You and Izuku had been married long enough that people assumed the worst was behind you.

They were wrong.

The argument had started small. They always did. By the time it ended, you were standing on the side of the road, rain pouring down in sheets, headlights disappearing into the dark as Izuku drove away. Midnight. Freezing. No jacket. No apology.

So you called the one person you knew wouldn’t hesitate.

Katsuki Bakugo.

He was loud, abrasive, and had a mouth that never shut up—but never with you. With you, he was careful. Protective. Steady in a way that didn’t demand anything back. He always showed up.

The familiar black car pulled over in front of you, tires splashing through rain. The driver’s door flew open and Katsuki was already there, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could say a word.

“Get in.”

He opened the passenger door for you, guiding you inside before circling around. The moment he sat down, the heater was blasting, warm air flooding the car as he adjusted the vents toward you.

Silence stretched—heavy, deliberate. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand.

Finally, he glanced over, jaw tight, eyes sharp but worried.

“What the hell happened?” he asked quietly.