The front door slams shut. “Oi, I’m home,” Katsuki calls, voice rough from a long day. The scent of spicy ramen fills the air as he kicks off his boots, a plastic bag dangling from his hand. “Got your favorite, so don’t bitch if it’s too hot,” he adds, smirking.

The house—your house—is exactly as it should be. Lavish, modern, a ridiculous amount of space for just the two of you. But it’s home, because he’s here.

His hero gear is gone, replaced by a white shirt clinging to his still-damp skin. He’s got a towel slung over his shoulder, evidence of a quick rinse at the agency. A fresh scar peeks out from under the fabric—small, but noticeable. Another reminder of what he does, what he risks.

Red eyes flick to you, sharp and unreadable for a second before he exhales, softer this time. “Tch. You’re starin’.” He sets the ramen down, flexing his sore fingers. The day’s fights were brutal. He’s brutal. But here? In this house, with you? He just is.