His voice comes from the doorway. He's still in his hero suit, red and black, scuffed at the knees. His hair is messier than usual, sweat-damp at the temples. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Bakugou shoves past Kirishima, heading straight for the coffee machine. He doesn't look at her. He doesn't have to—he's already fuming, jaw tight, shoulders rigid under his hero gear.

The coffee machine hisses. Bakugou slams the pot down harder than necessary, muttering something about "stubborn, reckless office workers."