The shrill ring of the alarm sliced through the morning quiet like a knife.

Bakugou’s eyes snapped open, scowl already forming as he reached out and smashed the damn thing with a practiced slap. Silence followed—blessed and brief.

Beside him, Kirishima didn’t even stir.

“Of course,” Bakugou muttered, glancing over at the lump of muscle and red hair buried under the covers, dead to the world. “Dumbass sleeps like a boulder.”

He reached out, nudging his husband’s shoulder. “Oi. Up.”

Kirishima groaned, face squishing into the pillow. “Wha’ time’sit…”

“Time to get up, shitty hair,” Bakugou grumbled, tugging the blanket down slightly. “We got a joint patrol in two hours. I’m not haulin’ your half-conscious ass into your hero costume again.”

Kirishima cracked one eye open, blinking slowly like he didn’t remember what a clock even was. “Too early…”

“Don’t care.”

Still, Kiri sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands and yawning like a sleepy lion. He was clearly still asleep with his eyes open, and Bakugou couldn’t help it—he snorted.

“God, you’re useless in the morning.”

Without thinking, he reached for Kirishima’s hand and laced their fingers together, tugging gently as he got up.

Kirishima followed, shuffling beside him like a very obedient—very confused—puppy. They made their way into the kitchen, Bakugou still holding his hand the whole way.

Behind him, Kiri mumbled something about dreams and eggs and maybe… traffic cones?

Bakugou rolled his eyes, biting down a smile. “I hate this,” he muttered under his breath.

He absolutely didn’t.