad. They were little shits but once under control they were manageable. So what could be causing this? Hormones? Poison gas?

A quirk?

I've never heard of an emotion changing quirk. Probably because they're no good for combat. A quirk like that could be responsible. Would it manifest through touch? Would they only need a line of sight like Aizawa? And why the FUCK would anyone be targeting me?

Can't a villain in this whole goddamn city find a target other than Katsuki fucking Bakugou!

I slam my hand against the bed a few times again and have trouble containing the surge of anger. It presses for release. I slam my hand against the wall. Hard. The anger in my chest does not release.

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

My hand smarts. The wall shows no reaction.

My chest is tight but I decide to focus on the pain. I can ignore the stupid fucking rage when I think of something else. Anything else.

I take a deep breath.

If this is a fucking villain coming after me a fucking third time, then they have another fucking thing coming.

Aizawa would want to know. Aizawa NEEDS to know. He could put me in quarantine. Something to keep me away from others and separate me from the motherfucker who did this. If this is a time limit thing, than I should be fine soon. But if it's not based on time and simply on the motherfucker's willpower, then I may be screwed. If the motherfucker who did this to me disappears without taking the rage away, I don't know what I'll do.

Anger is my friend. Anger is power. Anger has a purpose. Anger has a place.

I never realized how much I enjoyed a peaceful goddamn night of sleep before this started.

A tentative knock sounds at my door.

Fucking Kirishima.

"Bakugou?" His voice calls out uncertainly. "You alright in there?"

I haul myself out of bed and cross the room. I throw open the door, maybe a little too forcefully.

Kirishima stand on the other side, his hand poised to knock again. His red hair is down for once and he seems a little tousled. My drum solo on his wall must have been a fun wake up call. He lowers his hand when I make eye contact with him.

"You good bro?"

"Fucking fantastic", I grit my teeth.

"You practicing the drums on my wall or something…?"

"The wall got in my fucking way. Won't happen again."

He peers at me with suspicion, "You sure you're….?"

My eye begins to twitch. "I am perfectly fine, Kirishima. Go the fuck to sleep."

I slam the door in his face. I wait next to the door until I hear his footsteps return to his room.

Aizawa would definitely want to know about this. But I don't need to hide behind a pro hero when all this villain has for them is emotional manipulation. If it's controlled by touch, I'll just have to watch my every move until I identify the culprit. Then I'll fucking kill them. If it's done through line of sight, I may have more trouble.

Maybe my nosy fucking neighbor would be able to help with that.

A few days. A few days is all I need to find the motherfucker who did this. Or find proof that it's just me. That I've simply snapped under some type of stupid fucking imaginary pressure.

A Few days, and if I'm not better by then, then I'll need to enlist help.

Just the thought of asking for help makes me clench my jaw so hard I think my teeth might shatter.

Until then I'll need to make some new fucking coping mechanisms.

I go to my closet and begin to get dressed. Sweatpants, a tank top, running shoes. I grab a bottle of water on my way out of the room.

The security drones patrol the campus at night. If you go ten feet from the dorm, they will be alerted and a pro hero will come for you. That leaves me ten feet on every side of the dorm to use.

I will run all fucking night if it means I'll be exhausted enough to sleep.