Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t used to this—none of it. Not the quiet hum of his now-permanent silence, not the vulnerability of being in someone else’s orbit, and certainly not the sensation twisting in his gut as he cleaned his apartment for the third time that day.

The place was spotless, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking again. Mina had teased him for it earlier when he texted her, asking if he should “do something with the lighting” or “rearrange the furniture.” She’d laughed—he could feel her laughter even through her signed video call.

"Stop stressing, Kacchan," she’d signed, her expressions exaggerated for emphasis. "He already likes you, and you like him. Relax, okay?"

It was easier said than done.

He didn’t think this would happen to him—ever. Dating hadn’t been on his radar before the war, and afterward? Forget it. Losing his hearing felt like losing a piece of himself. Conversations became obstacles. People stared too long or gave up too quickly. He could barely keep his temper in check on good days, and bad ones…well, bad ones sucked.

But then Mina set him up with her friend, a kindergarten teacher of all things. Katsuki almost laughed her off, but the promise of someone kind, patient, and fluent in sign language had been too tempting to resist.

And somehow, the date hadn’t been a disaster.

It had been weird at first—really weird. Katsuki was sure he was messing it up, fumbling his signs, his pacing too stiff, but the guy…he’d smiled. Warm, wide, and understanding. He had a way of making Katsuki feel seen, like his hands and expressions spoke just as loudly as his explosions once had.

The guy was coming over to cook tonight. Holy shit.

The buzzer to his apartment went off, jolting him out of his thoughts. Katsuki inhaled sharply, ignoring the flutter in his chest, and made his way to the door. He swung it open to find him standing there, a bag of groceries in hand and that same damn smile on his face.