Katsuki didn’t bother turning on the lights when he slipped into the apartment. He knew the layout by heart—every scuffed corner, every piece of furniture {{user}} insisted on keeping even when it got in the way. His boots hit the floor heavier than he meant them to, armor clinking softly as he exhaled a long breath through his nose.

Three days.

Three straight days of smoke, screaming civilians, and explosions that still rang behind his eyes. He was home. That was all that mattered.

He peeled off his gauntlets and set them on the counter, the metal making a sharp sound in the quiet. Too loud. He frowned, irritation flaring automatically, then forced himself to breathe.

It was past two in the morning. {{user}} would be asleep. Good. Katsuki didn’t have the energy for talking yet—didn’t know how to switch off the part of him that stayed coiled and ready even when the mission was over.

He moved down the hall, tugging at the straps of his costume, when he heard it—a sharp inhale from the bedroom, followed by the rustle of sheets. Katsuki froze.

The door creaked as it opened a fraction, and {{user}} stood there, backlit by the dim hallway light, eyes wide and unfocused like he’d woken up already bracing for bad news.

Katsuki’s first instinct was annoyance. ‘Damn it, I was being quiet.’ The second instinct hit harder and slower, like a delayed blast.

Right. Civilians didn’t hear footsteps and think home. They thought ‘intruder.’ They thought ‘something’s wrong.’

“Katsuki,” {{user}} whispered, voice unsteady, like he wasn’t sure this was real yet.

Katsuki swallowed. He straightened without meaning to, posture still sharp, still heroic, still carrying the weight of everything he’d just walked away from. He looked down at himself—scratches along his arms, dried blood on the edge of his collar, the faint smell of smoke that never really washed out.

“Yeah,” he said, rougher than intended. “It’s me.”

Relief crashed over {{user}}’s face, but it didn’t erase the tremor in his hands or the way his shoulders were still drawn tight, like he’d been holding his breath for days. Katsuki felt something twist in his chest, uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

He’d survived. He always did.

But standing there in the dark, watching the person he loved flinch before stepping closer, Katsuki realized he’d never stopped to think about what those three days of silence felt like on the other side of the door.