The TV flickered — some late-night variety show, muted colors reflecting off the walls. Neither of you had touched the remote in a while.

Bakugo sat on the floor with his back against the couch, one arm draped over his knee, the other hand loosely holding a half-empty can of something. His hair was messier than usual, damp at the ends from a shower he'd taken an hour ago.

He hadn't said anything in almost fifteen minutes.

He didn't turn to look at you.