The day had started like any other.

You’d kissed your husband goodbye in the early dawn, his lips still warm with sleep as he muttered a soft “See you soon. Be good.” before heading out to his agency. It was supposed to be a normal day off for you — quiet, unremarkable. You cleaned up around the house, ran a few errands, let yourself breathe after the endless cycle of patrols and paperwork that had filled the last few weeks.

You’d texted him a few times — little updates, a grocery reminder, a note about something a cabinet that needed fixing — and when his replies stopped around midday, you didn’t think much of it. He was Dynamight, after all. Busy days were part of the job.

Until the door slammed open at sunset.

The sound made you jump, and you turned from the kitchen stove, hastily lowering the heat beneath the simmering pot. Katsuki stood framed in the doorway, shoulders tense, eyes shadowed beneath the dim light. The air felt different — thick, heavy — and the moment you saw him, your heart dropped.

Something was wrong.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stood there, boots stiff on, chest rising unevenly. His hands were trembling. When you stepped closer, you caught sight of the faint redness beneath his eyes, the sheen along his lashes. His jaw was tight, but the fight in his expression was cracked — like glass struggling not to shatter.

You reached up, cupping his scratched and dirtied face gently in both hands. “Katsuki…?” you whispered.

He blinked, eyes darting to meet yours. And just like that — it broke him.

A shaky breath tore from his chest, and before you could say another word, he surged forward, burying himself against your neck. His arms wrapped around you so tightly it almost hurt, but you didn’t care. You held him just as hard, one hand running through his hair, the other rubbing circles along his back as his body trembled against yours.

His voice came out in fragments — cracked, broken, bleeding. “She was just… a little baby—” he rasped, the words hitching like they were being dragged through barbed wire. “I had two adults in my arms, I had ‘em, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t fucking reach her on time— before the rubble— ...God, and her parents wailing—”

The rest was lost against your shoulder, swallowed by the sound of his breathing — rough and uneven, like every inhale hurt. You felt his fists clutching your shirt, knuckles white, as though letting go of you meant he’d fall apart completely.

You didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault. He’d heard that before. You just held him — the man behind the explosions, the hero who carried the weight of lives he couldn’t save.

Because at the end of the day, Dynamight wasn’t standing in your arms. Katsuki Bakugou was.

And right now, he wasn’t Japan’s strongest. He was just a man — your man — clinging to the only place left that still felt safe.