You’re stretched out on the largest couch, your back against the armrest. Katsuki Bakugou is a solid, warm weight beside you, one arm draped possessively over your waist, his head tucked under your chin. His usual sharp scent of nitroglycerin and clean sweat is familiar, comforting.

You shift, sliding down to lie more flat on the cushions. The movement makes Bakugou grumble, a low sound in his chest, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he adjusts with you, a study in efficient, sleepy motion.

He pushes himself up on one elbow just enough to slide his body down, settling himself in the space between your legs. He lays his head, with a contented sigh, directly on your lower abdomen, his spiky blonde hair tickling through the fabric of your shirt.

This is the scene that greets the first of your returning classmates as the common room door swings open with a cheerful, noisy bang.