Chapter Text
The world stitched itself back together in a blink, light bending, air folding in on itself, and then Bakugo was home.
The scent hit him first. That quiet, familiar blend of coffee gone cold, something sweet from the kitchen that had been forgotten hours ago, and the unmistakable comfort of their home. It was early morning, sunlight just beginning to pour through the thin curtains of the living room, dust glowing like quiet confetti in the beams of gold.
And there he was.
His husband.
Asleep on the couch, or he had been, at least. The blanket was slipping off his shoulders, a half-empty can of something caffeinated still clutched loosely in one hand, his body curled awkwardly into the cushions. The table in front of him was chaos, three mugs, two cans, a thermos, an untouched protein bar, and Bakugo’s hoodie folded over the armrest like it had been clutched all night for comfort.
At the sound of the front door, Kirishima stirred.
He blinked, sitting up with the uncoordinated movements of someone who had been pretending to rest but hadn’t slept a minute. His eyes were bagged, rimmed with pink. His hair was a little frizzy, pushed back and flattened in one spot from where he’d pressed his head against the cushion.
And still, somehow, he looked so pretty.
Bakugo stepped inside, shoes forgotten by the doorway, and in a second, Kirishima was on his feet.
He looked at him and Bakugo didn’t need words to know he’d been up all night waiting, not just hoping, knowing he’d come back.
“I’m home,” Bakugo said, voice caught somewhere between apology and breathless relief.
Kirishima didn’t smile, he just crossed the room, grabbed hold of Bakugo like he had no intention of ever letting go again, and pressed his forehead to his.
“You’re late,” he whispered, voice cracking.
Bakugo closed his eyes, let his hands curl into the back of Kirishima’s shirt, feeling a familiar heartbeat beneath his palm, the scent of home that lived in the crook of his husband’s neck.
“I know,” he murmured, lips brushing skin, barely above a breath. “But I found my way back to you.”
Kirishima stood there holding him, arms around his waist, fingers shaking slightly from the caffeine and the waiting and the relief. His eyes were still heavy, red at the corners, lashes damp.
He pulled back only enough to look at him, his eyes searching, shining in the pale morning light. “You okay?”
Bakugo nodded, one hand coming up to touch his face, thumb brushing just under his eye like he needed to memorize every tired line. “Now I am.”
Kirishima’s mouth curved, finally, into the smallest smile.
“Come to bed,” he said gently. “We can sleep a little. You can tell me later.”
He nodded again, his fingers threading into Kirishima’s, “Yeah. Later.”
They walked down the hallway together, hearts calm again.
And Bakugo didn’t look back, not once. Whatever he had left behind didn’t matter anymore, because everything he ever needed was already walking beside him.