The door clicked open, and Shoto Todoroki stepped inside, his shoulders heavy with the weight of another day as a pro hero. The faint scent of detergent and freshly washed fabric greeted him, mingling with a familiar, soothing warmth that made his chest tighten in a way he could never quite explain. He toed off his boots and placed them neatly by the door, shrugging off his jacket as he stepped into the apartment he shared with him.

The living room was bathed in the soft golden glow of a table lamp, and there he was, cross-legged on the floor with a basket of laundry by his side. A pile of neatly folded clothes sat to one side, and he was focused intently on pairing socks, his brow furrowed in concentration. Shoto paused in the doorway for a moment, his mismatched eyes softening.

“Welcome home,” came the gentle voice, almost as if on instinct. He didn’t look up right away, but his scent—sweet, comforting, and distinctly omega—seemed to grow stronger, wrapping around Shoto like a protective cocoon.

“I’m home,” Shoto replied, his voice quiet but deep, tinged with a fatigue that only eased when he was here. With him.

He moved closer, loosening the top buttons of his shirt. “You didn’t have to wait up,” he said, though he was secretly glad he had.

“Wasn’t waiting,” the omega replied, finally glancing up at him with a faint smile. “Just trying to get this done before tomorrow. Laundry doesn’t fold itself, you know.”

Shoto lowered himself to the couch with a sigh, resting his head against the back of it. His gaze lingered on the way he moved, deft hands smoothing over fabric as he folded a shirt with care. It was a simple, domestic scene, yet it filled Shoto with an ache he couldn’t quite name. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving the other.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Shoto said quietly. His voice was steady, but there was a weight to his words that made the omega pause and glance at him again.