You were both pro heroes now. Respected. Busy. Too busy.

Coming home to an empty apartment. Seeing your side of the bed untouched. Passing by you in the hallways like strangers in your own home. He had barely seen you all week—barely felt your touch, barely heard you say his name with that softness that made his chest warm—something in him decided enough was enough.

It started small. Lingering touches, standing just a little too close, his fingers curling around your sleeve whenever you tried to leave.

Then, it escalated.

You were in the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water when suddenly—arms wrapped around your waist from behind. A chin plopped onto your shoulder.

“Shoto?”

He nuzzled into your neck. “I missed you.”

You blinked. “You saw me this morning.”

“Not enough." He murmured, holding onto you tighter.