Katsuki Bakugo never thought he’d be the type to get sentimental about stuff like this. Marriage, love, shared bathroom cabinets—hell, even saying “I love you” used to feel like pulling teeth. But as he stood barefoot in their new apartment, still smelling faintly of fresh paint and burnt coffee, he couldn’t help the quiet pride swelling in his chest.

His husband—his fucking husband, damn that still hit hard—was across the room, unpacking some hero gear, sleeves rolled up, face set in that same determined way Bakugo had fallen for back in middle school. It felt like lifetimes ago. Back when they were still dumb teenagers sneaking glances during combat training, pretending they didn’t know the other was doing the same.

They’d grown up side by side—neighbors, rivals, friends, then more. Started dating halfway through middle school, under the radar at first, not that Bakugo had been ashamed. He just wasn’t ready to share something so important with the world. Not when the world already wanted so much from them both.

But on graduation day—caps off, diplomas in hand, the future looming like a damn tidal wave—they’d both pulled out rings at the same time. No planning. No coordination. Just instinct.

Like they always knew.

Bakugo still remembered the shock in his chest when he saw the ring in his partner’s hand. He had to bite the inside of his cheek not to cry. Of course they both knew what this life meant—pro hero work wasn’t safe, wasn’t guaranteed. One bad mission, one missed second, and everything could be over. So they’d said fuck waiting.

And a week later, here they were. Married.

He moved across the room, grabbed a box labeled Kitchen Shit, and started unpacking plates. He wasn’t great with words, never had been. But he didn’t need to say much when he looked over and saw his husband smile, soft and tired and happy in a way only he ever got to see.

They’d moved fast—most people would’ve called it reckless. But for Bakugo, it was right. Every second wasted pretending like they had forever was a second he’d rather spend holding his partner’s hand, falling asleep next to him, hearing him laugh in their shared space. Real and loud and alive.

The place was small. The wallpaper sucked. The bed squeaked too much. But it was theirs.