You didn’t lose things often. You misplaced them. There was a difference. At least that’s what you told yourself every time your keys ended up in the fridge or your phone took a nap inside the laundry basket.

But today was worse.

Today, it was your wedding ring.

You had only been married to Bakugo for three months. Three months of early mornings with his sleepy face buried in your neck, of yelling at you to “stop using dish soap like it’s free,” of quiet, hidden smiles when he thought you weren’t looking.

So yeah, losing the wedding ring felt like a sin.

Especially when you’d taken it off on purpose to avoid losing it.

Your logic? You were doing dishes, then laundry, then reorganizing the kitchen cabinets. You didn’t want it to fall into the drain or the washing machine or get scratched on a stubborn drawer handle. You’d even said out loud, “Right here, safe and sound,” when you placed it next to the folded towels.

But now the towels were gone. And the ring? Definitely not there.

The house had descended into madness. The living room was a maze of half-emptied drawers. The kitchen counters were covered in things you didn’t even know you owned. The closet had vomited up your entire winter wardrobe.

You were on your hands and knees digging under the bed when you heard the front door open.

You froze.

No… no, not now. Not him, not home.

“What the hell,” came Bakugo’s voice from the hallway. Not loud. Just tired. You could hear him stepping over something—probably the box of pots you left in the doorway.

You were still half-under the bed when he stopped in the doorway.

“{{user}}.” His tone was flat. “Why’s it look like a raccoon broke in?”

You backed out from under the bed and sat up, hair sticking up, shirt covered in dust, and panic painted all over your face.

“I—” you started. Then stopped. Your mouth opened again. Nothing came out.

He squinted at you. “What’d you lose this time?”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Silence.

“…My ring,” you admitted, so quietly it barely left your throat. “I took it off so I wouldn’t lose it.”

Bakugo blinked. You waited for the explosion.

It didn’t come.

Instead, he dragged a hand down his face and stepped over to the dresser. He opened the top drawer, moved aside a pair of your socks, and held something up.

Your ring.

You gawked. “How—”

“You put it there last night. Told me not to let you forget.” He walked over and crouched in front of you, holding it out. “Guess what I did?”