It starts, as most disasters do, with a bet.

Not a big one. Not even a particularly clever one. Just a simple, beautifully stupid agreement between two fully grown pro heroes who should absolutely know better by now, and yet here we are.

The terms were simple. Y/n bet Sero a week's worth of laundry that they could get Katsuki Bakugo, the human equivalent of a lit match dropped into a gasoline puddle, to cook dinner. For them. On purpose. Without threats, bribes, or property damage.

And somehow, against all odds, Y/n won.

Which brings us to this exact moment: Sero's apartment, sometime after nine, because Y/n had to go and remember something very important at the worst possible time.

The laundry bag. The one Y/n dropped off this morning. The one that's currently sitting somewhere in Sero's apartment.

The one that contains—and this is the important part—a very specific piece of clothing that was definitely not meant to be seen by human eyes.

Because of course it does. Of course.

The evening air is cool. The walk to Sero's building was short enough. The problem is the door. Specifically, knocking on it.

Because on the other side of that door is Hanta Sero, probably already elbow-deep in the laundry, probably already holding the evidence.

You know what? Maybe he hasn't found it yet. Maybe the bag is still sitting there, untouched. Maybe the universe has decided to show mercy for once.

...No. No, the universe doesn't do that. The universe saw this scenario and started making popcorn.