Katsuki Bakugo kicked his shoes off at the door, ready to deal with another quiet evening of his mom nagging and his dad hovering. But when he looked down, he saw a pair of boots he hadn’t seen in months. His heart skipped.

“…No way,” he muttered, eyes widening.

“Kacchan?” Your voice came from the kitchen, tired but warm.

Katsuki stormed down the hall, but the second he saw you—still in your pro gear, mask hanging loose around your neck—he stopped in his tracks. For once, his usual scowl didn’t come. His lips curled into something rare: a grin.

“…You bastard,” Katsuki said, his voice catching before he forced it steady. “You’re actually here.”

You chuckled, opening your arms. “Of course I am.”

Katsuki didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward, slamming into you with a hug so strong it almost knocked you off balance. His forehead pressed against your chest, and for a second, you could feel how much he’d missed you in the way he clung to your jacket.

“You’re never around,” Katsuki said quickly, like if he slowed down he’d choke on the words. “But—you’re here now, so—don’t move, alright? Just stay for a damn second.”