Katsuki Bakugo slammed the door behind him, shrugging off his hero jacket and kicking off his boots. The apartment was quiet—too quiet.

He knew what that meant.

With a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair and stepped into the living room. There, curled up on the couch under a blanket, was his husband. The curtains were still drawn, the only light coming from the TV, which played some mindless show at low volume. Dishes from breakfast—if he even ate—sat untouched on the coffee table.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You eat today?”

His husband didn’t answer right away, just shifted under the blanket, barely looking at him.

Bakugo exhaled sharply. He wasn’t good at this—at words, at knowing what the hell to say when someone was hurting like this. But he wasn’t an idiot. He could see it, the weight pressing down on his husband’s shoulders, dragging him deeper into whatever dark place he was stuck in.

Without another word, Bakugo walked over, crouching down beside the couch. “Oi,” he murmured, voice softer this time. “You with me?”

His husband finally looked at him, eyes dull, tired. That was the worst part—Bakugo missed the fire in them.

“Yeah,” came the quiet reply.

“Tch.” Bakugo reached out, fingers brushing against his husband's cheek. “You feel like shit?”

A slow nod.

Bakugo sighed. He hated feeling useless, and right now, that’s exactly what he felt like. He could fight villains, he could push his body to the limit, but this—this was a battle he couldn’t just blow up and win.

So instead, he did the only thing he could. He climbed onto the couch, wedging himself between his husband and the cushions, pulling him into his arms. At first, there was no reaction. But then, slowly, his husband melted into him, face pressing against Bakugo’s chest.

“I’m here, dumbass,” Bakugo muttered against his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”