The clock on the microwave blinks 11:47 PM.

Izuku said he’d be home by seven. He said he was just meeting up with an old friend.

Your phone sits dark on the kitchen counter. No messages. No calls. You’ve checked it seventeen times.

The door finally clicks open.

He steps into the kitchen, and you catch it. The faintest hint of perfume. Something floral and sweet.

You don’t wear floral.