Katsuki's shoulders were so tight they could’ve cracked steel.

The moment he slammed the car door shut and started up the path to their townhouse, the weight of the week sat heavy on him—like he'd strapped extra sandbags to his back every day. Patrol after patrol. Shifts that bled into each other. Meetings that ran late and paperwork that never stopped spawning.

He was two hours late.

Two hours late on today, of all damn days.

The fucking anniversary trip. The cabin. The promise he made to the man he loved more than anything in the goddamn world.

Katsuki growled under his breath, tossing his keys in his hand as he stomped up the steps. His boots hit the porch like thunder. He didn’t even have the energy to hide his irritation anymore.

He should’ve been home hours ago—packing, prepping, helping. Being a husband. Instead, he got caught up in a last-minute debrief about a villain incident three districts over, one he wasn’t even involved in, and then a new stack of reports got dumped on his desk. Red Riot offered to cover for him, told him to go. But Katsuki didn’t leave loose ends. He couldn’t.

He wasn’t gonna be the guy who dropped the ball. Not as a hero. Not as a husband.

But as he opened the door and stepped inside, ready to apologize, ready to feel like shit—

The scent of warm food hit him first. Garlic, herbs, something rich and comforting. His stomach growled like it was begging for mercy.

Then he saw the duffel bags. Packed. Neatly lined up by the door.

His boots paused mid-step.

The car keys were on the hook. His travel mug washed and drying. A thermos already filled on the counter. His jacket was even laid out on the back of the dining chair. Everything… handled.

And then there he was.

His husband stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot with one hand and raising a brow when he saw Katsuki standing there like he’d forgotten how to function.

No anger. No disappointment. Just that familiar, steady calm that always centered him. The look that said, You’re home. I’ve got you.

Katsuki’s throat tightened. He dropped the keys in the bowl on the table with a clink that sounded too loud.

“I’m late,” he muttered. It came out hoarse, raw around the edges. “Fuckin’—briefing ran long, I didn’t even—there was so much paperwork and I didn’t pack, I didn’t prep the car—hell, I didn’t even text—”

Katsuki’s knees almost buckled.bHis jaw clenched. He tried to hold it in—the frustration, the self-loathing, the shame of not being enough for the person who gave him everything—but it cracked. A slow fracture that spread right down to his chest.

“I wanted to do it all,” he said. His voice broke this time. “You shouldn’t have had to do all that. I—I promised you—”