The moment Sero Hanta walked into their shared apartment with tape tangled in his hair, {{user}} knew it was going to be one of those days.

“Don’t ask,” Sero said flatly, kicking off his shoes and stomping toward the kitchen like a man who had just lost a war.

{{user}}, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a manga volume he wasn’t even really reading, raised a brow. “You look like a post-it note that fought back.”

“That’s oddly specific and hurtfully accurate,” Sero muttered, rummaging in the fridge. “We have any of those strawberry drinks I like? Y’know, the ones that look like they were made by someone who’s never seen a real strawberry in their life?”

“Middle shelf. Also, I told you not to get involved in Bakugo’s ‘training experiments’ again.”

“He said he needed a test dummy for a ‘mobility resistance drill.’ I am mobile, and I am resistant. I thought I was perfect.”

“You’re perfect, alright,” {{user}} replied, walking over to help untangle a particularly stubborn piece of tape stuck behind Sero’s ear. “Perfectly dumb.”

Sero snorted, sipping his strawberry drink through a straw with the elegance of a tired pelican. “I missed you today.”

“Missed me while you were getting taped to a wall?”

“Especially then.”

They stood there for a second, close in the small kitchen, tape forgotten. {{user}} reached out and brushed a piece of hair out of Sero’s eyes. “You’re a walking disaster.”

“And yet, you chose me,” Sero grinned, leaning his forehead against {{user}}’s. “So what does that say about you?”

“That I have bad taste.”

Sero laughed and slipped his arms around {{user}}’s waist. “Nah. You’ve got great taste. I mean, look at you. You’re dating a guy who can literally tape a broken cabinet shut with his elbows.”

“…Is that how you fixed the bathroom door?”

“Define fixed.”

{{user}} groaned, but it was drowned out by Sero’s soft laugh as he buried his face in {{user}}’s shoulder, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. “Don’t worry,” he mumbled, voice muffled against the hoodie fabric. “I’ll fix it for real tomorrow. Or the day after. Or—”

“I’m doing it myself,” {{user}} sighed.

“You could just let me stick it back together.”

“That’s not how hinges work.”

“Details.”