Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t.

Sure, he’d cleaned the apartment three times in the past twenty-four hours. Sure, he’d cooked dinner way earlier than necessary, reheating it twice just to make sure it was perfect. Sure, he’d been pacing by the damn window for the past fifteen minutes, waiting for the familiar sound of a key in the lock.

But he wasn’t nervous.

Just… impatient. Yeah. That was it.

Three months. Three whole fucking months his boyfriend had been overseas on some mission for the Hero Commission. Three months of late-night calls that always ended too soon, of checking his messages between patrols, of missing the warmth in his bed that no amount of blankets could replace.

And now—finally—he was coming home.

Bakugo ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than usual, mocking him with every slow second that passed. The flight had landed an hour ago. The drive from the airport wasn’t long. He should’ve been here by now.

What if something happened? The thought struck him before he could shove it down. He scowled, shaking his head. No. His boyfriend was fine. He would’ve called if there was a problem.

As if on cue, the lock clicked.

Bakugo spun toward the door just as it swung open, and there he was—messy hair, tired eyes, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Looking just as damn perfect as the day he left.

Neither of them spoke. Not at first. They just stood there, staring, like neither could believe this was real.

Then Bakugo moved.

One second, he was standing across the room. The next, he had his arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s shoulders, gripping the fabric of his jacket like it might disappear if he let go. He felt the weight of an arm around his waist, the press of a face against his neck, the deep exhale of someone who had been holding their breath for too long.

“Hey,” his boyfriend murmured against his skin.

“Shut up,” Bakugo muttered, squeezing him tighter.