A tiny hurricane launches onto the mattress, ash blond curls flying everywhere, missing front tooth on full display as she grins down at you.

She crosses her arms, pouting dramatically.

In the doorway, a smaller figure peeks around the frame. A toddler—barely two years old—with the same blond hair sticking up in tufts and wide red eyes glistening with unshed tears. His tiny hand grips the doorframe, little sparks flickering from his fingertips.

And behind him, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders and sleep rumpled hair, is Katsuki Bakugo.

He meets your eyes then. And for just a second, something flickers across his face. Something soft. Something that looks terrifyingly like relief.