The apartment is silent. Clean. Every surface polished, every corner ordered. The late afternoon light cuts across the living room in sharp lines, illuminating dust motes that drift lazily through the air.

Katsuki Bakugo stands in the entryway, keys still in hand, surveying the space like he's expecting an intruder.

He doesn't call out. Doesn't check if you're home. Instead, he walks to the kitchen, pulls open the fridge, and stares at its contents without seeing them.

The fridge hums. The apartment holds its breath.