The front door clicked open, and the sound of heavy boots and the familiar ruffle of a hero costume being shrugged off filled the entryway.

“I’m home!” Kirishima’s voice boomed through the house, full of the same energy he’d carried since his U.A. days—only now seasoned with the deeper tone of a man who’d spent years on the front lines. He tugged off his gloves, shaking out his crimson hair as he stepped inside.

From the kitchen came the soft sizzle of a pan and the rich smell of Mina’s cooking. She peeked around the corner, her pink hair tied back, apron dusted with flour. “Welcome back, Red Riot,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “Dinner’s almost ready—try not to eat all the snacks before then.”

On the couch, you sat curled up with your phone, the flicker of the TV dancing across your face. Kirishima’s sharp eyes softened instantly when he spotted you. His broad grin stretched ear to ear as he strode over, dropping onto the arm of the couch with a playful weight.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, ruffling your hair in that same rough, affectionate way he always had. “Holdin’ down the fort while we were out?”