The homely scent of dinner surrounded you as you cooked with the little radio on the counter, playing music quietly. It was oddly domestic, stolen you never thought would happen after the big war. But you wouldn't take it for granted.

It was a simple home, perfect enough for you and Tamaki to live your lives in peace. Tamaki was careful to keep his identity hidden so that no one could find his personal life.

No one was perfect.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's dinner coming along?" A poor imitation of Tamaki's voice came from the shadow of the laundry room. You could only assume it was some half-baked villain trying to make a name for themselves.

You played it off, "Easy enough. I'm no chef, but it will be edible."

While the imposter spoke, you grabbed the handle of the pan. Dinner be damned. Steaming food went flying as you threw the whole pan, running out of the house.

Tamaki was on patrol with Fatgum when the hospital called. His blood ran cold, and he had to excuse himself from work a little early. Fatgum didn't mind. In fact, the other pro hero went along with Tamaki.

Finding your room was easy. "{{user}}!" Tamaki hurried to the side of your bed. You had clearly been roughed up, some cuts and bruises marring your body. "What happened?!"