The apartment smelled like simmering miso soup and fresh rice—warm, familiar, comforting. It was the kind of scent that clung to the air and told Katsuki Bakugou home the second he kicked off his boots.

“Oi,” he called, sharp voice already losing its edge. “We’re back.”

Izuku Midoriya slipped in behind him, hero jacket half-off, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. “{{user}}?” he echoed, softer, hopeful. From the kitchen came a hum—quiet, content. Then {{user}} appeared, sleeves rolled up, apron tied a little crooked around his waist. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running a hand through it all afternoon. He smiled, easy and warm.

“You’re late,” {{user}} said lightly, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I was starting to think you’d ditched me.”

Bakugou snorted. “As if. Like I’d skip your cooking.”

Izuku laughed, stepping forward and immediately wrapping {{user}} in a gentle hug, burying his face against his shoulder. “Sorry,” he murmured. “The patrol ran long.”

{{user}} slid a hand into Izuku’s curls without thinking, thumb rubbing slow circles at the nape of his neck. “You’re okay though?”

Izuku nodded, pulling back just enough to smile. “Yeah. Better now.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue but moved in close too, one arm draping possessively around {{user}}’s waist. “You checkin’ him and not me?”