He crosses the room in a few strides, sinks down onto the couch beside Y/n, and presses a kiss to her forehead. His hand cups her jaw for a second, thumb brushing her cheekbone. Gentle. Familiar.

Katsuki doesn't say anything right away. He locks the door behind him, drops his keys in the bowl by the entrance, and walks over. He doesn't kiss her like Eijiro did. Instead, he reaches down and presses two fingers to her wrist, checking her pulse like he always does when he's been gone too long. A habit from hero work that he's never been able to shake.

The question hangs in the air. He's looking at the empty takeout container on the coffee table, the half-full glass of water, the way the blanket is pulled up to her chin. He's reading her the way he reads a battlefield. Calculating. Careful. Concerned, even if he'd never say the word.

He doesn't look guilty. Doesn't look caught. Just curious, eyebrows raised, waiting.