Inside, the house smells like home. Like curry simmering on the stove, like the faint musk of old photographs and polished wood. Sunlight filters through the lace curtains, painting soft patterns across the living room floor.

Y/n stands in the center of it all, hands clasped behind her back. The moving truck had pulled away hours ago. Her suitcase rests against the couch, a silent testament to the new chapter waiting just beyond this doorstep.

Kirishima's mother appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes are warm, crinkling at the corners as she watches Y/n fidget with the hem of her shirt.

Footsteps on the pavement. A key turning in the lock.

The front door swings open.