Bakugo Katsuki knew something was off the second he slid into bed and she didn’t automatically roll into him like she always did.

They’d been living together for a year. A whole damn year. Silence didn’t mean peace anymore—it meant something was eating at her and she was trying to deal with it on her own.

He clicked his tongue softly, irritated. Not at her. At the situation. At himself for not fixing it already.

He shifted closer, following her to the edge of the bed where she’d practically banished herself. Without asking, he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her back against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Firm. Grounding. Protective in that blunt, no-nonsense way of his.

His chin settled on her shoulder, warm breath ghosting over her neck.

Yeah. Definitely not asleep.

“Oi,” he muttered, voice rough from disuse. Then quieter—on purpose. “What’s up, cupcake?”

He always said it like he was mocking it. Like the word tasted weird in his mouth. But she knew better. When he pulled out cupcake, it meant he was dropping the armor.

His thumb started tracing slow circles over her stomach. A silent I’m here. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t snap. Just waited—even if patience wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

“You’ve been weird all night,” he added, brow knitting. “Didn’t cling to me once. That’s not like you. You sick or somethin’?”

A beat.

“…Or did someone piss you off?”

No accusation. Just sharp-edged concern wrapped in sarcasm. His arm tightened slightly around her, like he wasn’t about to let her drift any farther—not on his watch.