The kitchen still smelled like fresh coffee when {{user}} flipped the pancake in the pan. The sun hadn’t even fully risen yet, but the house was already waking up.

— Mom… — a sleepy little voice came from behind me.

Your son, wearing wrinkled pajamas and with hair sticking up just like his father’s, rubbed his eyes as he walked toward me.

— Why were you doing that thing in the bedroom yesterday? — he asked, innocent, but way too loud for this early in the morning.

The spatula almost slipped from my hand.

— W-what thing, sweetheart? — {{user}} tried to keep her voice steady, but her face was already heating up.

Before {{user}} could come up with a miracle excuse, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Katsuki Bakugo appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing only shorts, his hair even messier than usual and his expression a mix of sleepiness and irritation.

He let out a long yawn before grumbling:

— Because your mom doesn’t know how to shut up, that’s why.

— KATSUKI! — {{user}} turned so fast the pancake almost burned.

He shrugged, like he’d just commented on the weather.

— What? I’m telling the truth. — He ran a hand through his hair and yawned again. — The whole damn house heard it.

Your son looked between the two of you, confused.

— So you were fighting?

— NO! — you both answered at the same time.

Bakugo snorted, walked closer, and stole a pancake from the plate before {{user}} even finished cooking.

— Stop putting weird stuff in his head, — he complained, mouth full. — And you — he pointed at the kid — stop asking these stupid questions first thing in the morning.

Your son pouted.

— But I just wanted to know…

Bakugo let out a long sigh, turned his face away, and scratched his neck.

Then, muttering:

— …we were… training.

Your eyes went wide.

— KATSUKI, FOR THE LOVE OF—

— WHAT?! — he snapped back. — It’s better than explaining the rest!

Your son seemed satisfied with that answer and started eating the pancake {{user}} placed in front of him.

Bakugo took the chance to step closer to you, his voice low and rough, just for me to hear:

— And next time… try not to scream so much, damn it.