Your mom and her new husband had been gone for exactly two hours and fourteen minutes. Long enough for the silence to stop feeling like a relief and start feeling like a warning.

Katsuki had been in his room the entire time. You knew because his door was closed, and the only thing worse than fighting with him was not knowing when he'd come out swinging.

The kitchen clock ticked. You were sitting at the island, phone in hand, half a text typed to your mom. Something about the house being fine. The word fine felt like a lie even before you sent it.

Then, from upstairs—movement. A door opening. Footsteps heavy on the landing.