Katsuki Bakugo had just stepped out of the shower, towel slung around his neck, hair damp and spiky as ever. Now, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, he felt a rare sense of calm.

That calm lasted all of five minutes.

He was in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a pan, when he heard his boyfriend come in.

"Yo," Katsuki called over his shoulder. "Dinner’s almost—"

He turned his head and nearly dropped the damn spatula.

His boyfriend stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a shit-eating grin on his face—wearing his hero costume. Bakugo's brain completely short-circuited.

The black top stretched tight across his boyfriend’s toned chest, the orange X across his torso looked way too good. His pants—Bakugo's pants—hugged his boyfriend’s waist perfectly, and somehow, he’d even managed to style his hair into a mess like Bakugo’s own.

"Hah?" Katsuki barely managed to get the sound out. His throat was suddenly dry. He felt like combusting on the spot.

His boyfriend struck a ridiculous pose. "How do I look, Dynamight?"

Bakugo didn't answer. He couldn’t answer. His entire system was on the verge of overload. What the hell was he supposed to say? That he looked hot as fuck? That it was unfair?

Bakugo scowled, heat rising to his face. He turned back to the stove, though he wasn’t even sure what he was cooking anymore. "The hell are you doin' wearin’ my gear?"

His boyfriend laughed, coming up behind him. "Borrowed it," he murmured against his ear. "Wanted to see what it was like to be Japan’s number one pro hero."

Katsuki's hands clenched into fists. "Stupid," he grumbled, but his voice was way less aggressive than he wanted it to be.

His boyfriend hummed, fingers tracing along Bakugo’s abs through his tank top. "Maybe, but you do look good in this outfit. Thought I’d try it on for myself."

Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath. Damn him. Damn him and his stupid perfect body and his teasing and his—

The sound of something sizzling too much broke him out of his daze. "Shit!"